I am thinking it's a sign
That the freckles in our eyes
Are mirror images and when we kiss
They're perfectly aligned
Past - Fifth year, Winter Break
Snow drifted lazily down past the windows of the tower, the homey atmosphere of the common filled with its boughs of holly adorning the walls and the christmas tree in the corner undisturbed by the dancing flakes and flurries in the air. Maybe it was just Hes' imaginatin, she pondered as she turned a page, but for some rather odd reason, and despite the fact she'd chosen to stay at the castle for the break, homesickness swept through her without so much as a by-your-leave.
It was the first Christmas that the Gryffindor had spent away from home, away from her family since she'd first started at Hogwarts and it was with a sigh escaping her lips that she gave up on the text, shutting it with a soft thud. There was something about the peaceful quiet that filled the common room, she thought absently, that stimulated one's need to be productive, really. She'd already finished the majority of the homework set for break - excepting Potions, but really, the thought of cauldrons and toad eyes and the ilk was enough to make the hairs on her arms stand on end- and it was with a stretch of her arms above her head, and the curve of her back that she decided her next move.
Or what would've been her next move, had not a sound to the side of her abruptly shocked her into actual consciousness. Hazel eyes flicked to the source, widening as they took in the form of a fellow (and very familiar) fifth year boy.
A sheepish grin, and a gesture to the armchair near her accompanied his mumbled apology for bothering her, before he was folding into the chair in a tangle of graceless limbs and leather bound books. Hes blinked a few moments more, her cheeks warm (though she quickly attributed it to the warmth of the fire, whose proximity she hadn't vacated in what felt like forever) and suddenly voicelexs, her words entrapped in the confines of her throat.
Licking her lips - really, what on earth was the matter with her?- Hes chanced another glance at Remus, watching him as he flipped a page. Shaking her head, she pushed out of her seat, textbook clasped loosely in her hand. She was halfway to the stairs, when she turned, a sudden surge of boldness into something productive.
"Merry Christmas Remus," Hes smiled, and yes, she did ignore the little flutter of her heartbeat as he glanced up, startled and met her smile with a grin of his own.
"Merry Christmas Hes," He returned, and no, Hes would not admit that that bounce in her step as she took the stairs two at a time was a result of that boy, not at all.
At least, not out loud.
And I have to speculate
That God himself did make us
Into corresponding shapes
Like puzzle pieces from the clay
Present - 1976
Silence filled the library, the ghosts of whispers from other groups of students barely reaching the redhead's ears where she sat, curled around a sheet of parchment and with ink dotting her fingers - and, of course, with absolutely no incentive to finish this dratted Potions essay. Her quill tapped lightly on the parchment, and Hes swung her foot absently with a rub of her cheek. Honestly, the merits of bezoars was so much less interesting when the subject matter was oh so dry. Pulling a little face, and pushing her chair back from the table, she moved towards the shelves where the redhead knew that there was more research materials.
Rounding the corner (and out of Madame Pince's sight, she was pleased to note), Hes could hear footsteps behind her. Half turning with mild curiosity, Hes caught sight of her boyfriend's grin, before she was pushed lightly back against the shelf, one of his hands cupping her cheek and the other resting on her waist. She grinned with a raised eyebrow, hooking her thumbs into the belt loops of his trousers and tugged him closer. It was with a wicked grin, and the slight pressure of her body against his that soon had his attention captured whilst her lips caught his as he started to speak.
It was some time later that the pair reemerged from the area - and from the looks of them, one would be hard pressed to say anything out of the ordinary had occurred. But a closer look at the slightly smeared gloss on Hes' lips, Remus' messier-then-usual hair and the wrinkled uniforms, and one, perhaps, wouldn't be so hard pressed to draw one hell of a conclusion.
The question, of whether said conclusion was true, would however stay locked behind the grin on Remus' face, and the carefully innocent look on Hes'.
And true it may seem like a stretch
But it's thoughts like this that catch
My troubled head when you're away
When I am missing you to death
Future - Anywhere from 1978-1980?
In the wizarding world, the night of the full moon was a time of omens, of portents, of potions, and of course, of werewolves. It was the seventh month since the big revelation - Remus' "furry little secret" was no longer such a secret, and it'd become a… tradition of sorts, for Hes to wrap herself in one of the blankets they normally kept on the bed, and to sit on the couch, watching the fire burn to coals as the night drew on and on.
Sometimes, she'd still be awake when he stumbled in, the night's events freshly scarred on his face, his chest, his arms. Those times, she knew he'd been to Lily before her, knew it when he walked straight to the kitchen without meeting her gaze and put the kettle on.
Other times, it was the kettle whistling on the fire that woke her up, and she'd start awake, glancing around in that familiar haze of half-dreaming. Sometimes, she'd stay quiet, watching him from her vantage point. It was when he was unaware of an audience, she'd found, that everything seemed to drag his shoulders down. The numbers tattooed on his shoulder blade, ones she sometimes found herself tracing when she was sure he was lost to sleep, always stood out so much more after a full moon. Whether it was because, unconsciously, she sought them out or not, the fact remained that they were there, that the Ministry ( people who were supposed to be just, supposed to be fair) had done that to him.
The front door opened, and she turned her head towards the sound of footsteps, heavy and weary. It wasn't until Remus was leaning against the doorway, looking exhausted and sick beyond compare that Hes stood, moving quietly till she was in front of him.
There's a brief moment where he refuses to meet her eye, as she takes his hand and tugs him down the hall towards the bedroom - all she wants is for him to sleep, to heal. He might not like it, but it's what she does - it soothes the itch to try and heal him herself, to smooth away the pain.
She's going grey too soon - he's got crow's feet at the edge of his eyes. They're not yet twenty, and already, it feels like they've lived a lifetime.
When you are out there on the road
For several weeks of shows
And when you scan the radio
I hope this song will guide you home