"Look at you, Hermione."

Her gaze rises to meet yours, and you feel yourself flushing even as she says, "Look at me what?"

You gesture up and down, taking in the bags under her eyes, the books and parchment that surround her, and Ron and Harry, who are both snoring softly on the other end of the table. "Don't you think you're wearing yourself a bit thin?"

"Not at all, Pr—Rem—Professor." Now she's the one flushing, and you can't help but appreciate that you've made her feel so flustered, even if it's not for the reasons you might like.

"Hermione, you're in the Order; you know I don't expect you or your friends to call me 'Professor Lupin' outside of class," you reassure her. The addition of 'your friends' was little more than an afterthought, an attempt to make yourself feel less guilty. It's not working.

She accepts your excuse, though, regardless of how flimsy it may be. "Remus, then. I find all of my classes fascinating. It might be difficult to keep up sometimes, but I can handle it."

"If anyone can, I suppose it's you." The words come out with a fond smile, and judging by her blush, she's flattered. "Promise me you'll take a break soon, at least."

"Here, wait." She reaches in front of you and picks up a great stack of parchment, placing it on her other side. "Stay. You can be my break." Your thoughts race, weighing all of the pros and cons in a matter of seconds. She apparently notices when your eyes drift to Harry and Ron because she says, "Don't worry about them; they've been out cold for an hour or so now. I think they get their best sleep in the library… Otherwise I've got no idea why they come here with me."

You laugh, although you know she thinks too poorly of her own joke to expect any sort of true response. "Alright, I'll stay for a little while." You sit down in the chair beside her and lean closer to examine the essay that she's in the process of writing. "Is this for Severus?"

"Yes. Six feet of parchment on the Wolfsbane Potion, due tomorrow morning."

Of course. It figures. You wonder briefly if Dumbledore will be getting another onslaught of letters complaining about you, but it occurs to you that very few students at Hogwarts know that you're a werewolf anymore… And you haven't encountered any students aside from Hermione who are clever enough to pick up on it themselves.

Just another thing that sets Hermione apart from… everyone.

"Well, I happen to be an expert on those!" She giggles, and because you want to keep her going, you continue: "Mind you, I'm an expert in drinking them, not really making them. I'm rather abysmal with potions, you know."

"I don't believe that."

You smile. "Then you're fooling yourself. I'd be interested in reading what you've got so far, though."

"It's not that good."

"I don't believe that."

Hermione smiles and pushes the parchment toward you, murmuring, "Touché."

Your eyes scan it quickly, and it's perfect, of course. You slide it back in front of her, and say, "It's almost flawless."

Immediately, her eyes grow wide. "What did I get wrong? It's that bit about the brewing time, isn't it? I knew I was off—"

"Hermione, Hermione," you interrupt, chuckling. "Not that. I just wanted to add to your list of side effects."

"Oh?"

"Oh yes. Namely, the inevitable craving for Cockroach Clusters."

This time, both of you laugh, her with a loud chortle that increases your heartbeat exponentially and that prompts Madam Pince to look at you both in disgust. You ignore it, because at that moment Hermione says, "You're lying."

"Absolutely not. I take side effects of Wolfsbane Potion very seriously."

"I don't think Snape will believe me if I try to say that a craving for Cockroach Clusters is a side effect of the Wolfsbane Potion." Regardless, you notice that she scribbles a note beside her already-present list of side effects. It makes you so happy you could sing. She makes you so happy you could cry.

Before you can say anything else, Madam Pince has appeared behind you, a scowl distorting her face. "Professor, I'm afraid you and this young lady here are causing a disturbance." You don't bother to note that it is late, and there is absolutely no one else in the library.

"I apologize," you say, and your tone is suddenly professional. "I was simply helping Miss Granger here on her potions essay; she finds Professor Snape rather intimidating, and chose to come to me instead. If you'd like us to go elsewhere, we would be glad to oblige."

Madam Pince chooses not to respond and just sniffs slightly before going on, zeroing in on Harry and Ron—no doubt about to wake and scold them. You lean close to Hermione - not as close as perhaps you'd like, not as close as you've often imagined, but close - and whisper, "She's just bitter because she knows that you've got better things in your future than becoming a Hogwarts librarian."

Hermione doesn't seem to know how to react, not because she is not amused but because she is so utterly unaccustomed to hearing such comments from a professor. And she has a right to be so puzzled: you should know better. You should have more sense than to talk to her in such a way, as though she is your equal. Because even though she is, she is not supposed to be.

Instead of pushing her to respond, you rise abruptly. You reach toward her shoulder, but at the last moment you decide that even such a gesture would be inappropriate, so you wrench your hand away. "I look forward to hearing what Severus has to say about your essay, Hermione."

A week later, you find the essay on your desk after a class with the Gryffindor seventh years, although you didn't see Hermione put it there. Snape wrote just one comment: I don't appreciate students that parrot the jokes of our werewolf-in-residence.

She left you a note of her own as well, one that you read with a smile: I'll take the lower mark any day.