KEEPING SECRETS


WHEN we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
-'When We Two Parted', George Gordon (Lord) Byron

It's hard to be the one to tell you this
I lied you know, I'm still in love with you
I know you know there's no getting over you
I know you know I'm still in love with you

-'The Kiss', Magic Dirt

Chapter One

"Alright, one last thing before we finish today... I assume you all managed to complete the homework I set you on Tuesday which was to read Magical Beasts of Asia and Europe, chapters 4 to 6. So... who would like to tell me how the Pogrebin catch and devour their prey?"

Silence fell over the classroom. Nobody raised their hand. A half-disappointed, half-amused smile crossed Remus Lupin's face as he turned and walked around his desk, giving the students a few more seconds to answer. He turned back to a sea of blank, guilty faces.

"Nobody? I see, then..." he scanned the third row from the front and spotted Hermione Granger, sandwiched between Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, as always, and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

The girl didn't look up. She seemed to be completely engrossed in the book lying open on her desk. Either that or she was actually trying to stare through it and drill a hole in the floor. Hermione's face was bent so low over her desk that all he could see below her brown, curly hair was the tip of her nose.

A few seconds ticked by and when she still hadn't shot up her hand, he cleared his throat and sat down behind the desk at the front of the classroom. "Very well, I'll remind you, shall I? They do it by following their human prey and infusing them with a sense of bewilderment and hopelessness until the person loses all strength and collapses, allowing the Pogrebin to freely devour them."

His eyes crossed to Hermione a few more times as he spoke, but she still hadn't raised her head. She hadn't shown the slightest interest or enthusiasm for the duration of the lesson, which caused a small pang of concern in Remus. Usually- well, no, always- she was the first one to put up her hand when a question was asked. But not recently.

"That's all for now. If any of you haven't read chapters 4 to 6 I suggest you do it in your own time. We'll be reviewing these next lesson." He smiled and nodded to indicate that the lesson was over.

As the students filed out, Remus cast a few glances at Harry and Ron to see if they were acting unusual, but they both seemed to be fine. They laughed, chatting together, and nudged each other as they trailed along behind Hermione, who was quickly pushing her way out of the classroom.

Remus continued to stare, frowning, and deep in thought at the doorway after the students had left, distracted by Hermione's odd behavior. She was a very bright young witch. Perhaps the most brilliant he had seen. He was fascinated by her knowledge and always took an interest in her activities in the classroom, which was perhaps why her odd behavior had stood out from the very start.

After a long while Remus blinked, realized he had another class coming up, and put his thoughts of Hermione aside. He picked up his notes for that class and began to set them in order for the next lesson.

"Hermione! Where are you going?" Ron shouted after Hermione. She had trotted ahead of them and was making her way down the crowded corridor towards the Grand Staircase.

She jerked and spun around, her brown hair whipping into her face. "Oh... I've got to go to... Herbology."

"No, that's not 'til tomorrow. It's Transfiguration next."

"No, it's Herbology. I've got to go. I'll see you later." She whirled around and hurried off, vanishing into the crowd.

"Wh- Hermione!" Ron called, but she had already gone. Harry walked out of the classroom and stepped up beside him. "Where's she think she's going?"

"Did she say she was going to Herbology?" Harry asked.

"Yeah."

"That's tomorrow."

"I know!" Ron's face pulled into a look of anxious confusion.

Harry stared after her and frowned. "She's been acting really weird lately."

Ron raised his eyebrows doubtfully. "Think we should go after her?"

Harry considered it for a few moments. "She'd tell us if something was wrong. She probably just got her lessons mixed up."

"Harry, we're in Hermione's Herbology class."

Harry shook his head, and then tapped Ron's arm. "Come on. We better get to class. If she's gone off somewhere, we'll never find her now. We can ask her about it later."

"I really think she's losing it, though," Ron muttered gravely, as they continued up the corridor towards the Transfiguration room. "Sometimes she skips classes, and sometimes she shows up in ones she's not even supposed to be taking..."

"I know… She was in Ancient Runes yesterday."

"How can she possibly be doing so many subjects at once?"

"That's Hermione for you." Harry shrugged, trying to make light of it, but in truth he too was extremely worried. There was a feeling of unease about Hermione's increasingly erratic behavior. She wasn't the sort of person to skip classes- or show up at the wrong ones. Distractedly, he pushed his way past a group of Slytherins, following Ron towards Professor McGongall's class.

