A/N: This crazy little plot popped in my head a few months ago and I just couldn't let it go. Complete non-magical AU, so there will be no Hogwarts or any other HP characters or events, just Remus & Hermione. For some reason, I can totally envision Remus as a priest. It's weird, I know, but hear me out; he's kind, thoughtful, smart and compassionate. I also think the lycanthropy storyline mirrors a lot of the same themes of priesthood (self-imposed isolation, loneliness, a feeling of being different/separate from the rest of the world). I just see it fitting for some reason and I simply had to write this. Sometimes a story just won't let you rest until you let it out.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. This won't be a long story, 3 chapters only. One posted today, one tomorrow (Sunday) and the last one on Monday.
As per usual, I do not own these characters, but how I do love to play with them :)
"In that moment I understood that the cruelest words in the universe are 'if only'."
― Lisa See, Peony in Love
Remus had nodded off while reading before the warm, flickering hearth and he awoke with a start near midnight. Dozing upright in his reading chair left a terrible kink in his neck as he slowly stood to stretch and gather his papers and books.
He walked by his window and caught sight of his small church below and he suddenly realized that he had forgotten to lock the church's front doors. He usually was so careful, but tonight he had been distracted, his mind far away, and he simply forgot.
He could now see from his bedroom window that someone had been in the church since dusk and had lit a good many prayer candles that now shimmered and danced in the stained-glass window. He wondered who could have visited and lit so many, at least a dozen of them by the looks of it.
Someone in desperate need of something, a feeling that Remus knew all too well.
He sat down heavily on his bed and pulled on his winter boots and black coat, grabbed his keys and headed off to lock up for the night. As he left the rectory and crunched across the packed snow, he saw a familiar blue car parked by the front doors and realized with some surprise just who was inside.
Speeding up his stride, he pulled the heavy, oaken doors open to peer in and found her sitting in a pew near the altar. She turned at the noise and he saw she had been crying.
"Hermione, dear, what's wrong?", he said, looking alarmed at finding the twenty-two year old all alone in his church at midnight.
"Oh, Father Lupin, I'm fine. I'm so sorry I disturbed you," she said, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes and flushed cheeks.
"Don't be silly, you haven't disturbed me," he said walking towards her, a warm smile playing across his face. "It's awfully late to be out and about, especially with all the snow we're expecting tonight," he said softly, worried as to why the young lady was gracing him with her presence at such a late hour.
"Oh my goodness, I must've lost track of time. I didn't realize it was so late. I went for a drive to think and found myself here. I just wanted someplace quiet to sit," she said rather sheepishly.
He smiled and nodded, understanding the need to be alone at times.
"Would you like to talk? It looks like something is troubling you," he said, as he approached her and sat beside her in the small pew.
She usually saw him in his habit; his white, priestly collar, black button down and slacks, his hair perfectly combed back, his professional facade firmly in place. But tonight, sitting before her, relaxed and unguarded, he looked so very different.
Tonight he wore jeans and a grey sweater under his black winter coat. His face was flushed from the cold and his sandy brown, shaggy hair was tousled and wind-swept. Fresh snowflakes still clung to the stubble on his cheeks and his lips were flushed and pink.
He looked like any other man, not like a priest. Not at all.
The only thing that seemed unchanged were his eyes. They looked the same as always, a brilliant blue-grey, that was both bright and warm. They radiated such kindness and concern.
She straightened up and quickly dried her eyes, shaking her head adamantly, "Oh, no, Father Lupin, I'm fine, really. It's late, I'll just be going."
But as she stood to leave, he stood with her and gently clasped her small shoulders so he could look into her reddened eyes, "Hermione, I've known you for ten years and something is obviously wrong. Please talk to me," his voice so soft and kind, broke her reserve as the tears rushed out once more and she collapsed back into the pew, her body heaving from the extraordinary effort of holding so much in.
He sat down with her and held her small hand. He didn't push her to explain but rather waited quietly for her to speak.
So much of being a priest involved waiting, and since Remus was immensely patient he was well-regarded throughout their small town as an exceptional man of God. He knew the deepest secrets of the heart and soul were precious things that couldn't be shared at will. They were sacred and beautiful and could only be bared before the most deserving, the most pure of heart. And so he sat, as he had countless times before, and waited to see how he could help his dear, young friend.
Her tears gradually ebbed and she drew a deep, shaky breath, her chest heaving and her pink lips quivering from the flood of emotion clucthing her heart. He merely waited beside her, anguish filling his heart at the sight before him.
