Stages
Disclaimer: All legal rights go to the rightful owner, which sadly is not me.
A/N – First chapter written on my new laptop! It's a thing of beauty, this machine! Hehe! ;) Anyway, shorter chapter this time, because I didn't realize that the last chapter was on the plus side of 6500 words until I uploaded it to Doc Manager (the laptop I borrowed had a weird, and likely old, word processor on it that didn't have a word count), and because the ending is where the chapter wanted to stop, lol. Do enjoy, good people!
Her head cocks when she wants to know something, and she grins when she's done and moves around him, and Remus's heart, that time and distance has somehow managed to painstakingly piece back together, busts through the builders' tape holding the thick cracks aligned and tumbles in large chunks onto the Express's wooden panel floor.
Chapter Six: Like a Stranger
Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.
The full moon passes with a reinforced silencing charm, breaking and reforming bones, and then a human mind within a werewolf body, in his personal quarters at Hogwarts. Remus angles his head down to look at his form, briefly distracted from his churning thoughts by the horror and wonder of seeing his other half and understanding it as a human for the first time. He gets up from where he's collapsed on the floor and circles slowly once, then twice, pausing when the thought that he's chasing his tail much like he's seen Padfoot do many time in the past flits through his head.
Padfoot. Ella. Hermione.
All of a sudden he feels old, and tired. Confused. His chest aches and so many questions spin continuously, on replay, through his head; questions that after their breakup in school, he thought he'd never have to ask, let alone wonder about in the first place. A whine escapes, and his ears go back, and he finds himself padding to and fro, his nails clinking on the stone floor.
Both distinctly canine sounds startle him enough to stop his pacing, but they don't stop the jumble of thoughts and feelings. Remus sighs, which comes out as a huffy burst of air, and he settles down with his back legs folded up, his tail curled and his head on his paws. Closing his eyes, he lies and waits for the moon to sink. It seems to take an abnormally long time.
In the morning, after the howls have turned to screams, and then whimpers and groans, and he's naked and trembling in a ball on the floor but human again, he drags himself to his feet and stumbles his way over to the pile of clothes folded in a neat pile on the bed.
He needs to speak to Dumbledore.
~0~
"Remus," the headmaster says, tone sprinkled with surprise when the new professor steps through the floo and into his office. It's early, just after sunrise, but the old wizard is dressed and sitting behind his desk, a floating quill pausing and hovering over a stack of parchment when he looks over at the flare of green fire. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit? You should be in bed recovering. How did you're first moon on wolfsbane go?"
Remus stops at the hearth, not venturing any further. His muscles are vibrating with the leftover strain of the transformation, and he knows if he doesn't find a soft surface soon, his body won't care if the surface is soft at all. But he needs to get this out.
He needs to know.
"Ella Granger," he croaks, and the ever-present twinkle dims somewhat in faded blue eyes. He sends Remus a gentle smile.
"Ah, yes, young Miss Elizabeth-"
"Elizabeth?"
"Elizabeth is her given name; Ella is a nickname. I believe the youngster finds it too old fashioned and stuffy for her tastes."
Remus stares at the man. There's a hot, molten feeling beginning to stir in his belly, lifting its head and yawning to show sharply pointed teeth. His hands clench at his sides. "How do you know this?"
"Hermione told me, my boy," Dumbledore says, and the feeling gets to its feet and growls, rumbling low, almost audible. The headmaster's eyes sharpen. "I've kept in contact with her over the years, as I do with all of the surviving Order members. I assumed you were doing the same."
Not many people have the ability to hide a reprimand and make it stunningly clear at the same time. The hotness inside Remus shrinks back at Dumbledore's words, and a slick, oily guilt bubbles up and spreads through his gut, making it burn for another reason. He grits his teeth against the feeling and straightens his spine. He's not a child and he doesn't appreciate being spoken to like one.
"Where is she?" he asks through those gritted teeth. It's a moment before the headmaster answers.
"She's staying in Hogsmeade for the time being," Dumbledore replies calmly, hands laced together on the desk in front of him. The quill is still hovering next to his elbow. "I suggest you get some sleep before you go see her, Remus."