Hermione stumbled out of the crowded corridor, fled across the landing and up the Grand Staircase towards her dormitory. She snapped a password at the Fat Lady, who swung open grumpily, allowing her access to the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione felt a surge of relief as she ran red-faced across the room and up the last staircase, finally emerging into her own small, comfortable dormitory.

Faded afternoon sunlight filtered in through the red-curtained arched windows. Light-headed, she staggered over to her bed and crawled onto it, dragged the hangings around it for privacy, and slumped face down onto the bed. She pressed her face into the blankets and tried to muffle a sob of desperation.

Why did she feel like this all of a sudden? What had happened in the past few weeks to make her attraction grow so strong? It was like a fever, it burned inside her, and no matter how hard she tried she could not escape or control it. Her heart leaped into her throat whenever she saw him. She had begun to feel nervous and sweaty whenever he looked at her, and when she looked into his eyes she felt like she was drowning.

As her heartbeat drummed against her chest, her face buried in the bedcovers, her eyes began to sting but she refused to cry. She knew her schoolwork was suffering because of this obsession. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed... and to make matters worse, she was taking twice as many classes as she should be, since Professor McGonagall had given her the Time Turner. Mentally she counted the days she had Defense Against the Dark Arts that week. She had it Wednesday, and Friday, in the morning just before lunch and last thing on Friday.

I can't do it, her mind screamed. I can't go into that classroom and just sit there like everything's normal! I can't go on feeling like this!

But the truth was undeniable. She was in love with a teacher. And if today was anything to go by, another lesson with Professor Lupin might kill her.

She moaned and gripped her head, knotting her fingers in her hair as if she could rip out the thoughts buried within.

Remus rubbed his eyes and blinked, trying to focus on the book held out in front of him. He squinted at it. Slowly the words came back into focus.

"Vampires do not always feed on the blood of a living host, despite popular belief. The Bebarlangs of the Philippines draw energy from their victims, consuming their life force."

He took a blank sheet of parchment and began to write, copying down notes. Eventually his hand started to ache and his forehead to throb; he put down the quill and leaned back in the long, low couch. Behind him in the library disjointed voices floated across the large, high-ceilinged space, reminding him of the presence of the other students. He reached into his coat pocket and looked at his watch. It was a quarter past nine. The crowd in the library was thinning out as one by one the students left to go to their dormitories. He didn't mind the thought of being left here alone; he would have taken the books back to his chambers to study but the little reading alcove was just as comfortable, and the constant, familiar smell of old books was comforting to him.

So why did he feel so exhausted all of a sudden?

Because you're getting old, Remus, he thought dryly.

Frowning, he picked up the quill again and began to take down notes. He was preparing an assignment for the First Years and he still had a pile of marking left to do.

He worked tiredly, pausing occasionally to rub his forehead and squint, trying to massage away the headache that was blooming there. Perhaps an hour later Madam Pince shuffled over to the couch, her arms crossed about her thin body, clutching the sides of her faded velvet cloak.

"I'll be closing the library now, Professor Lupin," she said, and placed three candles on the table in front of him. Removing a short wand from inside her heavy draped robes, she flicked it curtly at the candles and small flames sprang up on each wick. "I like to put out the other enchanted candles at night- so it will be rather gloomy in here. These will burn for as long as you need them." Her narrow lips pulled into a smile, and Remus nodded politely.

"Thank you, Madam Pince. I shall be finishing here soon."

She nodded and turned away, mumbling a polite goodnight, and he turned back to his book.

Hermione sat at a desk at the end of one of the long aisles in a deep corner of the library. Her head was throbbing and her hand ached terribly; she had been writing non-stop for several hours. She was so focused on her homework she didn't even realize that the library had emptied and grown dark around her. When the last of the enchanted candles in a sconce above her head flicked out, she looked up in surprise. Distantly she heard voices and then the heavy library door closing.

She knew she wasn't locked in, however; the library was never locked at night. She looked despairingly at the parchments strewn on the desk below. She wasn't nearly finished. She was working her way through her Ancient Runes homework slowly, but distracted by thoughts of Professor Lupin that kept pushing their way to the front of her mind. Ever since McGonagall had given her the Time Turner so that she could take on more classes, she had doubled the amount of homework than was usual. This, added to her recent obsession with Professor Lupin, had left her in a near constant state of exhaustion and stress. To be honest, her marks were going down. Her spell-work in Transfiguration had become sloppy; she often got her ingredients mixed up in Potions class, and she was useless in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She couldn't even look at her Professor.

