Hourglass.

Summary: Hermione Granger never wanted to travel far into the past, she didn't mean to get stranded there indefinitely and she never expected to want to stay there. Time was always against her. RLHG.

Chapter One.

Her anger, her fury, at Mr Newberry over-rode everything and she walked through the Leaky Cauldron half in a rage. Eyes stinging with tears of raw anger, fingers twitching to hex the fat, balding pig of a man until he was sprouting feelers and hooves, or being pecked to death by a flock of twittering birds. Anger at herself welled up too. How could she have been so idiotic?

Excitement about the party and about seeing all the people she cared about had lead her to be stupid, careless and to make a mistake that could affect everything. Her meticulous tendencies had failed her for once.

If she had been thinking rationally she would have returned to the alley and searched for the bag the Time Turner was contained in. Hermione did not often become as angry as she was then, but when she did it clouded her mind and blocked the logical mind she was so proud of. Her feet carried her on until she was storming aimlessly down the winding Alley. Rain, and sleet, began to fall.

The smell of coffee billowing from a door when it opened made her pause and stare hungrily into the tiny shop. It was obviously warm and - her stomach gave a loud rumble - she was ravenous. Her last meal was a full day ago at least. Saving her appetite for one of Mrs Weasley's all-night feasts suddenly seemed like a very bad idea. Pushing the door open, she slid gratefully inside and brushed a few clumps of sleet from her bushy hair.

The edge of her anger dulled somewhat.

An elderly man with a thick, grey beard that spilled in a jumbled tangle over the table he was occupying gave her a scathing look up and down. She returned his gaze steadily and wondered vaguely if she looked as cold as she was. Her numb fingers fumbled in the recesses of the tiny pocket at the front of the dress. Two gold galleons, five sickles, three knuts, a crumpled receipt and half a packet of chewing gum.

A young boy, with acne effectively laying siege to his features, raised an eyebrow when she approached the counter - sandals squelching on the lino as she moved forward.

"A bowl of lentil soup... A coffee - white, two raw sugars. Please," she forced a smile for him only to receive a glower.

Just as she was handing over the money the soft tinkling sound of a bell alerted her to another customer entering, and probably looking her over as well. She lifted the chipped plastic tray and slipped over to the only free table left - wedged in an alcove in one of the dim, grubby corners. She sat down and eyed the wide soup spoon critically in the light of one of the lanterns swinging erratically around the room. Deciding that she wouldn't catch anything from the suspicious looking stains - and almost too hungry to care - she sipped the steaming soup, mind whirring over thoughts of her situation and a solution to her problem.

It slid down her throat; hot and heavy with cream. Her stomach gave an impatient growl as she leaned over slightly and began slurping down the soup as quickly as she could without scalding her throat and looking too disgusting. She was probably failing miserably. Scooping out her change she counted it carefully with a slight crease in her brow. Next to no money, no decent clothes to ward off the atrocious weather - the best part of all - and over a decade in the past.

Great, wonderful -

"Do you mind if I sit here? There are no seats left," said a slightly husky, embarrassed sounding voice.

Hermione swallowed a large quantity of boiling soup just as she looked up and choked slightly in her haste to answer. Standing there, looking at her expectantly with an equally chipped tray clutched in his hands, was a young Remus Lupin. The easy smile, the tawny hair and eyes, the silvery scars that showed on his face and peeked out in the small strips of skin that weren't hidden by a scarf, or long overcoat...

Definitely. Him.

This was the cherry on the cake of the worst day of her life so far.

"Yes, of course," she managed to choke out.

He gave her a slightly odd, reproachful look before sitting and making quite a job of sighing and unwinding the threadbare navy scarf from his neck. She just looked at her soup and pulled back her feet so that they were tucked beneath her chair. His legs were so long that even when he folded them awkwardly as far back as he could their knees still brushed. Her awareness of him was so heightened that she could feel the tiny amount of skin exposed by a rip in his jeans.

Lupin coughed slightly behind the back of his hand and gave her another look over which made her feel horribly exposed. She noted how he wore his blond hair longer - constantly falling over his eyes - and how he hadn't shaved for a few days. The silence between them stretched with only the clattering of spoons breaking it occasionally.

"So," he said, finally, averting his eyes when she looked up.