After many minutes, she finally cleared her throat and said, "Father Lupin?"
He smiled at her, "Hermione, you know you can call me Remus. We're dear friends, aren't we?"
She smiled at his words, the familiarity that had grown between them over the last year enveloping her like a warm blanket, comforting her and putting her at ease.
She had grown up in this small town and had known Remus since he came to her church ten years ago. Even at the age of twelve, she could tell he was different from the other stuffy, formal priests she had met before.
He was so young and full of life, his sermons were always moving and thoughtful, funny and heartfelt. He loved nature and was often found taking walks around town, starting up games of soccer with the neighborhood kids, or helping elderly ladies walk their groceries home. He was the most charismatic person she had ever known, priest or otherwise. Everything he did was done with passion and care and she greatly admired him.
Growing up as a shy, knobby-kneed bookworm, Hermione had frequently found herself on the outside looking in, often finding it hard to make friends. But Remus had always been kind to her. He asked about the poetry she wrote and would take extra time with her on Sundays after mass to ask how school was going or show her a smooth river rock he had found.
Even though he was an adult, Hermione had always seen him as a kindred spirit and a dear friend and she felt drawn to him, like the tide towards the moon and that feeling only waxed as she grew older.
She had moved back home one year ago after graduating from college and had quickly become good friends with Remus once more, the pair often enjoying long talks about religion and philosophy, poetry and travel. They seemed to share so many interests and passions as they sat beneath the old willow on the church grounds discussing the intricacies of life. Despite their differences in age and background, he was her dearest friend and she valued him more than she could say.
"Hermione, what's wrong?", he carefully asked.
She sat in silence, staring at the many candles she had lit, as fresh tears quietly made their way down her flushed cheeks.
"Is this about tomorrow?", he asked.
She nodded gravely, her eyes cast downward.
"Are you nervous?", he kindly asked.
Again she answered with a nod.
He smiled, "Well, that's natural. Everyone is a bit nervous before their wedding. But when you see Jonathan tomorrow everything will feel right. The nerves will vanish, I promise," he said with a small smile.
She didn't seem to have taken his words to heart though. She merely stared down at her small hands in resignation.
"Remus, do you think...would you help me with something?", she asked, finally chancing a glance at him.
"Of course, you know I will. What do you need?", he asked.
"I think I need to have confession. But I...I think I need to confess to someone else," she said, carefully avoiding his eyes.
The simple request took him aback but he tried hard not to let it show.
"Well, um...Father Smith is traveling at the moment, he won't be back until tomorrow. I'm the only one here right now. If you're not comfortable with me, do you think it can wait until he returns?"
She bit her lip and fidgeted in the pew, just like she did when she was younger.
"I'd rather not wait until then, but...I just don't think...I don't think I can confess to you," she said, blushing fiercely at the admission.
"We've become good friends and it would feel...awkward with you knowing my sins," she admitted, looking him in the eyes.
He smiled warmly and said, "I respect that and completely understand. But know that I don't remember anything you tell me. I'm in a state of divine grace when I practice this sacrament, so I'm only acting on God's behalf. I forget what you tell me, for the sins you confess, they're not really mine to hear."
She looked so sad and small as she silently weighed her options.
Drawing a deep breath, she finally said, "Alright then. I suppose you should be the one to hear this," she said with a small, regretful smile.
He nodded, not sure of what she needed to say.
He pulled his rosary from his coat pocket and placed his sacramental sash around his shoulders, he made the sign of the cross and looked at her to begin.
"Whenever you're ready, take your time," he smiled.
She turned toward him, their knees touching and she made the sign of the cross, "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen."
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," she began, with a shaky voice.
"And when did you last confess?", he asked, effortlessly slipping into his role.
"One year ago," she said, her eyes focused on the small altar, her face aglow with gentle, flickering candle light.
"And what are your sins?", he asked looking at her lovely profile.
He sat back and waited patiently, legs crossed, hands clasped and resting in his lap.
People usually rushed through their confessions, their sins coming out in a rush of embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to be done and absolved.
But not Hermione.
Ever since he had heard her first confession when she was twelve years old, she had always gone slowly, not wanting to forget a single transgression and he had heard every single one of them. From the time she stole a pack of gum on a dare to cheating on a university test, every sin that left her lips ended with him.
