Guys, I'm honestly a hopeless case. I rewatched Deathly Hallows pt 2 the other night and wept at the end. In the epilogue! I didn't even like the epilogue! This book series has ruined my life.
Last chapter:
- Hermione attempts to help Peter
- Everyone joins the Order
- Our fave bookworm and Headmaster destroy two horcruxes
- Hermione has the Map
- Remus and James had their birthdays
- Regulus wises up
CHAPTER TEN – A MESSAGE
"Kreacher won't talk to me." Regulus said, frowning. He was closer to her now, his book bag dumped on the floor, hitting her desk with a loud thump.
"He will," Hermione said, feeling as if she was experiencing déjà vu. "He's scared now, delirious as you know, but he will tell you what happened."
"Delirious? How do you know that?" Regulus's eyes were suddenly sharp and discerning. "I didn't even tell Sirius he was sick, he hates him."
Hermione froze, thinking quickly. How would she know Kreacher was sick? The short answer was she shouldn't know – no one in the Black family knew her, and Kreacher's loyalties were iron clad, unlike Dobby's had been back in her second year. To anybody else, she could brush off the comment. Anybody else probably wouldn't have picked it up so quickly, except for maybe someone like Snape.
"I can't tell you." Hermione sniped.
"If I'm risking my life for you lot of Gryffindor hotheads, I think I deserve to know where you're getting your information." Regulus said calmly, raising an eyebrow. The vulnerability of previous was gone, replaced with a mask Hermione was all too familiar with. Draco Malfoy had held one in place for a very long time.
Hermione stood, her frustration growing with every step she took toward the sixth year. She pulled out her wand, ignoring Regulus's wary eyeing of it, and shoved her left arm out, defiant. Her sleeve was pushed down in preparation.
Regulus's eyes locked onto her scar, visible, causing an instinctive cold to fall over her. The charm must have worn off. She couldn't decipher what was in his eyes before he locked them onto her own and they were mercifully blank.
"An Unbreakable Vow." announced Hermione, lifting her own eyebrow, "It is the only way we can proceed from here if you won't act blindly."
"Like hell I well," Regulus grunted, thrusting his own arm out and pulling down the sleeve. Their hands clasped, and Hermione refused to cringe at the strength with which he squeezed hers. "I've acted blindly enough up until now. It stops."
They both knelt on the cold, hard stone floor. Hermione lamented her knees, likely to ache. At least she had enhanced healing on her side – she felt pity for Regulus, who didn't look to be affected by the uncomfortable position, his expression composed but fierce.
Hermione touched her wand to their clasped hands, and murmured the incantation.
"Will you, Regulus, keep the secrets confided in you by the Order of the Phoenix, no matter what?"
"I will." Regulus said, eyes sparking in curiosity at the naming of the Order.
"And will you, Regulus, do your utmost to uphold the vow of the Order?"
Regulus gave her a glare. She realised how unfair she was being, considering Regulus did not know what the vow of the Order was, but she needed his cooperation in bringing down Voldemort. She suspected there might be a limited amount of bravery within the boy.
No doubt she would pay for this at some point.
"I will. Will you," Regulus began, ignoring her open-mouthed shock – once a question was asked in a Vow, it would have to be accepted or the whole thing was null and void.
Slytherins, Hermione griped to herself angrily, secretly impressed at his daring.
"Hermione, protect me to the best of your ability, as I attempt to uphold the vow of the Order of the Phoenix?"
Hermione clenched her jaw.
"I will." she seethed. A tendril of flame twirled around their joined palms, encasing them with an ethereal red and golden glow. Her wand, no longer needed, clattered to the floor as the fiery tendrils split back into three, two becoming absorbed into Regulus's wrist with a grunt, a faint glow travelling up the veins of his arm and settling in his heart. There was only one tendril that absorbed into her wrist with a keen sting, illuminating the scar with an eerie glow that travelled up her arm and sunk deep into her own heart before it could no longer be seen, vanished into thin air as if the both of them had not just signed their lives away.
"That was sneaky." Hermione bit out, stretching out her left hand. His grip had been awfully tight, and she still felt like he was holding on despite the fact his own hand was now by his side.
"An unknown vow of the Order? That was sneaky." Regulus commented blandly, standing up.
She picked up her wand, disgruntled, before straightening up herself.
"I can't tell you how I know about Kreacher–" She held up a hand at his furious expression, mouth twisted and ready to reprimand her, "–Only one other person knows, and that is one person too many. To protect my source, they will have to remain a secret. I can tell you, however, why Kreacher is so important to us."
Hermione had carefully left out the McKinnons, knowing that Regulus would regard their knowledge of her past as proof that he should know. It was rather ironic, however, that she herself was the 'source' she spoke of.
That was good, actually. I should use that in the future.
Hermione conjured up a chair, deliberately making it slightly uncomfortable, and gestured for him to sit as she took her own place behind her desk.
"Have you ever heard of a horcrux, Mr Black?" Hermione asked, steepling her own fingers in a gesture reminiscent of a certain old Headmaster. She was beginning to feel as manipulative as the man as well, which left her uneasy.
"Bits and pieces," Regulus admitted, massaging his left hand with his right. Hermione smirked – maybe her own harsh hold had been too much for him as well. Hermione suspected it would be just as fun to rile him up as it was to rile up his brother. There was obviously something in the Black family genes that Hermione enjoyed verbally picking at. "A few books at home mentioned them, but I was never personally interested…" He trailed off, a look of understanding gracing his aristocratic features.
"Voldemort has successfully created horcruxes–"
"Horcuxes? You mean he has multiple?" Regulus interrupted, leaning forward with morbid enthusiasm.