"So?" she half-whispered back.

Time-line. Remember the time line. Don't do anything memorable. Don't say anything memorable. Better yet; don't say anything at all.

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked, after a pause.

"I've just arrived, unexpectedly. I..." she paused, fumbling, "I'm not really from around here."

"From somewhere warm?" he asked, giving her a coy, crooked smile.

"Your skills of deduction are obviously sharply honed," she muttered, with equal amounts of scorn and lightness.

He gave her a full grin then - showing white, straight teeth - and shifted slightly so that his legs rubbed, unintentionally, against hers. Hermione shifted until her back was pressed against the warped wood of the wall and cursed the fact that the alcove was so tiny she was completely boxed in. She was torn between gulping down the rest of her soup and probably causing herself some internal burns. Or, high-tailing it out of there into the cold, wet, windy night...

Or, just shrinking back, being as uninteresting as possible and hoping that Lupin would leave quickly. Hermione found herself liking this option quite a bit - it prolonged the time before her imminent death from pneumonia. For several, uneventful minutes her hands were occupied with the tasks of pulling up the bodice of the dress and pulling down the hem as surreptitiously as possible while trying to eat the soup as slowly and painstakingly as she could manage.

He also seemed to be eating irritatingly slow and began shooting her glances at a worrying rate. Hermione could barely resist the temptation to give him the once over herself. His clothes were as well worn as ever, but they were all made of strong, hard-wearing material. No grey peppered his hair and laugh lines were non-existent, but that was to be expected. There was something more of a spark in his eyes - something happier and more mischievous, perhaps.

His hands were the same - she liked his hands. They were large and strong looking, but he was always careful with his movements and it looked as though deep thought and consideration went into his every one. He still drummed his fingers against the table when he was thinking over things, but his expressions were much less guarded. Before she never would have been able to guess at what he was thinking.

It looked like he wanted to say something. She made a show of removing an (imaginary) hair from her soup.

"Did you go to Hogwarts?" he asked, face half hidden by a curtain of hair.

"It's just that you look about my age," he paused, uncertain, and squinted at her in a way that made her deeply uncomfortable, "and I don't remember you."

"I didn't go. So you wouldn't recognise me, " Hermione answered, finally.

She continued to sip at her soup without offering a further explanation until he sighed and began to glance around the room. Irritation caused a furrow in her brow as she looked at him; hoping he would leave her be, trying to imprint the desire to leave in his mind. It seemed she was staring so hard that a hole would soon be burned through him.

He muttered something that she didn't quite catch so that she was forced to ask him to repeat himself. Lupin asked for her name. Gasping audibly as she did then probably would have been fatal if she hadn't had her cup to her lips and made it look as though she had swallowed too much hot liquid at once. Her mind flickered over Muggle names quickly until she settled on an ordinary, and not completely untrue one.

"Jean." Her middle name.

"I'm Remus," he said, with a hint of a smile.

"And where are you staying?" he asked, seemingly not willing to give up without wrestling some kind of substantial information from her.

A thirst for knowledge that she remembered well, that she had always admired... Her lips pressed into a thin line and he faltered slightly, giving her a little grin that made her anger at him dissolve slightly. Now was not the time for those kinds of thoughts. Now was really not the time for those kinds of thoughts.

"I don't know," she admitted quietly, looking down at the dregs of her coffee.

Deciding that she had done enough damage for one day she abruptly slid out of the chair and forced herself out of the alcove. Ignoring the way her entire body tensed up as she pushed against him she made for the door. Her ankle really was aching now, she noted regretfully. Sitting down had eased the pain somewhat, but now it simply throbbed harder with each step. Hermione had already decided to look for her bag. This was the only productive things she could do that would bring her a step closer to going home.

Creature comforts would simply have to wait.

At her abrupt departure Lupin had tried to grasp hold of her arm and had called after her. She hoped he would just brush her off and ignore the whole incident. There was no energy left in her to deal with such an intricate situation. The warmth the shop interior and the soup had begun to form was decimated as soon as she stepped outside.

Hunching her shoulders, she committed herself to a long, cold night. Her thoughts only on finding the bag, what happened afterwards would be dealt with as it came. One at a time, in order of priority - that was how she dealt with difficult tasks in difficult situations. Her thoughts turned to Harry and Ron; she wondered if they had realised she was missing yet...