Hermione shivered. It was cold in this corner of the library, and with no candles to give light or warmth; she reached into her robe and pulled out her wand. "Lumos," she whispered, and the end of the wand lit up, surrounding her with a pool of cold, white light.

There was nothing for it. She had to finish this length of parchment before tomorrow. Holding the wand in her other hand, she shook her hair out of her eyes, put the quill to the paper and began to write again.

"There are serious long-term side effects for a vampire that sustains itself on animal blood for an extended period of time…"

Remus checked his pocket watch again. It was almost eleven 'o clock. He yawned, and massaged the back of his neck. Almost done here. He was looking forward to getting back to his chambers and going to sleep, but there were still several items that had to be prepared for tomorrow's classes, and he was determined to finish them in spite of the ache behind his eyes, and the heavy, droopy feeling that was settling over them. His mind wandered.

Hermione's been acting odd lately.

He made an effort to call students by their first names, it made them more comfortable. He supposed he liked to think of himself more as their friend than their Professor, which made them more relaxed around him. Well, not all of them of course. He suspected that Draco and a few other Slytherins strongly disliked him. Hermione, on the other hand... well, she was certainly the most vibrant and knowledgeable in his class, and seemed to like him a lot, as did Harry and Ron. He got along well with most of the students.

This made Hermione's recent behaviour even more worrying. He was sure Ron and Harry had noticed too; they often shared furtive, worried glances over Hermione's head during class. He tried to think back to when she had started acting abnormal.

It was about three weeks ago.

Perhaps she's having problems at home. Parents had an argument or something.

Possibly. Yes, that's probably what it was. That or something else at school was bothering her.

A fight with her friends?

That didn't seem likely; her ties with Harry and Ron were still strong.

Does she have any other friends?

A boyfriend?

He suddenly felt a tight, twisting sensation in his stomach and shivered.

Why am I thinking about this? It's none of my business.

No. It certainly wasn't. And why did the thought of her having a boyfriend make his guts curl up like that? He raised a hand to his head and rubbed it nervously along one cheek. An itch had formed there. He looked down at the table, at the books lying there, and realized that he had still a lot of a work to do; this was no time to be thinking about Hermione, despite any problems she may have at home or at school. So he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.

Maybe because you didn't like where they were going.

Thisnew, dark thought unsettled him, and he tried to ignore it. Quickly he replaced the book he had been taking notes from and sifted through the pile for another one, roughly pushing the books around as he searched for the one he was looking for.

In his carelessness he nudged a book that was next to one of the candles Madam Pince had set down for him, which was also rather close to the edge of the desk. The movement of the book sent it skidding over the side in one smooth movement. It fell onto the rug below with a dull thump.

"Blast."

Remus edged himself off the couch and peered around the side of the desk, wincing when he saw the mess he had made on the rug beneath. The candle had fallen out of its holder and extinguished itself on the rug, thankfully not setting it alight, but tiny droplets of wax had been splattered across the edge of the rug and the hard, polished wood beneath.

He pulled out his wand and muttered an incantation to remove the wax, from both the rug and the floor. He knelt and felt it with his fingers. The rug still had a slightly greasy, waxy feel, but the blobs were gone. He carefully picked up the candle holder and placed it, and the candle, back on the table.

With his light sources diminished, he sat his wand on the table and ran both hands through his hair, sitting for a while in silence.

I have been thinking about Hermione far too much lately…

He clenched his hands in his hair with frustration. He was worried about Hermione, that was all. She was his best student. Why shouldn't he care if she's having problems at home? If it was affecting her marks, it was entirely his business.

Dismally he raised his head and looked at the messy pile of books. It was getting very late. He would finish planning out the assignment for the First Years, and then he would clean up this mess and go to bed. Tiredly, he searched the pile for a large red leather notebook, leaned back on the couch, and then swung both his feet up onto it. With a cushion propped up behind his back, he opened the book and started to write.

Finished.

Hermione put down her quill. The muscles in her writing hand were aching awfully, and the other one had gone numb. With immeasurable relief she tidied up he books and returned the ones she didn't need to the shelves. She was so tired she could hardly remember what she'd written. Her body ached longingly for the comfort of her soft, warm bed. It was this thought that encouraged her as she cleared the desk, held out her wand and made her way down the long aisle to the center of the library.

