Thank you so much for the support on this story! I'm really getting excited with it! As there are only four types of sentences, it is now halfway done. Please review with any suggestions or encouragement. I really appreciate your reading my work! Now, back to exams, which is what I was supposed to be preparing for...

PART I: DECLARATIVE

Hermione opened the door with a creak, knocking upon it almost as an afterthought. Determination etched her face in mature planes, even as tear streaks gave an innocent glimmer. Curled on his bed, facing away from the door, Remus couldn't see this, but he'd heard her coming up the stairs, smelled her entering the room, and he recalled the tears she'd cried just fifteen minutes ago, when he had returned from what was supposed to be a suicide mission.

He'd apparated directly into a Death Eater hideout, one that was only accessible by apparition. Disappointingly enough, there were only three there, and the fog bomb he'd stolen to confuse them only made them sitting ducks. He'd reported back to McGonagall with all three bound. She'd been furious, but her fury was nothing compared with the utter loathing and pain he experienced from his failed attempt. He'd calmly accepted the lecture as long as he could, then turned on his heel and mechanically strode upstairs.

It was expected that someone would be sent to check on him. They would be less likely to trust him now that he'd shown his hand. He hadn't expected Hermione to be chosen as his nursemaid.

"Pro- Remus?" Her voice cut through his reverie. He resolved not to hear anything she said; she was just a child and couldn't possibly comprehend what had driven him to this. "I- I need to talk to you. You don't need to respond. In fact, it will be easier for me if you don't. I just think there's something you should know before you... kill yourself." Her voice broke for a moment and she audibly gulped.

A deep breath later, she continued, "I realize that you are beyond the point where others telling you the good they see in you will help. Here's what I feel when you're nearby: I feel excited, because I know we will discuss fascinating theories and books, able to face the things that confuse us and solve mysteries that are beyond anybody else in this house. Or we can just talk, and I feel more who I am, more alive, just from carrying on a conversation with you. You project such consideration and love that I know all those bigots who look down upon you for your affliction have never been blessed to experience.

"I feel safe, like even death would be endurable with you to bid me good-bye. I know nobody can hurt me with you here, and even if they did, you'd not think the less of me. Even suffused in darkness as you are, you don't give in to it as Severus has. You continue to give and care and love, even though cruel fate seems determined to steal it away from you. For this, I feel tremendous admiration for you. If that were all, then I wouldn't have come here, for everybody else, I imagine, feels the same way about you. Harry and Ron have admitted that studying with you is infinitely more enthralling than with anybody else. The reason I am here is because I- think I have something else to weigh you down. Since you are such an understanding and gentle man, I know that you'll accept that I have something I need to share."

Hermione blushed, and Remus could sensed the heat coming from her as she sat on his bed, her hand tremulously coming to rest on his shoulder. He'd closed his eyes long ago to try and block out the too-generous words that might convince him to change his determination. He was touched by the caring from his favorite student, but he couldn't help wishing she'd go away. Something inside him was teetering on the brink, and he'd feel much more confident if she was not there. Yet she was right. He had to help her, even if it was just as a friendly listener, since that was all he could be, now that his best friends and mentor were all dead.

"Remus, I don't know how to go about this. I don't know exactly when it started, but I remember being fascinated with you in third year. Sharing your secret made us seem a lot closer, even though we never spoke of it. You respected me as nobody else would, given my age. You saw past that, teaching me one of the most important lessons of my life." Her voice had become somewhat teary, and she stopped talking in favor of weeping. After a minute she tried to recover. Remus wanted to comfort her, but he was kept still by his desire for her to leave. "I- I'm so sorry! I told myself I wouldn't do this! I just can't bear what you've done to yourself! Throughout our stay in Grimmauld place, you've always been masked and calm, even after Sirius! And now, this! You're still calm! People say we're so similar, but look at this! The werewolf is sedate while the bookworm practically has hysterics!" She buried her face in his shoulder, allowing her shuddering sobs to shake him even as her tears sunk through his thin cloak and robes.

Remus' thoughts were churning. He had never seen Hermione like this. He so badly wanted to comfort her. "Remus," she said, hiccuping back to her normal speech. "I don't know why you should care about me, but I know you do, even though it might just be a little bit. There's no way for me to comprehend what you've endured in your life, thereby robbing you of your privacy. I am grateful for that because I do not have your strength. I couldn't do what you have done. It was this realization that led me to talk to you. It's a purely selfish reason, and I've fought the feeling as much as I could, but as soon as your motive became clear, I knew I had to buck up and tell you the truth.

"I dream of you every night. First I dreamt of your eyes, your werewolf eyes, showing me my way through the Forbidden Forest, as though you were in the sky like the moon, guiding me. Gradually you infiltrated deeper. Now I dream of you in my arms, just holding me, as all the terror of life passes us by and glances off us. I cry when I wake up and you aren't there. Your every expression, few though the ones you share are, I have come to know. Not through conscious study, but through simple comprehension. You are the one person who I respect endlessly, defend devotedly, and desire beyond reason."

Remus went tense. What-

"I love you."

He began to shake with... fear? Longing? Shock? She couldn't! It wasn't! She was too young, didn't know her own mind. But, she was Hermione. Hermione knew her own mind, she lived there with much greater permanence than her peers. There was no doubt that she was sincere, he could smell the emotions, and it was only his self-involvement that had kept him from identifying them earlier. He was grateful and flattered by the desire and passion she was feeling. But how could he accept, or even reciprocate? The world didn't work like this. He was broken, worn-out, hopeless. She was young, whole, and full of potential and purpose.

"I love you, and if you die, then I die too. Maybe not on purpose, but you have been the reason I've fought this long. My reason to live surrenders when you die. I don't mean to guilt you, as I know you are infamous for that form of self-torture. Maybe this is what you deserve. I know what it's like to have your life's dreams suddenly torn from you, only I was blessed with your return. Please don't deny this. Don't deny me the chance to know my dreams. You don't have to love me too. Just stay. Just care about me."

He felt her lean over and kiss him on his cheek, then stand up and walk across the room. He sat up suddenly, wanting to see her face. She turned as she opened the door and smiled. It was a tender smile, tempered by the pain in her brown eyes. They stared at each other, his panicked eyes questioning hers, and hers beseeching. Finally she broke the contact, looking at the ground, and walked out of the room, gently closing the door behind her with a slight squeak.

Remus' thoughts were spinning. Ten minutes after Hermione had left he was still sitting on his bed, his hand massaging his forehead, occasionally coming to rest where she had kissed him on his cheek. How to react to such a declaration? How to react to his failed attempt at self-termination, the anger of his closest companions, then the love of a former student, one who was far too young to be thinking of him? He arose, paced his room for exhaustedly, then sat down, still in shock at the unexpected outcomes of the day. Reaching his hand into his bedside drawer, he pulled out a flask labeled 'dreamless sleep' and drank several mouthfuls, enough hopefully to get him through the night, or at least into blessed oblivion until he could think clearly.