~oOo~

"What are you doing?!" hissed a voice halfway between shock and amusement, from somewhere behind her.

Hermione froze, staring resolutely at the filthy pile of rubbish she was standing in and feeling the unidentified sludge seep between her toes. The last person she wanted to see her standing ankle deep in potato peelings, in the middle of a hailstorm, when she had no business being in that time, was standing right behind her. She shot up suddenly and stood rigid. Anxiously smoothing down the back of her dress she hoped he hadn't gotten the eyeful she was sure he had.

The sound of soft footsteps told her that he was approaching. Hermione glanced up at the sky, wished feverishly that she could just merge with the ground, and exhaled deeply. He had followed and she hadn't heard him. That was slightly worrying.

"Listen, love, if you need some help... You just have to say, you know," he said, reaching out for her gingerly as she turned around, as though he expected her to slap his hand away.

That made her a little irritated, and more than a little sad. She supposed he was always careful around strangers - always ready for ignorance and rejection because of the social stigma attached to lycanthropy. His hand felt very, very warm against her cold, wet skin - so warm and dry that it stung painfully as her skin adjusted to the temperature. She brushed some of the hair that had escaped her bun carefully from her face and didn't respond to the light touch of the hand on her arm.

Help was something she really, sincerely wanted and needed. But disrupting the Time Line was something she wished to avoid at all costs.

"I dropped my bag somewhere near here, and I really need to find it," she said, not meeting his eyes, "but I'm fine."

"I don't need any help," Hermione stated irritably as he remained silent and began to smile slightly, straightening her shoulders a little she forced herself to meet his gaze.

Playing the damsel in distress was something she did not do. Spending any time longer with him might leave an imprint anyway. Regardless of her curiosity she would just have to brush him off. He looked so endearing as he tilted his head with a crooked smile on his face. The downpour had already plastered his hair to his face so that it obscured part of his features, but she saw a slight expression of amusement.

That really irritated her. Hermione took a step back but he took a step forward, the smile on his face broadening. It only took her a moment to whip out her wand and point it to the soft skin of his throat. Her temper was short and her stance an angry one. Instead of backing off he seemed to move closer until he towered over her and blocked part of the hail that was still slamming off their forms and the ground beneath.

"You're lying," Lupin said, in a deeper rumbling voice as though he was about to break into laughter.

"I really don't need any help!" she snapped, frustrated and only half willing to curse someone she would grow to respect so much.

Without dropping the hand that was now clamped around her arm he reached up and unwrapped his scarf slowly before sliding the thick, slightly damp wool around her own neck. It was then she realised just how much she was shaking and how cold she must have looked. She pushed the wand further into his throat in a way that must have been uncomfortable for him, but he didn't even flinch.

"These are dangerous times you know, I'm not going to leave you wandering out here alone. I don't know where you've come from, but it's not safe around here anymore."

The playful light in his eyes faded and he suddenly looked very serious. This was the last thing she needed - for his stupid, stubborn chivalry to come into play. The hail became rain again and was falling so thickly that she could barely see past him. The last thing she needed was for that tiny bag to be washed down a drain, literally taking her future with it.

"This is the Muggle part of town, you must have realised that you had left Diagon Alley when you were following me," she forced out through clenched teeth.

"What if I was headed in this direction too?" he chuckled, not seeming to realise just how close she was to using an Unforgivable.

"Because this alleyway is such a desirable destination," Hermione spat.

"At least let me walk you to wherever you are staying," he winced as she dug the wand further into his windpipe.

"No," she said, flatly.

Something in his expression said that he had just realised a detail that he had missed. Hermione dropped her wand from his throat and stared at him with a sour expression painted on her features. She didn't ever remember Lupin riling her up this much.

"You said which you didn't know where you were staying... But you really meant that you had nowhere to stay." There was a questioning glint in his eyes and in the dim light they almost seemed to glow.

She shifted uncomfortably and made to brush his hand off again. This time he actually let go, but only to unbutton his coat and shrug it off. Before she could even slip past him, he unwrapped it from around himself and swung it around her shoulders so that her arms were pinned uselessly to her sides. From beneath a curtain of soaked, bushy she stared at him as though she had never seen him before.