"Like I was saying," emphasised Hermione, a stern expression on her face, "Voldemort has created horcruxes in an attempt to become immortal."
"I knew he was powerful," said Regulus, a wondrous look on his face, "But I…"
"Do not mistake his obsession for power," Hermione snapped, crossing her arms, "Voldemort is delusional. He will do everything he can to prolong his time here on Earth. He uses and abuses people, and would do away with you in a heartbeat if it meant he could get only one step further toward his goal."
Hermione saw Regulus clench his jaw, the muscles shifting beneath skin angrily.
"Dumbledore and I have located all but one of them. This is where you come in." Hermione said, losing her harsh tone for one a little softer, hoping to butter him up some.
"Kreacher?" Regulus asked, confused.
"Voldemort used your house elf to hide away one of his horcruxes." Hermione explained, peering into the Slytherin's face, "You– there was mention that he required a house elf for a task, and your mother gladly offered up her best, her most loyal – Kreacher. You know this already, Regulus, don't play dumb." Hermione chastised, and continued on despite the transformation of his confused expression into one of scepticism. "Kreacher returned, ill and hallucinating. Once he gets better, and he will, I want you to find out where Voldemort took him."
"Surely the Dark Lord will have sworn him to secrecy." rebutted Regulus.
"Your Dark Lord always forgets one thing – there is magic much greater and more powerful than any wizard's." At Regulus's prompting face, Hermione continued, "House elves are always underestimated, but they can perform magic that the average wizard cannot. It is all wandless, for one, and often breaches the laws of magic so meticulously taught to us at school. Kreacher can Apparate through the wards at your house, can he not?"
Regulus nodded.
"So Voldemort will have sworn him to secrecy," Hermione said with a triumphant grin, "But Voldemort is not his master. You are."
Regulus could not return to the House of Black until Friday at the latest or he would be looked upon with suspicion by his housemates. It was not unusual for purebloods to sneak out on the weekends, Hermione had been told, and so he would leave under the guise of forgetting something back at home and talk to Kreacher then.
The location of the cave – never disclosed to her by Harry or the future Dumbledore – weighed on her mind throughout the next few days until it was rudely shoved aside in favour of more pressing matters.
There was an emergency Order meeting on Wednesday. Towards the tail end of dinner Hermione felt her galleon warm on the inside of her right wrist, where she'd used a sticking charm to stick it to a piece of ribbon and tied it around. It was the easiest way to ensure she wouldn't miss a meeting.
On her way to Dumbledore's office to use his Floo, she collected the Gryffindors – she had faith that Marlene would have paid attention to the galleon. The six of them met up with Marlene and Professor McGonagall outside of Dumbledore's office, both of whom gave polite nods upon their arrival.
"I could get used to this," Sirius said, brushing himself off haughtily as he stepped out of the fireplace and into the kitchen of headquarters. "Moony and I are missing out on Astronomy right now."
"Try to sound less like a student, Sirius." Lily sighed, stepping up from behind said boy and wiping some soot off of his chin. He batted her away good-naturedly. "Personally, I'm not fancying the catch up next week." Lily murmured out of the side of her mouth to Marlene, who snorted.
"Sasha Singh has been taken." Moody announced gravely once everyone had arrived and was settled, and there were some murmurs around. Lily looked tearful, which Hermione found surprising.
"Singh?" Hermione asked, looking around at their grim faces, "Where do I know that name from?"
"Sasha Singh is a Healer," Dumbledore explained, "She is best known for her efforts in the field of child birth. She solved the great infertility problem of 1970, at the ripe old age of twenty."
Of course, Hermione thought.
Sasha Singh had discovered that the influx of children after Grindelwald's defeat had caused the infertility problems within witches during the late sixties and early seventies – it had been magic, curtailing the amount of magical children born due to an overabundance of powers. It seemed that magic was sentient in some way, and to protect itself from Muggle exposure had attempted to control the population of witches and wizards. Singh had found all this out and subsequently advised the Ministry that either families must wait a few years to have children, or that witches and wizards ought to start procreating with Muggles. Magic would become less defensive and magical children would start being born again. She'd been right.
The fact that Voldemort had abducted her seemed entirely strange, unless he had his own impotence problems. The idea almost made Hermione laugh, if not for the terrifying and disgusting thought of Voldemort engaging in that.
"What's Voldemort want a Healer for?" Fabian Prewett piped up, a frown on his handsome face. Hermione definitely knew where Bill and Charlie got their looks from now.
"It's worse than that," Frank announced, looking concerned, "Sasha was pregnant."
Loud chatter started up at that. Hermione glimpsed Frank catch Alice's right hand, her left hovering suspiciously over her own abdomen. Hermione's eyes widened – were they–? But no, they couldn't be. Neville's birthday was one day before Harry's, and by her calculations that meant they'd both be conceived in October of the next year. Neville was more than a year early.
Which meant that it wasn't Neville that Alice was concerned about.
Hermione bit her lip as grief swept through her. Brave, defiant Neville; gone.
Although, Neville could be their second child, her mind provided helpfully, Even if Alice is early on in her pregnancy, she could still conceive Neville in 1979 and have him in 1980…
The thought left her happier, but her stomach could not settle after the realisation that Neville would no longer be the only child of Frank and Alice Longbottom, famous Aurors.
"Are you suggesting that Voldemort wants her baby?" Lily asked in a strange voice, gripping James's hand painfully (Hermione suspected, given his pinched expression).
"It is a possibility," replied Dumbledore, and Hermione shared a glance with him.
The Prophecy?