As she walked across the large central room, she glanced around the corners of the library, noticing a few candles still lit on a table over by a small fireplace in a reading area. Books seemed to be strewn haphazardly across the desk and a long, low couch sat facing it, but its back was turned to her and no-one appeared to be sitting there. However, the candles and the books indicated that someone had been there, and recently.

Absently, her head still throbbing, she wandered across the room, setting her books down on a desk and walking towards the unlit fireplace and the messy table.

As she approached the couch she noticed, curiously, a wand sitting on the desk among the books, and thought it strange that someone would leave their wand lying unattended, even this late at night…

Then she stepped around the couch and saw the figure lying there, and her heart jumped. She stifled a gasp. The figure was stretched out on the couch, unconscious. It looked as if he had fallen asleep while reading- a book was resting open and facedown on his chest, his hands loosely gripping the sides. It was Professor Lupin. Tucked under the fingers of his left hand was a quill.

Hermione's heartbeat settled into a strong, nervous drumbeat. She stared at Lupin in surprise and embarrassment as jumbled thoughts chased their way through her head. She ran her eyes over the scene and could piece most of it together. Lupin had stayed up late doing research, had sat back and dozed off while writing in the red notebook. That didn't explain why he'd left his wand sitting on the table though. Two candles were lit on the table; a third stood lopsided and unlit in its holder.

Hermione looked at the Professor. He must have been very tired. She noticed that a strand of brown hair had fallen across one of his eyes and it stirred a feeling of tenderness and desire; but this was quickly swamped by her embarrassment as she realized what he might think if he woke up to find her staring at him in her sleep.

She blushed and looked away awkwardly, feeling like an intruder.

I suppose I should wake him up…

She was reluctant to do that. He looked so peaceful. But it disturbed her that he had left the candles lit and his wand out- the candles might splutter and catch fire to something and the wand… well, if anyone had a mind to wander into the library in the middle of the night, they might steal it. It was unlikely, but still… She should wake him. He would probably thank her.

Go on, then.

She took a hesitant step forward, and then stopped. Her eyes were drawn back to that strand of hair. Just looking at it made her feel weak and strange.

Stop being stupid and wake him up!

The truth was she didn't want to. She wanted to look at him for a while longer. She traced the lines of his face with her eyes, and watched the slow, gentle rise of his chest. The tiny feathers of the quill in his hand fluttered slightly every time he exhaled. She watched, mesmerized. A gentle heat crept over her body.

Her mouth was very dry. She was finding it increasingly difficult to breath, and although she still felt a dull ache in her head, it no longer bothered her. She swallowed and her throat felt like sandpaper. His neck was slightly raised; his head was propped against a cushion that had been stuffed into the arm of the couch. One leg was folded languidly over the other. Her eyes kept returning to that strand of hair. She had an almost overwhelming desire to reach out and brush it away from his forehead.

Oh god. I must be crazy.

She stood, frozen to the spot, about four feet away from the couch. Her hands remained by her side, both empty now; she had left her wand back on the table with the rest of her things. Somewhere, close by, a clock was ticking. It was the only sound she could hear.

Only that and the soft hiss of his breath.

She realized she wasn't breathing, and sucked in a gulp of air. Her hands were tingling for some reason. She clenched them, hard, and her nails bit into her palms painfully. Seconds ticked by meaninglessly. She became lulled by the soft movement of his breathing and the warm candlelight; it was like she had wandered into a dream.

I just want to brush that hair away. That's all. I just want to see what it feels like..

Resolute, she took a step forward. Then she shivered and thought what if he wakes up? Would he be angry with her? Probably. Disgusted was more likely. Her skin crawled. She couldn't bear that.

Suddenly an image flashed into her mind, something that had happened in class a few weeks ago. Before all this had started. She had been working and she had looked up to the front of the class. And he had been staring at her.

Watching her.

Something had passed between them then. She probably hadn't realized it at the time, but there had been something in his gaze that day. Something dark and hidden and secret.

Or was she just reading too much into it? Had her mind just reinvented the image to indulge herself right now, to make what she was feeling seem more justified?

But… hadn't he looked away a little too quickly when he met my eyes?

She looked down at the sleeping man, and felt her heartbeat in her throat.

What will he do if he wakes up?

He breathed in again, deeply and evenly. He was very much asleep. She doubted he would wake, even were she to tap him on the shoulder. He wasn't going to wake up. Heart in her mouth, she took two quick steps up to the couch. Suddenly she was very close to him. She could smell his scent; it was deep and woody and rich. The hairs lay across his eyes, tickling his eyelashes. She raised a hand out in front of her and was alarmed to see that it was shaking quite badly.