As though sensing her surrender he gave a lazy smile.

"I thought chivalry was dead," she grumbled, feeling a blush beginning to heat her cheeks.

~oOo~

Lupin lead her down a series of streets that wound confusingly around each other as though they were headed in circles until Hermione was completely and utterly lost. The falter in her step became more pronounced, but when she saw him glancing pointedly from her foot to her face she gave him a murderous glare and he said nothing. She was furious with herself for having accepted his offer.

Stay just one night, he had said. I won't leave you alone until I know you're safe, he had said. Then she had thrown his coat in his face and told him that it wasn't his business what she was doing, and how could she trust someone she had just met anyway? And he had followed her as she stormed down the street and talked aimlessly over the roar of the wind and rain until she stopped walking and just looked at him.

At that point she was so tired and frustrated that she half shouted yes in his face. Furious at herself for doing so.

"It's still quite a walk. Would you permit me to apparate you there?" he asked, slightly breathlessly, watching as she considered.

Hermione was slightly caught off guard by his manners. Ron would have just grabbed her, announced his intention and proceeded to do it regardless of what she said. Lupin looked uncomfortable and she could probably guess why. They had just met, they didn't even know each other's names, so generally he would never suggest apparating with her to his home. It would be considered very forward and quite suggestive to do so. But she would be staying with him - and she knew that, even if he hadn't stated explicitly.

Instead of answering she looped her arm through his and looked at him expectantly. He seemed to understand and a second later the air felt considereably warmer, and she welcomed the lack of frigid wind and rain.

Against her will she was curious to see what his place looked like. It was very small, as she had expected, and covered in books. They held up the glass plate that served as a coffee table, exploded out of the massive, dark wood shelves that dominated one of the walls, and even occupied two of the four squashy blue armchairs that were crammed in front of a plain black fireplace.

The walls were completely unadorned - the cream paint serving as the only covering for the plasterboard underneath. Hermione would have been lying if she had said she had not wanted to see a few pictures. It seemed that he would always be a very private person no matter what time in his life it was. A wave of gratitude for him caught her completely unaware.

Here she was; a complete stranger (in his eyes) who hadn't exactly been the nicest to him, and he was still bringing her into his home. Hermione realised that she had been silent for a few moments and that Lupin was staring. She smiled at him genuinely for the first time and wished that she wasn't dripping all over the blue, woven rug that covered the polished floorboards.

Privately, he thought she looked tiny and very fragile when her mass of brown curls was dampened down to sodden strands.

"Tea?" He licked his suddenly dry lips and watched her appraisal of the small space carefully.

Her shoulders dropped before she murmured an affirmative and slid over to the chair he had offered her. With an almost lazy flick of his wand he ignited the fire place and was about to conjure a pair of towels before she beat him to it. Her towels were plain and white, but very soft and expensive feeling against the skin. Vaguely, he wondered what it said about him that his were rough, cotton and extremely durable.

Her hair stuck up wildly when she finally resurfaced from beneath the towel and she tried to pat it down to no avail. Remus moved next door into the kitchen before she could look up and see him watching her.

Hermione was quite glad when he moved into the adjoining kitchen to make the tea. She carefully removed her shoes and dropped them to the floor with a half-moan of relief. She dug her toes into the rug as the blood flowed back to her cold, abused feet. It irritated her that she had accepted his offer. They had bickered about it half the way here... Or, rather, she had bickered and he had answered her calmly.

Even now he kept a tight rein on his emotions.

Hermione carefully rubbed her toes and prodded her rapidly swelling ankle. It was probably a good thing that Lupin had suggested apparation; it didn't feel like she could walk much further. Pointing her wand at herself she slowly began to dry the wet silk that clung to her like a second skin. It was as thin as tissue and dried very quickly - to her infinite relief. Feeling warm, dry and much more comfortable made it easier to think.

Lupin appeared at her shoulder silently and caused her to jump when she looked back and saw him holding a pair of cups. He sat hers on the mantlepiece, just within reach, and moved his newly dried, neatly folded coat and scarf so that he could sit in the seat beside her. He slouched slightly and groped about for his dog-eared copy of Dealing with the Dark Arts to thumb through while he waited for her to talk.