"I no longer have to heed your suggestions, Albus," Remus answers with more than a little bite in his voice, and the old man's brows wing. The werewolf turns back to the floo, and a second later he's back in his quarters and heading for the door. It's still early enough that breakfast hasn't begun, so he makes his way through an empty school until he gets to the one-eyed witch statue by his new classroom. A tap of his wand and a whisper of "dissendium" opens the passageway, and then he's loping through the tunnel, climbing up into and sneaking out of a closed Honeyduke's with practised ease.
Dumbledore didn't mention where Hermione's staying, but he figures that if she's only staying, then she'd be at the Three Broomsticks. He heads towards the inn.
"Remus Lupin, as I live and breathe," Rosmerta exclaims with a surprised smile when she answers his frantic knocking. "What are you doing here? It's bloody early, son. You can't be up for a pint at this time of the morning."
"No, Rosmerta, I actually think he's here to see me."
Marigold drifts through the doorway and winds its way through Remus's head, making his breath stop. Slowly, he turns, and seeing her for the first time in twelve years is a solid, desperately painful punch in the gut.
She hasn't changed. Sitting at a table with a steaming mug of tea in front of her, her bushy curls long and wild, falling down her back, she's still as beautiful as the day she left. The signs of passing years are there, around her eyes and in her barely fuller figure, but all they do is add grace and charm, and fuck if they don't make her all the more alluring. Her lips are pink and parted, and her eyes are wide and locked on him, and Remus physically aches to go over and pull her into his arms. Where she belongs.
But he can't. She isn't his. He isn't even sure if there's friendship between them anymore.
"Are you?" she asks, voice soft, and Remus blinks back to reality. He nods mutely, tongue-tied. Hermione sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and nods herself. He can see the tension in her shoulders.
"All right, come on then," she says and gets up, leaving her tea where it is. Her voice is still no louder than a murmur, and as Remus hesitates and then follows, one careful step in front of the other, he takes in the way her fingers are plucking at the bottom of the loose shirt she's wearing over grey cotton tights. Her socked feet don't make a sound as she ascends the stairs, and when she stops at a closed door, her hand on the knob, he just catches the heavy breath that shudders out of her.
It shouldn't please so much him that she's nervous. But it does.
Hermione settles on one of the twin single beds once they enter the small, sparse room. Remus stops in the doorway, his eyes flicking from Hermione, to the bed she's sitting on in quick succession, and then he walks over to the tiny desk opposite the door and pulls out the chair. He turns it to face her and lowers himself, spine firmly against the back of the chair and hands resting tensely on his knees.
His head spins the instant he sits down, the blood rushing from it rapidly, making him see spots. He sucks in a slow, steady breath and blinks a couple of times, trying to discreetly clear his vision.
Bloody hell. He really should've taken some recuperation time, like Dumbledore suggested.
"You look good."
Her sudden statement distracts him. He swallows and forces himself to meet her eyes, the spots gradually fading. "I look old and grey," he corrects dryly. Hermione smiles and shakes her head.
"Not too much. Just around the edges." Her hand drifts towards him, stops mid-movement, then veers off to push her hair back behind her ear. A little colour tints her cheeks and her eyes dart to the wall behind him. "I, um, I think it makes you look distinguished."
Remus snorts quietly and then just looks at her, not able to do anything else. She's large as life. He's uncomfortable, and curious, and more eager than he's willing to admit, because he doesn't know her anymore. He doesn't know what to make of this Hermione; this woman who hasn't been in his life for over a decade, and who's had a child he didn't even know she was pregnant with. The thought makes him frown, and he opens his mouth, then closes it, frown deepening. Words and sentences have left the building.
The silence drenches the room. Then, Hermione sighs and her eyes move back to his. She looks very tired. "What are you doing in Hogsmeade, Remus?"
And as if the question had unlocked the padlock on his tongue, Remus speaks.
"I'm the new Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."
"You are?" Hermione blinks, and a smile slowly spreads across her face. "Why, that's perfect for you! Congratulations! Did Dumbledore tell you I was here? I don't live here normally, but with…"
Her voice trails off and her eyes go wide. Remus watches the colour drain from her face, and he keeps on speaking, the words running together.
"Dumbledore wanted me to take the train with the students, and I ended up running into a young girl while I was on it, a pretty little thing. Reminded me a lot of someone I grew up with. She did have one startling difference though."
"Her eyes," Hermione mutters, and Remus nods when the river of words dry up, studying her closely. She sinks her teeth into her lower lip and shifts on the bed, once again playing with the bottom of her shirt. Her gaze drops.