But she needed to touch him. She knelt beside the couch.

She lowered her hand and instead of his face, she laid her fingers on his upper arm, and pressed gently. The fabric of his coat was rough and thick, but she could feel the firm skin underneath and it sent a ripple of nervous energy through her. She pressed a little harder, to see if he would wake.

"Professor," she said softly, still applying light pressure to his arm. He continued to breathe evenly and didn't stir. "Professor Lupin."

Nothing.

Slowly Hermione raised her hand to his face and held it poised there for a moment. Sweat glistened on her forehead. She thought she might faint soon if she didn't breathe again, but the desire was so strong now that nothing else seemed to matter except Remus and her, them and the soft circle of light from the candles.

All the rest was darkness.

Without even realizing it, she had bent very close and their faces were now level with each other. She moved the hand slowly down to his forehead and pressed her knuckles there, as if feeling his forehead for a fever.

In a light, smooth movement she drew her hand across his face, brushing the hair from his eyes.

The next few things happened so quickly, and so instinctively, that she almost felt like someone else had taken control of her body.

She found herself staring intensely at his mouth, and wondering at the feel of his lips… and slowly she moved her hand down over her eyes, palm flat, covering them both.

Then she leaned over the couch and bent her head over his, and touched her lips lightly to his mouth.

A feeling of complete serenity flooded through her and filled her being. She forgot the pain in her head that had long ago faded to a dull, distant ache, and she forgot the carpet prickling up though her knees, or the fact that he was her Professor, her teacher, and much older than her.

She forgot everything in that moment.

It lasted perhaps three slow seconds, until she pulled her head away and their lips parted, and then sensation crashed back into her. She gave a little tremulous gasp and rocked back on her knees, her heart hammering, and almost overbalanced into the table behind her.

Oh my god Hermione what are you doing!

She started to get to her knees, poised to run, and then froze. Her senses went into total lockdown.

On the couch, Lupin's eyes flickered under his eyelids. He drew in another long, slow breath… and held it.

That was all Hermione waited to see. She sprang to her feet as if on springs, and bolted around the couch, sprinting for the door. Her black school shoes clicked loudly on the floor.

As the last of her footsteps echoed around the vaulted ceiling, Remus opened his eyes.

He sat up slowly, dazed, as the heavy library door swung closed. The sound of its heavy 'thunk' ricocheted back to him ominously.

He bent over the couch, and slowly raised a hand to his lips.

My god, who was that?

His heart was pounding. He had been having a dream. Something about books, but he couldn't remember. Then all of a sudden he had felt a pressure on his lips, and had slowly swam back into consciousness, half convinced it was another part of his dream.

But apparently he had been wrong.

Frowning, confused, he surveyed the table in front of him. He noticed his wand, lying among the books, and cursed softly. He reached for it and shoved it back into the pocket inside his coat. The candles, too, were still burning, and he quickly rose, shoving the books into some semblance of order. His hands were shaking slightly as he stacked up his books to occupy himself. He was afraid, if he paused to think, he would be more confused than ever.

He silently berated himself for being such a careless fool, leaving the candles and his wand out like that. He couldn't remember how or when he'd fallen asleep.

But it was definitely time to go to bed. He tried to push the disturbing fact that one of his students –presumably- had just kissed him in his sleep, out of his mind. He put out the candles and lifted up his books, arms still feeling rubbery, and that they might drop the books at any moment. As he made his way around the couch and to the front of the library, his eyes fell upon a small stack of books upon a desk. They looked out of place there, and Remus felt an uneasy sensation when he looked at them.

Like they belonged to the person who just left.

He put his own books down on the table beside them, and with the light from his wand, ran his eyes over the stack. The feeling of unease increased as he reached down to sift through them. He came across a length of parchment, and almost reluctantly he read the name at the top.

'Pythagoras and the Pythagoreans: an essay by H. Granger.'

A cold chill washed over him. A tiny frown creased his brow. Remus dropped the paper back into the pile and carefully straightened up the books. He suddenly didn't feel much like sleeping anymore.

Hermione jerked upright in bed, spilling the covers off her body.