He had lied to her earlier. He wanted to forget her sins but try as he might, he found he never could. With every other parishioner, he fully did forget, but not with Hermione. He found he wanted to hold tight to every little thing about her, even her confessions. They stayed with him throughout the many years and deep down, he knew why.
Against every principle, every ideal he held dear, against his faith, he had begun to harbor deeper feelings for the young woman.
She was kind and beautiful and she treated him differently. She treated him not as some asexual, religious figure, like everyone else had, but rather like a person, a friend, a man. And he hated himself for wanting that feeling, knowing what a sin it was to want her. He had confessed and sought forgiveness many a time for his impure thoughts but he honestly couldn't let them go. Thinking of her was his dearest thought, his only real pleasure in his lonely existence. It was something that he simply couldn't let go.
He smiled at her now, she was all grown up and this might be the last confession of hers that he would hear. After her wedding tomorrow, she was moving to France with her new husband, he thought with not a small amount of sadness.
Her red, swollen eyes locked onto his as she took a deep breath to confess.
"I've sinned, Father. I've felt something for a long time but I've never confessed it, not to anyone, barely even to myself. You see, I'm...I'm in love with someone else. I don't want to marry Jonathan tomorrow."
Her head hung in her hands, as she wept bitter tears. His heart broke for the poor young woman.
In his twenty years as a priest, he had heard every confession imaginable, and confessions of the heart were always the toughest to admit and as a priest they were generally the hardest sins to hear, for they bore the greatest sadness.
This confession was no different.
Remus nodded and offered Hermione a handkerchief as the tears poured anew at her words, fighting hard not to offer her more comfort.
"It must have been hard carrying that around for so long. You're very brave to admit it," he said.
She nodded, her small shoulders rolled forward, her long curls hiding her reddened face from her dear friend.
She tilted her head up and caught his eyes and said, "Holding this in has been the hardest thing I've ever done. Because if I say something, it will ruin so much. Not just my impending marriage, but...so much more will be at stake. The man I love... I'm sure he doesn't feel the same about me."
"I want forgiveness, I truly do," she continued, "but I don't think I can let this go. So what good would forgiveness be if I will just sin again?", she asked, her face full of worry.
"God will always grant forgiveness, no matter how many times we sin. Do not worry about that. What counts is that we are sorry for our actions," he said.
"Are you sorry for your actions? Are you sorry for lusting after another man?", he asked, his rosary beads entwined in his fingers, his eyes downcast, to avoid seeing hers.
She didn't respond right away.
The silence seemed to stretch on and on, so he finally chanced a glance up and found her intently staring at him.
When she finally had his gaze on her she said calmly yet firmly, "No. No, I'm not sorry."
"I love this man, I truly do. I'm sorry I've hurt Jonathan by not giving him my heart as I should, but...I'm not sorry for loving another. That love...it's the only good thing I have. I can't bear to give it up," she said honestly.
He looked at her questioningly, not entirely sure how to proceed.
How could he absolve her for a sin she wasn't sorry for? He swallowed hard and averted his eyes and tried a different approach.
"Well, then...What are you going to do about tomorrow?", he asked carefully.
She slowly leaned her head back against the polished, wooden pew, her eyes shut as quiet tears trickled down her flushed cheeks.
Why on earth did she have to look so beautiful?
"It's not right to marry Jonathan, not with how I feel. I have to break it off."
He nodded, pretending to know the intricacies of relationships and heartbreak.
"And what about this other man? Are you going to tell him?", he asked, looking down at his hands, not wanting to betray his own racing heart.
She turned to look at him and said softly, "I don't know if I can."
He swallowed hard at the intensity of her gaze. His stomach knotted as he realized just how close she was, how lovely she smelled, how good he felt when he was near her.
"You should always be honest," he said, trying to sound wise and collected, although he felt anything but.
He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his eardrums, his palms suddenly sweaty, his breath seized in his chest.
She offered him the smallest of smiles, and nodded as she slowly leaned forward and took his red, sweet lips in for a soft, gentle kiss.
The pressure was so light, so faint, Remus couldn't be sure it had really just happened.
But there, in the silent, candle-lit church, Hermione had just kissed the man she had been in love with since she was sixteen years old.
She opened her eyes and pulled away to see Remus had his eyes still shut, his chest rising and falling with some difficulty.
"I'm so sorry, Remus," she said, taking in the anguish that now graced his face.
He opened his eyes at her soft words and his fingers reflexively reached up and touched his lips.