"Regardless, we must be careful. It seems he is on a mission of a different kind, and until we know more I urge you to act appropriately." He gave Alice a considering look, who blushed. No one else seemed to have noticed.
"Dumbledore," Hermione said quietly, her head close to the Headmaster's to avoid eavesdropping, the meeting having been called to an end but some of the other members still lingering, "You don't think–?"
"Miss Trelawney has not confided anything in me yet, Miss Huxley." Dumbledore said, his expression unreadable. "But perhaps she did not confide in me, this time?"
Hermione felt like gulping fearfully. This was out of the realm of her abilities – how could she defy Voldemort when she did not know the future? Things were all well and good when she knew all the components of the equation, just not the answer; but to be completely ignorant of both? Hermione wasn't sure she'd be much help – or, at least, no more help than simply one extra wand in a battle to the death.
And that's what it was looking more and more like – a battle to the death; her death.
"I will do what I can to confirm." Dumbledore told her, which meant he would have one of his contacts within the Ministry check the Prophecy Room. Her shoulders relaxed a bit – they would know if the prophecy had been made, then. If it had, they would have to expect that things were coming to a head much more quickly than they had the first time around. If it hadn't, then they still had ample time. Either way, however, Hermione felt comforted at the fact they'd done away with two of his horcruxes already. But the three more ahead of them (four, if you counted the dark wizard himself) suddenly seemed a whole lot more daunting now that there was a self-imposed deadline, inching closer and closer with every passing hour.
"You alright?" Remus asked her softly, cradling her elbow when she entered the kitchen in preparation to return to Hogwarts.
"I'm fine." Hermione told him distractedly, still frowning in thought. She missed the worried look Remus sent his friends, who were all staring at them.
"We know what Dumbledore said, Hermione," James said, stepping forward, "But if you need to tell us about… well, about what you're doing, then you can."
"No, I can't." Hermione told him firmly, ignoring their disappointed faces, "This is much bigger than even I thought."
"What could be bigger than Voldemort kidnapping people?" Sirius snorted, but sobered at the look on her face, white and blank.
The return to the castle was mostly silent, although Hermione felt the piercing stare of Marlene at the back of her head.
When Friday came around, she'd nearly forgotten about Regulus, so inundated with inconclusive thoughts about what Voldemort could possibly want with Sasha Singh. That was until, toward the end of the Duelling club, she saw the boy in question slip into the Great Hall.
Hermione and Nettle usually spent time at the end of each meeting discussing what they'd learn next week, and speaking to a few of the students about their essays or exams or sometimes, even, what they thought of particular career choices.
But Hermione called the club off early for the first time since its inception, sharing a significant look with Nettle, who nodded at her as Hermione walked past, glimpsing a certain Theo Kray waiting to speak with the other Defence professor.
"Regulus." Hermione murmured, grabbing his arm and pulling him away out of the room and into the Entrance Hall, ducking into a spacious alcove for some semblance of privacy.
"I came as soon as I could," Regulus breathed, and the haughty façade he'd showcased in the Defence classroom days previous was gone from sight, "Kreacher says he can take us."
"Us?" Hermione questioned, doubtful, "There is no us in this, Regulus. I won't put you in danger."
"Too bad," Regulus said, smirking, and Hermione realised she'd spoken too soon, "Kreacher says he'll only take you if I tag along. Looks like you're stuck with me, Professor."
Hermione glared at the boy, indignant.
Stuck, indeed.
The thought of what she might have to do stayed with her throughout the week, and her doubts about involving Regulus at all would not leave her even though he was the only person who could have provided the information of the cave's location, the only person close enough to Kreacher that she could trust in any capacity. Hermione, always practical, also knew that she would need him to gain access to Tom Riddle's diary, which probably resided at Malfoy Manor, considering Lucius Malfoy had been the one to slip it into Ginny Weasley's cauldron in 1992. They had no Severus Snape, spy for the Order, this time around. If Hermione had her way, Voldemort would be dead before Snape could even join the Death Eaters; and even if he wasn't killed earlier, Hermione did not plan on sacrificing Lily to the cause, and so there would be no instigator for Snape's betrayal of Voldemort.
The past was a very delicate thing, and Hermione knew that every action had a catalyst. It was just a matter of figuring it out and making sure it didn't come to pass – or, in some cases, making sure it did.
She was helping Professor Sprout in the greenhouses of all places, on Thursday morning before break, when this all became apparent. Hermione had decent relationships with all of the professors, even if some of them (like Slughorn) overwhelmed her at times. Of course, she spent the most time with Nettle, but Pomona had been extremely welcoming, as the Hufflepuff Head of House was wont to do, and so Hermione had recently given her free time to aid Pomona in her Herbology endeavours. Now that Hermione didn't have to pay so much attention to how she was being noticed, she was happy to do it. After all, the Herbology professor had saved her life many years ago, even if she didn't yet know it.
But it was not Pomona that was the impetus for her thoughts on time and its fragility – no, it was Lily.
"Professors," the redhead greeted them both, surprised, as she entered the greenhouse extremely early – Pomona had notified Hermione that she had seventh year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws next, to which Hermione had agreed to make herself scarce. "I didn't expect the both of you to be here."
Hermione raised her eyebrows in question, sharing an amused glance with Pomona. If Lily didn't expect them there, then why was she so early?
"I just meant," Lily rushed to say, "that I thought Professor Sprout would be here alone."
Lily looked a little panicked, her red hair in disarray around her heart-shaped face, and her lips a very dark pink from being bitten so much. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was wringing the strap of her book bag with worry.
