Time Won't Let Me Go

By Sirius Lemon

(Author's note: I simply love the idea of Remus and Hermione, so I decided to write a fic about them…even though I'm already in the middle a writing another one! Lol. Anyways this story and its title are based on the song "Time Won't Let Me Go" by The Bravery, one of my favorite bands. I hope you enjoy it and please feel free to comment, I would love to hear what you think, good or bad!)

Chapter One: The Year After

"Whenever I look back
On the best days of my life
I think I saw them all on T.V.
I am so homesick now for
Someone that I never knew
I am so homesick now for
Someplace I will never be" – Time Won't Let Me Go

At eighteen Hermione Granger had seen more then her share of death, and suffered more losses then it is expected for one so young to go through. It was over, Harry had survived, and he had made it, Hermione and Ron right by his side till the very end. Still she had nightmares, awful vivid dreams of the night that Voldemort was finally, once in for all destroyed, never to take another life again, never to harm an innocent person. But in her dreams he was still alive, walking towards them menacingly, his army of Death Easters clad in masks of silver and capes of the darkest black following behind him with their wands drawn, shouting curses at them with cold calculation. It had been one of the most horrifying and defining moments of Hermione's life. In the days building up the final battle it seemed unreal, the world had passed by her with a dreamy quality to it. She could feel it in her bones though, everyone in the order could, anyone anywhere could feel the coldness that descended upon their world that day, it was nothing like she had ever felt before.

The day it happened they were at Hogwarts, those in the order rushed about putting charms and spells about the castle, hoping to protect it from being invaded, so that they could use it as a safe haven for those who would need it. And they all would need it. It wasn't that on that day they believed they could escape death; they were merely trying to delay it as long as possible. Wizarding families from all over the country had come to Hogwarts. Some for protection, some to fight. Some to ensure that their children would be safe as they possibly could while they stood on the for-front behind the order, ready to die for the freedom and safety for others. Those who were going to fight said their goodbye's where there was no shortage of tears and angst, goodbye's are never easy, goodbye's when you surely know the outcome to be bad are worse. For those who were to fight it was not a sad day, but for those who were destined from the beginning to be left behind it was as if the moon itself had fallen out of the sky that day.

In her dreams Hermione could relive the twister of emotions that raged inside her that day, fear, love, hate, anger, pumping through her veins as adrenaline rushed though her body as they waited. They were not to be disappointed. She, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, Luna, Neville, and the other members of the now defunct Dumbledor's Army stood in a line side by side, their wands at the ready. In front of them every known member of the Order stood just as they did in a straight-line, behind them stood others, those who came to fight at the last minute, those who decided to take a stand and those who refused to have their fate decided without their consent. In the land of nightmares a chill had entered the air, just like as it had that day. The sky became a gray abbess of swirling clouds, the wind began to kick up, and then they saw him. He appeared in a cloud of spinning black smoke his army of Death Eaters behind him. Above them dementors began the appear out of no where, their long black cloth covered bodies floating down to the earth menacingly…With a blood curling scream Hermione awoke in a sweat. Her eyes wide open she took in the room about here, though she could barley see anything it was still dark outside that much she could tell. Breathing heavily she rubbed her face in her hands. It's okay Hermione, you're safe, it's over. She whispered to herself, just has she had every night for the past year when, like clock work; she awoke from the same nightmare night after night. It was starting to become more than a little draining on her nerves.

With a slow sigh she closed her eyes and laid back down on her bed, wiggling under the covers hoping to find the sweet spot in her bed again. Pulling the covers up and tucking them under her chin she fell back into the land of sleep after much hesitation, this time though she would be spared from revisiting the nightmare that was once reality, it seemed the fates had decided that one nightmare a night was plenty, thank you very much.

Set high in the Scottish Highlands, sat a cozy two-story cottage made entirely out of gray stone. Its windows were large and the wooden framing of them freshly painted a crisp white. That house certainly had some oddities to it, for one thing it was built in the middle of nowhere, set miles away from town, for another instead of a normal thatched or shingled roof it instead had a mossy green sod roof that sprouted delicate baby pink and yellow flowers during the Spring time. And for another many children in the village believed the charming little cottage sitting high on a clearing in the hills to be inhabited by a werewolf. One a month, when the moon shown high in the inky black sky, howls could be heard from the small cottage. Many parents in the village below the hills laughed at this belief expressed from their earnest children as mere nonsense. It was common knowledge that a middle-aged man of no certain description lived in the lovely well taken care of cottage. Though few had seen him, once and a while he could be spotted walking down the small stone path that ran from the front of his gray stone gate that surrounded an acre of the land about his house, to the bottom of the hill. Tall green rushes grew up the on side of the hill, spotted with wildflowers, making it impossible to see the neat little path the lead directly to the stone fence's little white gate, but they knew it to be there. For in the winter, when the grass was cleared away and the land void of life, it was easy to see the light colored path that the unknown man had laid upon the mossy earth.

It was also known that the man owned a large Labrador, though his name as well as the man's was mystery to any of the villagers. The parents reasoned away their children's fear of an imagined werewolf away by telling them that the howling they heard simply belonged to the dog. Though the children still remained convinced it was not the dog, no these cries they heard, the howling was not that of a dog, and not that of the wolves that inhabited the hills of Scotland, it was of something else entirely.

One November night a mighty storm raged over the hills of Scotland, the wind howled and tossed the limbs of the trees with a great force, pulling and whipping them in every direction. Rain fell from the sky and made loud pinging noises against the windows of the sleeping villagers. This night, as dark clouds swirled about the sky and drenched the small town, it was impossible to tell that high above where the clouds sat was a brilliantly light full moon. Tonight the cries from the small cottage were not heard, and if you were brave enough to dare make your way out into the storm and wonder up the steep hillside and onto the path that led to the two story cottage and peak inside one of the windows you would see nothing but a dog and a wolf like creature curled upon a deep cranberry colored rug in front of the hearth were a cheery fire glowed casting shadows on the walls.