Morning sunlight that bathed the small dormitory in gold had filtered through her red hangings and cast her pale face in a soft ruby glow. Her eyes were wide and shocked, and her hair hung about her face in a chaotic tangle. A terrible realization had come to her as she lay blinking away the last tendrils of sleep.

She had left her schoolbooks in the library last night.
Her mouth was suddenly full of sick dread like bile, and she felt she might be ill. Crazy heat flushed into her face and forehead, leaving her faint.

He'll know it was me. Oh god. Please don't let him have found the books.

Her hands trembling, Hermione shoved back the sheets and half-rolled, half-fell out of bed and began throwing on her school clothes. Desperate thoughts flashed through her mind.

Maybe he won't! And anyway, it doesn't mean I was there last NIGHT, I might have left them there during the DAY, plenty of students do that! They're leaving things around all the time! It doesn't MEAN anything! He CAN'T FIND OUT, HE CAN'T!

Recklessly, she fumbled around in her suitcase searching for her shoes, dropped them onto the floor with a heavy thud, and proceeded to cram both onto her feet at the same time. In a bed on the opposite side of the room, the red hangings were tugged apart and a bleary, sleepy face peered out.

"Could you be any louder if you tried?" The girl mumbled, and, getting no response, let out an annoyed sigh and disappeared back into the shadows of her bed.

Fully, but shabbily dressed, Hermione slammed her suitcase closed and thudded across the room towards the door.

"I'm sorry... there were no books."

Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach. Her vision swam; she realized she might actually be going to cry- right here, in the middle of the library, with everyone watching. She didn't really care. In truth there were only a handful of students in the library at this early hour of the morning, and the librarian, Madam Pince, was the only other person around.

You didn't actually expect him to still be here, did you? That's just stupid, Hermione.

"Um, please, they have to be here somewhere, I left them on that table over there," she pointed, "when I was studying… because I was in a hurry and I had to get to class…" she realized how feeble these excuses sounded, but was unable to stop the flow of words. Her voice had become almost a whisper.

"I checked all the tables," Madam Pince said in her thin voice. "I always do. Students are always leaving their things around." She pursed her thin lips, and added, "You should be more careful with your books, young lady."

A little gasp escaped Hermione; her efforts to hold back a sob. With all the composure she could manage she turned and walked slowly towards the library door, and out onto the landing. Standing there, looking down the steps of the Grand Staircase, she felt like she absolutely must cry now; nothing was left for her to hope for. Lupin was going to ask to talk to her and then hand all her books back, and he was going to look at her like she was crazy; or he might even tell McGonagall. Yes. She would be called into McGonagall's office.

Just the thought of sitting there while McGonagall, and possibly Lupin, and any number of other teachers looked on and berated her- just that thought, was enough to make her want to crawl into a deep, dark hole and die. A tear slipped down her face, unleashing a flood of despair, and she ran up the staircase towards the girl's bathroom.

Lupin found himself standing on the 7th floor landing, his palms slick with sweat, clutching Hermione's schoolbooks in his arms. He wondered, again, why this was bothering him so much. Why was he so nervous? Hermione was his student, for god's sake. He hadn't felt nervous like this since he was a schoolboy.

That thought caused his stomach to clench in panic. He should not be having feelings like this at all. It wasn't normal.

He balanced the books on one hand and wiped his palm on his coat.

"Good morning, Professor."

He turned around, startled, and smiled at a black-haired Gryffindor girl in what he hoped was an easy-going and natural manner. "Oh, good morning, Georgine." She returned the smile as she jogged past him and out of sight down the stairs.

He faced the portrait of the Fat Lady and spoke the password.

He entered the Common Room. There were several students around, who looked up in mild surprise as he entered. He knew, as a teacher, he had every right to be here but he still felt uncomfortable. He smiled again at the students to put them at ease, and made his way over to one of the desks.

"Will someone see that Miss Granger gets her books? Madam Pince asked me to return them for her."

That was a lie. His skin crawled; he had hardly known what he was saying until it was out of his mouth. It shocked him how easy it was.

Two girls were sitting on chairs by the fireplace. One of them, perched on the arm of the chair, looked up. "She's already gone. She wasn't in bed when I got up."

He paused. Probably gone to the library to look for them. "Well, then… I'll just leave them here for her. You'll let her know where they are if you see her?"

"Sure."

"Thank you." He turned and made his way out of the Common Room and onto the landing. The portrait hole swung closed behind him.

There. That wasn't so hard.