"Lily!" Pomona exclaimed, getting up off of the dirty ground with a huff, not looking much taller given her short and stout figure. Hermione remained near the Snargaluffs, patting one tentatively in an effort to gain its trust. She really wished Pomona would have told her that back in sixth year, when it had taken the three of them to acquire the deadly pods they produced in that particular class. Now that Hermione was a teacher herself, she supposed half the fun was watching the students figure things like that out. She'd watched only a few weeks ago as her third years struggled to trick Kappas into bowing, when the easiest way to do it was often just to ask. She and Emilia had laughed heartily when one brave Gryffindor had tried to charge at the Kappa to send it off balance, only to look like a bull chasing a red cloth as the kappa simply bounced out of the way, cackling gleefully.
"How can we help you, my dear?" Pomona asked, taking off her gloves and brushing the dirt off of her olive green robes.
Lily's eyes flicked to Hermione, who was still gently stroking the Snargaluff. Hermione supposed it might look strange if the observer didn't know it was a Snargaluff; after all, they were simply wooden stumps to the unaware.
"I thought I might– ask– you know–" Lily's jerky speech was incomprehensible to Hermione, who simply gazed back down at the plant beneath her fingers warily. It was vibrating, as if it was particularly content and had decided to purr. Hermione was amazed – such a sentient plant was not rare, but the sentience capabilities of most were rather sinister. She remembered, with a vague sense of offence, that the Snargaluff back in sixth year had tried to attack her hair. It must have liked it – although that wasn't a comfort, coming from a block of wood. It probably looked too much like the dry bushes the plant liked to hide in, which made Hermione grumble under her breath.
"Oh, Lily," Pomona said, understanding and shooting Hermione a strange sort of look, "I've got to prepare for your class with the Ravenclaws. I'm sure Professor Huxley can sort you out."
"But–" protested Lily; it was too late, however, as Professor Sprout had shuffled away, humming under her breath as she got near the Acidic Acutangula. The fatal cucumbers of the plant were growing and expanding as if they were breathing. Hermione didn't envy Lily's class, who would have to cut open the things and extract the seeds, which served as an ingredient in a potion to combat cursed burns.
Hermione ceased her petting of the Snargaluff, and tried to ignore the whine that seemed to emit from the plant upon doing so – she had the disturbing notion that someone like Hagrid had probably had a Snargaluff as a pet once upon a time.
"What's wrong, Lily?" Hermione asked, taking off her own gloves and putting them aside, causing the Mandrakes to twitch in irritation next to her. She had, for obvious reasons, never been fond of the things.
Lily looked torn now, probably regretting arriving early at all given she was left with Hermione.
"It's– it's James." Lily admitted, still looking nervous.
"Mr Potter?" Hermione asked with a frown, stepping closer, "Is he alright?"
"Yes," Lily sighed, "He's fine. He's too fine." Her tone had morphed into one of irritation, and Hermione's frown deepened.
"I'm afraid I'm not following."
"Look," started Lily, huffing and placing her hands on her hips as if in preparation of a lecture. Hermione wished Harry were here to witness this. "I don't want you to think I'm silly, or not concerned about the real world, or anything like that," Hermione jerked her head, taken aback, "And I normally speak to Professor Sprout about this because she doesn't judge me, and I make some potions for her sometimes when she asks," Hermione didn't know that, "But she's foisted me off to you, and I've got to tell someone. My friends, they're lovely, but they don't understand."
Hermione had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn't understand, but let Lily go on.
Lily proceeded to sit down on one of the old, rickety benches in the greenhouse – designed for when the students had to reach different heights to access different plants – and signed dramatically. Hermione, for lack of anything else to do, followed her cue.
"I was with James last night – during Astronomy," Lily added at Hermione's wide-eyed look, "and he mentioned it only briefly. I'm sure he didn't mean it the way it sounded, and I'm sure he hasn't even thought about what it would mean– we're so young, and we've only just started going out, not to mention all this stuff with You-Know-Who. I knew he'd liked me for ages, but I didn't think–"
"Hold on a minute, Lily." Hermione interrupted, trying to follow but failing spectacularly. "What are you trying to say?"
"James mentioned having kids. Multiple kids. Together! We haven't even been dating a month!" Lily said shrilly, waving her arms about in exasperation, "It's like he's been imagining certain things; I don't know how to tell him we haven't even–" Lily blushed, suddenly and fiercely, and avoided Hermione's eyes.
Hermione chose to ignore her last outburst, her own stomach swooping, and tried to address the first problem.
"Lily," said Hermione levelly, trying to catch her eyes, "You know James is a pureblood, right?"
"Well, yes–"
"And you know purebloods like to get a head start on these things?"
"I know, but–"
"Then you should realise he's only reciting what he's been told, what I'm sure his parents have been repeating to him since he was young enough to comprehend it."
Hermione could not honestly believe she was giving Harry's mother relationship advice, of all things. She hadn't really ever been in a relationship. Not to mention at this point, Hermione was technically not alive. She hadn't even been born yet.
Hermione thought she'd seen and heard it all, but it seemed she was wrong.
"I hate to burden you with this, Professor," Lily said quietly, looking at Hermione morosely, "It's just, my friends – they all think it's romantic. And Professor McGonagall–" Lily paled, wide-eyed, "She's a great teacher, but I can't imagine asking her about this. James is her favourite student."
"Is he really?" Hermione asked, astonished, before contritely shaking her head at Lily's deadpan expression, "Right, sorry, priorities."
Hermione sighed, trying to come up with a way to explain this that wouldn't offend Lily on behalf of James, and wouldn't make Hermione seem like an absolute spinster. Despite the appeal of spinsterhood, she knew the seventies weren't exactly kind to unmarried, career-driven women with a cat or two.