Unlike the rest of the Marauders he was patient. Forcing questions on her didn't seem to work well with her temperament, and given time she would probably volunteer information herself. Or, he hoped she would.

She sat daintily: with her legs folded neatly in front of her and her tea cup cradled carefully in her hands. He knew she was hungry, it was hard not to hear the deep, metallic sounding rumblings of her stomach, but she only picked at the brownies that Lily had sent round several days before. He thought she looked expensive, delicate and wholly out of place sitting on his dishevelled chair with a tartan blanket twice the size of her wrapped around her previously uncovered shoulders.

It was hard not to notice the way she looked at him out of the corner of her eyes- as though to memorise every hair, every freckle and pick him apart at the seams. He kept his shirt buttoned all the way to the top and shook down his sleeves a little to cover the hands that clenched around his book.

His scars were something he didn't want her to see. Normally he didn't give a toss about his scars, after so many years he was used to the staring. But, deep down he really wanted this strange girl to like him and felt that those would cloud her opinion.

As the comfortable silence stretched on he looked up at the metal rimmed clock perched on the mantelpiece.

It was now five past six and if someone was going to visit they would do it soon. He wasn't sure whether he wanted her to meet Sirius or not. It seemed very likely that Jean would end up hexing him to pieces. He knew that he was treading on thin ice when he pushed her, but found some amusement in her anger. Sirius would undoubtedly wind her up, as would James. James had been so busy with a heavily pregnant Lily lately that he doubted his bespeckled friend would drop in.

Peter was never one to visit, so he didn't worry about that at least.

Lupin lifted a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it in a gesture so habitual he didn't even notice what he was doing. Hermione watched him carefully as he seemed to debate with himself over what to say to begin a conversation again. Though it was very early in the evening she was already tired after a long days' work and an emotionally draining hour. She remembered that frequent Time Turner used to sometimes leave her drowsy and such a large jump seemed to be taking its toll now.

Talking to anyone she knew was something that she had wanted to avoid at all costs, but now that Lupin had effectively blown that out of the water it seemed reasonable to pay Dumbledore a visit. Her bag - and subsequently the Time Turner - was not in that alley. Of that she was sure. It was a very small area and she had searched for around fifteen minutes without anything turning up.

Even the Accio spell had failed her when she became desperate - just before Lupin arrived.

By talking to Dumbledore she would hopefully cut out many days of research that she could not really afford to have. With no money, friends or accommodations her options were limited. The fact that she had to make as little an impression on everyone around her as she could was another factor that made things difficult.

And then there was Remus Lupin himself.

Now that she had so stupidly let him know part of her dire situation she doubted that he would leave her alone until he was certain she would be alright. While that quality was endearing at times, now it was just plain irritating.

"Listen... Remus," he pretended to glance up, trying to keep his expression neutral, "I should probably go. I want to see Dumbledore."

"You know Dumbledore?" he blurted out.

She raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't everyone?"

He smiled bashfully and looked away. His longer, tousled hair irritated her slightly - he always seemed to use it to hide his face. Her fingers itched to brush it away and smooth it down. She was so used to doing that to Harry that she found herself beginning to reach out to him. She jerked back her fingers as though she had been burned. The thought of Harry was like acid in her soul.

The urge to get back and see them was almost overwhelming. They were probably searching for her now. The party would have been cancelled. Her foolishness had spoiled what would have been a lovely evening.

"But, you're staying tonight?" he asked, breaking her from her reverie.

"It's not that late," muttered Hermione, sensing the reluctance in her own voice.

"I'd sleep easier if I knew you were alright."

"I should really make more permanent arrangements but... I mean... If I wouldn't be an inconvenience..." she stumbled uncharacteristically as she spoke to him, furious with herself for doing so.

"You wouldn't be."

Lupin gave her a wide grin and stood awkwardly.

"I'll start dinner then?"

She nodded, feeling tired and drained.

"I'll help, just give me a minute."

The moment she knew she was gone she put her head in her hands and forced down the small, weak part of her that wanted to cry.

Okay, first chapter. I'm not entirely sure how long this thing is going to end up, but we'll see. I'm quite excited about working the rest of the Marauders into the story, and about when she returns to her own time. As she must.

Drama, is all I can say.

Thanks for reading!

xxx

(Edited - 19 July 2009)