He started towards the staircase, and then stopped. What to do now? He could hardly just carry on like normal. They would see each other in class eventually. It was obvious that he'd have to talk to her; he couldn't just leave this unspoken accusation in the air between them. One of them would break eventually.

No. He didn't want to cause a scene. He should talk to Hermione discreetly and put the matter to rest.

The thought of confronting the girl made him feel slightly ill.

Why am I over-reacting like this?

That bothered him. The fact that he had taken this so seriously. But there was another issue. Why did she do it? It was completely unlike her to act so impulsively.

Remus draw in a breath and turned back to the portrait hole, wondering if he should go back in, when suddenly the door swung open and Ron Weasley stepped out, followed by Harry Potter. They both looked up at him in surprise. His mind raced, trying to think of what to say.

"Ah, Harry. Ron. How are you this morning?"

Harry blinked. He looked at Ron with a hint of nervousness. "Fine thanks sir."

I imagine it's not everyday they step outside to find a teacher waiting for them.

Remus raised his eyebrows in what he hopes was a look of mild curiosity. "Is Hermione about?"

Harry's nervousness changed to concern. "Err- no, we haven't seen her this morning." He frowned slightly.

"Oh I see. That's fine. If you see her can you tell her to drop by and see me in my classroom at lunchtime?"

Harry nodded, but the look on his face didn't change. "Ok. We'll tell her."

"Thanks." He started down the steps.

"Professor Lupin…"

"Yes Harry?"

"Has Hermione… is she in trouble or something?"

Remus froze in mid step, and frowned at Harry. He braced himself for the inevitable lies. "No, Harry. Of course not. What makes you think that?"

"It's just that… she's been acting really weird lately." He shrugged and looked awkwardly at Ron. "I just thought that might be why you wanted to see her."

Remus smiled; again it felt fake and unreal. "I can assure you, she's not in trouble. I'd like to discuss something with her, that's all. On your way down to breakfast?" He changed the subject abruptly, but Harry and Ron seemed to be more at ease. They accompanied him down the Grand Staircase to the Great Hall.

Hermione stared at her pale reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror. Her eyes were slightly red-rimmed, but at least the tears had stopped. Somewhere in the back of the room she could hear Moaning Myrtle whimpering softly. She had come to the unused girl's bathroom because it was the only place she could be relatively sure no-one else would see her- no-one except Myrtle, of course. She had spent the last fifteen minutes trying to find out what Hermione was so upset about. Not that she had shown very much sympathy, or tact.

"I suppose you're going to leave now," the ghost said petulantly, blinking at Hermione from behind her large glasses. Hermione glanced beside her reflection in the mirror and looked at Myrtle, who was hovering near the ceiling above one of the stalls.

"Yes, Myrtle," she said quietly. Her voice sounded unsteady.

"I knew it," Myrtle said, pouting. "I never get any visitors. Nobody comes up here to talk to me. All they want to do is..." she gave a little moan, "…Cry."

"Sorry," Hermione said, without really meaning it. She had bigger problems on her mind right now.

"Fine. Don't talk to me." The ghost hovered above the stall for a few more seconds, frowning, and then floated over to the window. Then she seemed to have a thought, and an odd look came over her face. "But if you see Harry, tell him I said… hello." She smiled sweetly.

Hermione gave her a last disparaging glance, and left the room, closing the door behind her. She headed down the corridor towards the staircase. Her initial fear had gone now, all she felt was a dull, sickly kind of dread. She knew for sure that Lupin had found her books. She would have to return to the dormitory to get the few spell books she did have, and then go down to the Great Hall. No doubt Harry and Ron were worrying about her. She felt instantly guilty.

So many people I've hurt… Ron, Harry, Lupin. Myself. Why did I do it?

Why, why, why?

That wasn't getting her anywhere though. It only brought back the helplessness and anger, anger at herself for not knowing better. She tried to remain calm and maintain a blank expression as she walked back to her room.

She reached the Common Room and stepped through. It was empty now; everyone had gone down to breakfast. She half-expected to see Ron or Harry sitting there waiting for her, but she knew that was selfish. As she crossed the room she noticed a pile of books sitting on a desk over near the notice-board; she hardly glanced at them. Then she stopped, looked again, and a wave of dizzying relief washed over her.

They were her books. He must have left them for her. She walked over and tentatively opened the first one, as if to make sure everything was still there. It was. She gave a tiny shudder. I must have just missed him. Silently, thankfully, she gathered them up in her arms and ran up to her room to get the rest of her things.