The silence is worse than before, so absolute it's as if the room is empty. Remus clenches his jaw. He needs to keep this going if he's going to get what he came here for.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Hermione's breath leaves her in a noisy rush. "I didn't have time to before, Remus, and then I couldn't bring myself to seek you out afterwards-"
"No, not that," Remus cuts in, waving a hand. "I know that. I mean, why didn't you tell me you were back together with Sirius?"
Is that the reason why you didn't want me?
The witch's head flies up. "I wasn't!" she bursts out, eyes once again wide. "We aren't… we weren't… it was just one night! Marlene had just died and she and Sirius were… well, I don't know exactly what they were, but they were something. He was angry and hurting, and was drinking to hide that, and I was feeling… we got drunk. We were drunk. It wouldn't have happened otherwise. We just… I guess we both just needed comfort in the familiar. We never talked about it afterward; hell, he wasn't even there when I woke up, but it went unspoken between us that it was just a one-off."
"Oh."
The rug's been pulled out from under him for the second time. In all the fretting and brooding he's done during the night, the thought of a one-night stand hadn't ever entered his head. He doesn't… he doesn't know how he feels about it.
He doesn't know how he feels, period.
"All right," he murmurs, pushing his confusion aside, "so, um, does Sirius…?"
The question riles up a hurricane.
"No!" Hermione nearly shouts, jerking to feet. "And he's not going to either! Why do you think I'm here? It's bad enough that he might be going after Harry! He doesn't deserve to know her, not after Lily and James!"
She stomps towards the other bed and then spins around, and Remus's heart begins to race. Her eyes are wet, and furiously hot, and so goddamn beautiful that they take his breath away.
It still utterly baffles him how he could miss seeing something so important for so many years. It probably always will.
"That fucking bastard all but killed them with his own hands, and you think I'd let me anywhere near my daughter? He can go straight to hell! I'll put him there myself if he even thinks of laying a single finger on Ella!"
"I agree," Remus says quietly, and the words take the wind out of his companions sails rather swiftly. She sags, then sniffs and brushes at her eyes.
"You do?"
"'Course I do. He's a traitor who had us all fooled, and who's actions got two of the people I love murdered. I'm behind you every step of the way in that regard."
Hermione sends him a small, weak smile and then settles back down on the bed. She sighs and pushes her hair back. "Not to mention the way he got everyone to focus on you being the spy," she mutters, pulling her sleeves over the heel of her hands and then folding her fingers together, shoulders curved. "It's obvious how convenient that is now. Although you didn't do anything to make that impossible, did you?"
She turns her head in his direction, brow lifted and a smirk playing at her mouth, and Remus is walloped over the head with countless memories. His heart jerks in his chest, kerthumping solidly out of rhythm, and a flush rushes up his neck and into his face. His breath hisses out through his teeth, catching and making him cough, and the flush grows. Bloody hell, he sounds like a tea kettle.
"I was a spy, just not the type you were thinking," he says after clearing his throat. Hermione grins and Remus has to look away.
"You're not upset? That we thought you'd betray… that we thought it was you?"
The question warrants some thought. Is he? It doesn't take long for him to figure out he isn't. It's natural, isn't it? Instinct on their part. He's a werewolf, a dark creature; of course his friends should think the worse of him. Even knowing as he's thinking those types of thoughts that they're wrong, it still doesn't make them right in any sense of the word.
He won't mention this to Hermione, however. He can just imagine her reaction if he did.
"You can't have been far along," he comments instead of answering the question. Hermione frowns but goes with it.
"Just over a month. I found out two days before- I was still getting my head around it, I wasn't even thinking about telling anyone else."
There's an entire world in the void left by her hanging sentence. The large, bulbous elephant in the room that they've both successfully ignored so far, trumpets loudly, stamping its feet. Remus's chest is tight, and he stares at her, nervously licking his lips. They wait.
Dear Merlin, he wants her to bring it up. To give him hope. If she only left because she was pregnant with Sirius Black's child…
Is there still a sliver of a chance?
The seconds are eons, and then she breaks her almost painful immobility by shifting her body less than a centimetre away from him and dropping her eyes to the floor. "S-so you've seen Harry then?"
The sliver curls up on itself, a leaf blackening in a wildfire, disintegrating before his eyes. He doesn't move for a moment, and when he does, it's only to slowly nod his head. He can't move any faster.