"It's hard sometimes, as a Muggleborn, to rectify wizarding tradition with what we've been taught." Hermione said, ignoring Lily's intrigued frown, "After all, you're a smart girl. I'm sure your parents wanted you to go to university before all this magic stuff happened." Lily snorted in amusement. "I guess what I'm trying to say is–" Hermione sincerely hoped she wasn't screwing this up – she didn't want Harry to be a second child, like Neville was going to be; but at the same time, she did want Harry to be born, even if he wasn't her best friend. "You've got to figure out how you feel. James knows what he wants, he's known for a long time," Lily snorted again, and Hermione held back a grin herself, "It can be daunting, being on the receiving end of that kind of devotion. But there's no use talking about should haves, or could haves, or even whether or not you're too young or too old for certain things. It took me a long time to realise it, and it's all well and good to plan for the future but sometimes… sometimes we just have to let things happen and not think too deeply about it." Hermione smiled, remembering, "Which, if you knew me, is a completely out of character thing to say."
Lily laughed, cheered up by Hermione's admission.
"Have you ever been in love, Professor?" Lily looked embarrassed, as if only just realising the question, "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate."
The bell tolled, both of them having lost track of time, and Hermione stood up, grateful for the reprieve from such a personal question. Ravenclaws bustled into the greenhouse, shooting Hermione judging looks, no doubt disapproving of the fact she wasn't starting her own lesson.
"If you need to talk again, Lily…" Hermione wasn't sure how to finish the sentence, not wanting to be rude but also not necessarily willing to endure such an awkward interaction again.
Lily simply nodded, picking up her book bag from where it had been dumped at their feet. Hermione turned away, intent on making a quiet entrance into the Defence classroom and apologising to Emilia later whilst their fourth year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs fought off the Confundus charm. They'd not received permission from the Ministry to teach them how to throw off the Imperius, and so Confundus would do at a stretch. They were, in many ways, similar spells.
It was this conversation that haunted Hermione until Saturday night, though, for she wasn't sure whether she'd hindered the timeline or helped it along. Would Lily refuse James children for many years, now? Or would she realise the depth of her feelings for him – and they were definitely deep feelings if the brief mention of children so early on didn't see her breaking up with him then and there – and marry him straight out of Hogwarts, like Hermione knew she had done? And would Harry follow relatively soon after, like he had in her world?
And then, of all the things to ask, Lily had almost sucker punched her by the end. Had Hermione ever been in love? Thoughts of a redheaded, hot-headed Gryffindor came to mind, but the reality was no; she had never been in love, at least not the way Lily was implying.
It was difficult, when one was so young, to really know the difference between platonic love and romantic love. Hermione's life had been rich with platonic love; her best friends were the unusual kind; the kind that would stick with you through thick and thin (although thoughts of jealousy came up, but Hermione swept them aside), literally save your life over and over, spend weeks at a time living with you without too much complaint… they were the kind of best friends not many people got to experience. Hermione had always been thankful for that, even if she had felt so terribly alone before they'd saved her from the troll. Even if they'd said harmful things over the years, they'd always put their lives on the line to help her. And the way both of them fought so valiantly to defend her right to exist in the wizarding world… it was deeper than that, of course – it wasn't solely for her. But she couldn't help but feel cherished by them when they stood up for her so fiercely; the warm tingling of her heart when they got outraged at the little things she'd learned to let go over the years… they were unique friends, and Hermione missed them dearly.
She had heard, of course, that their love for her was the kind of love many associated with romance. Hermione knew better, however. The three of them had only had each other in the end. Harry'd had Ginny, of course, but the three of them would always be something untouchable and, ultimately, unbreakable.
So when Lily had asked that question, her two best friends had almost come to mind. Dashing thoughts of them away quickly, she had been stumped. Her life had had too much going on to really focus on romance. A stray kiss here and there, but nothing concrete. Nothing that told her 'this is for me, this person is forever'.
But then there had been inklings, sometimes. Hermione would be a fool to delude herself for much longer, despite the difficulties of her situation. She hadn't taken it seriously at first, simply convinced it would go away with time – after all, it had to go away; the timeline dictated it had to. Now, though, that she wasn't bound by time and morality; now that she had the choice… it terrified her. She'd been avoiding the thought almost stubbornly because it scared her so. The thought of it actually scared her more than the thought of her possible death at Voldemort's hands. Death had, at least, always been familiar, when you get right down to it. This, however, was unfamiliar and dangerous and wholly consuming.
Hermione did not dare name it; but it sat, dormant, waiting to be acknowledged in the recesses of her mind. It purred at his presence, content, and gave lamenting howls at his departure. It was ironic that it felt like a wolf, of all things – at first glance it was vicious, savage and unrelenting… but upon deeper inspection, it seemed to emulate only the best parts of her, the purest components that made up the whole. It longed for freedom, for expression.
You know what they say? Hermione thought wryly, looking at the dot labelled Remus Lupin on the map, up in his dorm, It makes fools of us all.
The map was essential that night. Dumbledore was not going to be joining them. In fact, Hermione had not updated the Headmaster on her plans to destroy the locket. She remembered Kreacher's words.
Kreacher drank, and as he drank he saw terrible things... Kreacher's insides burned… Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed… he made Kreacher drink all the potion… he dropped a locket into the empty basin… he filled it with more potion…
What terrible things would she see? There were too many to count, too many horrors in her past that were simply waiting for a moment of weakness to rear their heads and strike, like angry serpents.