He hadn't kissed or been kissed in twenty years. His lips had issued prayers, praise, sermons, blessings and even the divine wisdom of God, but they hadn't been used to do that. They felt positively on fire.
"I know you can't be with me," she said with a sad smile. "Probably wouldn't want to even if you could. But I just...I couldn't get married tomorrow with how I felt about you. I couldn't promise my heart to another in front of you. I love you, Remus, a part of me always has. Please, forgive me," she said, as she rose from the pew to leave forever.
But he stood and caught her hand, before she could go and pulled her back and then she felt him, all around her. His arms ensnaring her tightly as he pulled his long body flush against hers and he simply held her.
He stared deeply into her caramel brown eyes. Not since the day he took his vows had he had the exquisite luxury of holding someone, feeling their body move against his. His strong hands splayed across her warm back, she felt absolutely perfect in every way. Her sweet smell, her long luscious hair, cascading down her back, her soft, warm body, it all made his heart beat wildly against his chest, he was sure she could feel it, too.
"I've struggled with this," he finally said, his voice barely louder than a whisper in the silent church, his eyes locked onto hers.
"I've been in love with you for a year now. And I don't know what to do with this. I'm forty-two years old and this was never supposed to happen for me. This is forbidden and a sin but...I can't seem to stop this. I love you, Hermione, I truly do."
She felt joy flood every inch of her being as she tilted her head up to capture those lovely lips, once more. But before she could, he pulled back .
"But I can't act on this," he said, reluctantly pulling away from her, his voice so redolent with sorrow and loss.
"To do so would break something that couldn't be fixed," he said.
"I thought you said God always forgives?", she asked.
He smiled sadly at her and shook his head.
"This couldn't be forgiven. I've taken a vow to forsake any...attachments, both emotional and physical. It's...it's not what I want, but it is what I've promised. As much as it pains me, I can't act on this. I'm so sorry, Hermione," he offered, looking so very ashamed and guilty.
"Do you want to be with me, Remus? Because I truly want to be with you. You might be right. Maybe it can't be fixed or forgiven, but maybe that's alright. Maybe we could make something different, some new. Together," she said, not holding back any longer.
She wanted this man, more than anything and she would be damned if she let this one chance slip through her fingers without even trying.
He leaned wearily against the pew, rubbing his hands along the polished wood, hoping, praying desperately that God would send him the strength he so desperately needed to walk away from this lovely woman. But as he tilted his head up and saw her before him, his found no strength at all.
Only want, only desire.
It would seem God had left Remus to figure this out on his own. If he was going to walk away from her, he would have to find the strength himself.
He took a deep calming breath and turned to leave but she pulled him back and with all her might, she kissed him. Kissed him once more, with a scorching heat, a kiss full of longing and need, passion and love. He felt too shocked to move, to speak, to break away, to think. His whole body ached with a fire burning bright and hot beneath his skin. This woman was all he wanted and he couldn't bear to tear himself away. He knew how wrong this all was, but couldn't find it in himself to care anymore.
Their mouths fit so perfectly together, like they were made to be as one. She pulled him tight, her hands sliding into his jacket to feel the overwhelming heat of his body. She opened her mouth and let her tongue wander and taste him and was elated when his lips parted for her and his hands grasped her, clucthing her body fiercely, possessively against his own. His hands buried deep in her auburn curls, caressing the back of her neck, his own tongue tenderly exploring her sweet mouth, she felt such desire, such raw, frightening, all-consuming want for the man before her.
Their mouths and hands glided and rubbed across one another as the passion built. Remus could feel his body humming with passion for the first time in his life. It felt overwhelming and terrifying to feel so out of control. Yet it also felt exhilarating.
He pulled back slightly to catch his breath and she could see the flicker of worry and doubt dance across his eyes. She clung to him all the more.
"Be with me, Remus. Please. I know you're scared, I am too. But we'll figure this all out together. I promise," she said, her voice so confidant.
"I love you, Remus. I can't bear to lose you."
He paused, for only the briefest of moments, looking at her small hand, gently clasped in his own. Her warm fingers intertwined with his, like two sets of tree roots that had grown together as one. It felt so comforting and beautiful. It felt well and truly right.
He tilted his head up to see her imploring eyes, full of hope. He smiled at the sight and offered only a small nod as he gave her another heart-stopping kiss.
"Come with me," he whispered in her ear, gently pulling her towards the large oak doors and away from the church.