"Yeah, on the train," he says, in such a low voice he's surprised she can still hear him. But he can't speak any louder either. He needs to be quiet; be careful. Any sudden movement will let loose that wildfire, and he's not ready to be consumed. "There were Dementors searching the compartments-"
"Excuse me?" Hermione barks, head snapping back towards him. "What the fuck were Dementors doing on the Hogwarts Express?"
"Looking for Black," Remus replies in a flat voice, focusing on her shoulder. "Albus wanted me to travel that way because of it. I claimed a compartment before any of the students arrived, and Harry and another boy somehow managed to pick the very one I was in. Harry, er, didn't react well to the search."
"Is he okay?" the witch demands, half-rising to her feet again, as if she's going to storm the castle, "is Ella? Why the hell would they think Sirius would travel on a packed school train?"
"Ella wasn't in the compartment so I don't know how she initially reacted, but she seemed perfectly fine when I ran into her – or should I say, she ran into me. Harry's another story. He's better now, don't worry," Remus says hurriedly, looking at her face when she takes a step towards the door. "I made sure of it."
Hermione shoulders fall in relief and a smile lights her eyes. "Of course you did," she sighs, and Remus swallows heavily, finding the bed exceedingly interesting this time. There's a buzzing running through his blood; the wildfire. He needs to leave soon, before it causes him to do or say something he'll later regret.
He badly wants to shout at her, to demand answers he has no right to demand. The buzzing encourages him. It makes his head feel floaty. Pressing his lips together, he nails his attention on a fact that she's all but confirmed without saying the words.
"You know Harry. Personally."
Hermione's head tilts. She looks at him, and there's a significant space between her looking and her talking. "I do," she agrees finally. Remus can't read her eyes. "Pure coincidence, of course. Ella and I moved back to England when she was three, and we found a perfect little house on Wisteria Walk in Little Whinging. Quite convenient actually. A fixer-upper that came cheap not only because it needed a bit of work, but because it was right next door to a 'crazy cat lady', as the real estate agent called her. Lovely woman, despite the whiffy odour. It wasn't until I saw Harry scuffing around in her backyard that I found out she babysits him quite often."
Her voice is conversational, the delivery is flawless, and it's the biggest lie he's heard her tell so far. She's gotten a lot better at lying over the years, he can tell. It makes him wonder why she feels she needs to come up with the cover story.
Did she try and take Harry once she'd come home from wherever she was? (Where was she?) Harry doesn't have a godmother; an archaic law crafted by purebloods demands that if a magical child is to have a full set of godparents, they need to be married. So although James wasn't a traditional pureblood – he'd married a muggleborn, for Merlin's sake – they'd still had to choose between one godfather or one godmother for the ministry to recognize the status. Sirius had come up trumps, for reasons Remus isn't wholly sure of.
If she had tried to stake a claim on the Boy-Who-Lived, it makes sense that she'd been denied. She isn't Harry's blood or his rightful legal guardian. She would've understood being turned down, surely. But that doesn't explain the cover story, or what Remus can sense underlying it, poking through those nonexistent holes. He doesn't at all like the implication that she'd deliberately found a way to stay in Harry's life because he's needed her to.
Just what has Harry's life been like, living with his aunt and uncle?
The buzzing swarms him. There's bees in his blood, a great wave of them, the guilt on their wings suffocating. He's spent the last twelve years being a useless waste of space while Harry… while Harry…
Lily would be so disappointed.
He feels sick. Gasping and pushing to his feet, his heart slams, and the buzzing turns high-pitched and whiny, making his ears whoosh. His head is drowning. The world blurs.
"Remus? Remus!"
The floor comes up to meet him, and then his body slams into nothing, a diagonal plank in mid-air. Her hands are cupping his face.
"For God's sake, Remus, you know what last night was! Did you come straight here after the sun rose? You're a right fool, aren't you?"
He's floating, gently. Then he's pressing against a soft mattress and marigold flows along his skin, and he sighs. Giving in, he has just enough energy left to bury his face into the thickly-scented pillow before the black edging his vision gathers into a solid mass and he sinks gratefully into unconsciousness.
He doesn't even have the chance to sink deep before he's dreaming about a familiar hand running softly through his hair, and lips ghosting, lingering, across his cheek.