Regardless of what she might relive, however horrible, Hermione did not want Dumbledore to bear witness to her blabbering. Harry had described the way in which the old wizard himself had succumbed to the unknown potion, desperate for the torture to cease, moaning about the guilt inside him, begging the invisible presence to hurt him, kill him instead…
Hermione had no doubt she would act similarly, reduced to a victim of such a horrendous potion in the face of Voldemort's cruelty. She did not want anyone to witness what she would say, the things she would beg for, the way in which she would be left vulnerable; but she had no choice. Kreacher would only take her to the cave if he could take Regulus as well, and considering Hermione was not his master (she cringed at the descriptor), she could not order him to leave the Slytherin behind. Regulus would not order him, either, as he was too curious for his own good.
She had to remember that they were entering the cave at least a whole year before Regulus had done so in her world – which meant the fear, the disgust, that he held for his own master had not yet fully matured. He was scared, but he still appreciated Voldemort's power. The reality that Voldemort had horcruxes had not yet sunk in for Regulus.
She shuddered, trying not to think about the fact she would be writhing on the rocky ground of an island soon enough, begging someone to kill her. All because of one of these aforementioned horcruxes.
Looking down at the map, Hermione focused in on the Headmaster's office – Dumbledore was inside, alone, and pacing. His dot meandered around where Hermione knew his desk to be, slowly circling and circling. He was obviously in thought, and Hermione didn't want to know what about. Sometimes it was best not to know everything, she had gradually learned: she didn't always like what she uncovered.
Her eyes drifted toward her own dot – Hermione Huxley written in green cursive, a little cramped – and frowned. Upon opening the map after Peter had gifted it to her, she had been expecting 'Hermione Granger'… or maybe even no name at all. But her false name written so clearly and definitively underneath her own ink dot had been a surprise.
It seemed the map showed her as she was in this world. Hermione Granger had been left behind a while ago; after she'd introduced herself as Huxley, the map had probably taken her own proclamation on board as fact, for lack of any other information on her. There was no birth certificate in this time, after all, proclaiming her real surname. Hermione supposed the map did its best, unable to cross dimensions to seek out her true name. She had a feeling the words above her dot might change, if she were to let them.
She tracked Regulus as he left the dungeons, stopping every now and then once he was faced with a patrolling prefect or two. It was after curfew, and Hermione could not be seen with him. Regulus was still a Death Eater, and if word got back to Voldemort it could mean the end of them both.
Once he was five minutes from the rendezvous point, Hermione left her own quarters. It was ten thirty, but tomorrow was Sunday and she could rest then. For now, she simply had to push aside her general exhaustion and fight on.
"How does he feel?" Hermione asked once she reached him just outside the doors to the Entrance Hall, "The mark?" She added at his confused look. That wiped Regulus's face clean of expression, and he did not answer.
They strode to the gates and the ends of the wards, breaking through them like a breath of fresh air, clean and uninhibited.
"Kreacher!" At Regulus's whisper, the elf popped into sight. He looked significantly younger than Hermione remembered – which would make sense, it being twenty or so years earlier. His great big ears stuck out comically, and his snout-like nose seemed smaller now. Hermione realised it would grow with age. His eyes, usually bloodshot, were white but cloudy, as if he were under the effects of something.
"You haven't got him under the Imperius, do you?" Hermione asked harshly. Regulus rolled his eyes.
"Kreacher does what Master Regulus says, Kreacher is good and loyal elf." Kreacher grouched, glaring at her. It seemed no matter what time period she was in the house elf was destined to hate her.
"It's alright, Kreacher. Hermione is a friend. She's going to help me."
Kreacher looked a lot more mollified after that.
"Master wants Kreacher to take him to the– the cave?" Kreacher's low, croaky voice stumbled over his words, and pity flooded her senses.
Voldemort, she thought with rage, almost spitting in its capacity, tortures any type and number of creature.
The fury inside her compelled her forward, steadfast in her mission now when before she had been bogged down by tiredness and too much idle thought.
"Yes, Kreacher," Regulus replied, gentle. No wonder Kreacher idolised him. "Onto the island, if you can."
Kreacher nodded, looking pale. He stepped forward and grabbed onto both of their hands, his tiny ones engulfed, and Hermione felt the familiar sensation of Apparation.
Once they'd all been squeezed through unbreathable tubes, Hermione opened her eyes to see almost complete blackness.
"Lumos." Regulus whispered – for it was like they were in a forbidden place, sneaking in uninvited and waiting to be caught. The feeling was astute.
With the illumination of his wand, the basin behind them started to glow green, eerie and sinister.
"Whatever you do," said Hermione, also lighting her wand, "Don't touch the water."
"Why?" asked Regulus, frowning in confusion.
"There are Inferi in the water, and they will attack if we penetrate the surface."
"Inferi?!" Regulus exclaimed, his voice echoing off the high cavern ceiling, invisible to their eyes through the velvety blackness of the cave. Hermione glared at him as Kreacher whimpered, huddling into Regulus's robes in fright.
"You didn't think it would be unprotected, did you?" asked Hermione, moving around him to walk toward the glowing basin.
"Well, no," admitted Regulus, following closely behind with Kreacher still hiding behind his robes, sniffling quietly. "But I thought perhaps it was simply for intimidation."
"Your Lord is dramatic, I'll give him that," Hermione acquiesced, gazing into the basin with trepidation. "But Voldemort does not intend whoever enters here to leave alive. Unless it's himself."
The green glow of the potion made Regulus's face much sharper, more angular. Hermione figured she probably looked similarly menacing given his alarmed look.
"Evanesco."
The potion remained, as still as the black lake surrounding them.
"No spell will work," Hermione told him, bring her hands up to grip the sides of the basin, her knuckles white with stress, "It has to be consumed."
"I refuse to drink this." Regulus said, although Hermione knew he had drunken it once upon a time.
"Don't worry. I'll be taking it." said Hermione, resolved. She conjured a plain and inconspicuous goblet. Before she dove it into the potion, she paused.
"Regulus," she said, and the boy turned to her. Kreacher was whimpering at their feet, and Hermione was sure he was now using both of their robes to hide himself from the scene before them. The standard issue black robes of a Hogwarts student and her own crimson work robes clutched in the desperate hands of a Black house elf seemed awfully symbolic in that moment. "Whatever you do, you must force me to keep drinking."
"Miss Huxley–"
"Promise me, Regulus." she insisted, staring him down with the goblet poised over the potion's glowing surface.
"I promise."
"Do you remember our lesson on the Inferi?" Hermione asked, staring into the potion again. It didn't look so bad, really. She could do this. She had to do this.
"Yes, but–" Regulus was frowning, staring at her.
"I will ask for water at some point. You won't be able to conjure any, no spell will work. You will have to take it from the lake. Do it quickly, give it to me quickly. Once I've had a sip, I'll be much better. At that point you must grab the locket and Kreacher will have to get us out. Speed is imperative. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Professor."
Hermione's shoulders slumped a little.
"Good."
She plunged the goblet into the potion, scooping up as much as she could, some of it overflowing back into the basin. It was a soupy texture, although no potion was left on her hands in the aftermath of the spill, as if it repelled human skin.
There was an echo as something splashed faintly in the water.
"Ignore it." Hermione said, bringing the goblet to her lips. She gulped down as much as she could.
At the first touch of potion to tongue, it started.
Liar. A voice whispered, almost hissing. Impostor. You'll kill them all.
Nothing she hadn't already told herself. Flinching, she gulped on, the goblet half-way done.
Too smart for your own good. It will be the end of you. Imagine it. At the last swallow, an image flashed across her vision, causing her to squeeze her eyes shut. She was trembling, she realised, the goblet clattering against the side of the basin as she held it, trying to stabilise herself.
The image was herself, her dead eyes staring up at the night sky. Voldemort stood over her. His followers in their white masks and black robes surrounded. He was laughing.
A beast, loathed by many and pitied by the remaining. The voice hissed, getting louder now. Hermione scooped up more potion, not even hearing Regulus's words of concern or Kreacher's whimpering, which was growing louder with every mouthful. No one will love you.
A pain similar to that of her transformations started up her limbs. She clenched her leg muscles as if in anticipation of a sprint.
Killer. It murmured, confident. An image of Lavender Brown as Hermione had last seen her dominated her vision. She had been mauled. Blood gushed from a bite wound on her neck, and she looked incredibly sad.
"No," Hermione said, her voice trembling, "It wasn't me."
LIAR!
Memories of Remus spun into sight, his chest a chessboard of scars. The newest ones, red and raw, seventeen and counting, were bleeding.
Torturer, failed leader. The voice went on, determined, as it showed her Remus, white and pale, and struggling with his transformation. You infected him.
"No!" Hermione cried, pushing away whatever was near her. "I didn't mean to!"
Look at all of them.
Harry and Ron. Neville. Ginny. The Twins, Parvati Patil, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan. Mr and Mrs Weasley, Fleur. Professor McGonagall. Her parents.
Gone. Erased from existence. Dead. Because of you.
"No, please!" Hermione screamed, and she felt something hit the back of her head. She felt dizzy for a moment, but the pain that had started in her legs travelled up her torso and into her arms, making her soon forget. She was shaking. Everything was shaking. "Leave them alone! Take me!"
She was unaware of the how many mouthfuls of the potion she'd swallowed. She definitely wasn't taking it herself, that was for sure. Her mouth felt sticky, her tongue lolling about as if fighting through molasses.
"Kill me! Fix everything! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" She continued to cry out, the tears running down her face as image after image ran through her head, dead body after tortured friend after comatose parent, "I've been stupid! I know! Please, just end it!"
The pain increased tenfold all of a sudden, and Hermione screamed, the echoes of it resonating in her head like an ominous tune to a horror film.
"RIP IT OUT OF ME!" she screamed, "IT DOESN'T BELONG! I'LL ONLY HURT HIM! PLEASE, SEND ME BACK!"
The voice laughed in her head, joined by others who began to mock her.
Poor Hermione Granger can't fend for herself without her pitiful friends. One of them joked snidely.
Mudblood is weak, another jeered. Mudblood will die. Mudblood will kill all of them. Nothing and no one can defeat the Dark Lord, least of all a mudblood.
Are you scared? Another asked in mock concern, laughing. Are you a scared, little girl?
"I CAN'T DO IT!" shouted Hermione, "I CAN'T CHANGE IT! KILL ME AND BE DONE! END THIS!"
Why don't you leave? The first voice whispered from all directions. It's not like you've tried very hard to. Do you really hate your friends that much?
"Please don't," she sobbed, shaking her head rapidly, "Please, leave them alone. Leave me alone. I can't–" She was stopped by something at her lips, and she gulped it down greedily.
She was incredibly thirsty, she realised.
"Please help," she whispered, exhausted, "So thirsty…"
"Just a few more, Professor," a hard voice told her, "Come on, I'll give you water soon."
When he finds out, Remus flashed across her sight, his face angry and disgusted like she had never seen it before, He will never forgive you. You've deprived him of a son.
"No!" Hermione sobbed, as a baby Teddy Lupin faded out of existence, "No!"
"One more, Professor! Last one!"
How could he love you? A mudblood, a monster, an impostor…
She could say no more, her body heaving with the force of her tears. She was gasping for breath, so parched, desperate for relief. She was still trembling, her arms raised to fight off whoever was giving her this blasted drink.
Maybe you'll kill him, too.
Hermione screamed bloody murder, her throat aching in agony at its overuse. Remus's body was deathly still, pale. His robes were covered in blood, and Hermione reached out a hand to turn him over and–
The pain stopped and the voices subsided. Hermione was left breathing heavily, echoes of death and destruction in her mind. She was slumped against something she did not know. There was a great sobbing in the distance, a muttered mantra. A small hand clutched the robes at her shoulder, unrelenting.
"Water." she croaked, her mind focused on that one thing. Abruptly, an extreme thirst overtook her. "WATER!"
"Here!" A voice replied, rushed, "Take it!"
A goblet was shoved into her hands, and Hermione lifted it to her mouth, the liquid overflowing down her chin and onto her chest, cold and refreshing.
She came back in stages. She was still shaky, her body trembling from the immense pain. She felt like she was at the beginning of a transformation, her stomach set alight with nerves and her muscles achy.
"KREACHER!" a voice yelled far away in the distance. The hand on her shoulder was pulling at her, and Hermione tried to bat it away. "KREACHER, SNAP OUT OF IT!"
Then, as if a dam had broken, the noise flooded in.
Great splashes, and shouting from a few feet away. The hand at her shoulder and in her robes was Kreacher, who had the other against one of his bat-like ears. His eyes were screwed shut, and he was muttering under his breath.
"–not real, Master is okay, Master is at Hogwarts–"
Hermione turned her head blearily. It felt like a lead weight, but once it rested on her opposite shoulder to the elf, she saw through blurry eyes the source of all the loud sounds.
Why is Regulus Black here? He's dead…
Regulus was standing near the edge of the island, white hands grabbing at the bottom of his robes from the water. He was kicking them off. Faint bursts of fire were erupting from his wand – inconsistent and weak.
"KREACHER!" Regulus's mouth was moving, and Hermione realised he was the one shouting.
Then, everything made sense.
"Kreacher." Hermione croaked, bringing up a heavy arm to grasp at the elf's wrist tightly. He gasped, looking up at her fearfully with watery eyes. He'd stopped his muttering. "Listen."
"KREACHER, GET US OUT OF HERE NOW!" roared Regulus. Kreacher's eyes went wide, and he ran forward, pulling at Regulus's robes. Once he reached her, he grasped at her shoulder and then Hermione couldn't breathe.
Then, there was quiet.
Regulus was panting. Kreacher was whimpering, patting at Regulus's bowed head in worry.
For her, the world had never been clearer.
"I thought you remembered our lesson?" Hermione panted out, clutching at her abdomen. The potion sat in there, thick and uncomfortable. She could feel it lashing against her stomach walls.
Regulus glowered at her, his dark brows fiercely furrowed.
"Did you get it?" she implored, suddenly frantic. She sat up, wincing at the sloshing of the potion inside her, "Did you get the locket?"
Regulus fumbled in his robes, producing one of the most relieving sights Hermione had ever seen.
There it hung, swaying slightly in the breeze of the night. Hermione shivered at the cold. The gold chain glittered in the moonlight, the green stones of the S rather dull in comparison.
"Pass me the locket." Hermione commanded, getting up on her knees. She had to take a break to breathe heavily.
Regulus frowned at her, still angry.
"Professor, I don't think–"
"Now, Regulus." urged Hermione and he quickly complied, depositing the necklace into her open palm with aplomb. Maybe he had been concerned, instead of angry.
Hermione tucked the piece of jewellery into her robes. She'd had visions of destroying it that night, but she was in no state. The horcrux would consume her, and she would be unable to do it properly; she would probably kill herself in the process. No, she would destroy the thing tomorrow.
"You've got to go to Madam Pomfrey." Regulus grunted, trying to hoist her up. Kreacher was helping the best he could, his little arms trembling in his attempts to push her legs into position.
"No." Hermione said as firmly as she could. She suspected it was simply weak, however. "Take me to my quarters."
It seemed Regulus's concern for her wellbeing had run out for he merely heaved her up and close to his side, dismissing Kreacher as they headed towards the gates and breached the school's wards. Hermione felt her skin tingle and sighed. They were safe.
"That was some protection." Regulus commented, panting with the effort of supporting Hermione. She wasn't that heavy, was she?
She didn't have the energy to respond to him and so didn't, instead choosing to time her breathing so the pains in her chest didn't throb so badly.
When they reached the doors to her rooms on her direction (third floor, left down the corridor of Wanda the Wild), Hermione muttered the password – "Pride and Prejudice." – and told Regulus to place her on the couch.
They were both panting; Regulus from exhaustion and Hermione from pain. A stinging feeling was shooting up her legs and down her arms. Her trembling had not stopped.
No wonder Draco Malfoy had been able to disarm the Headmaster that night. Hermione had always wondered.
"Do you want to explain how you knew so much about what was going to happen?" Regulus asked, sitting down on the armchair near her occupied couch. "Or maybe why you were yelling about ripping a piece of you out? Sounds an awful lot like horcrux talk to me."
"Don't be stupid, Regulus." Hermione snapped, tired and sick and stressed. "How's the arm?"
He glared at her, not responding. So Voldemort hadn't felt anything. Yet, at least.
She opened her mouth to continue when there was a quiet knock at her door.
Sharing a look with Regulus, Hermione cringed as she sat up, propped up against the armrest of the couch. She pulled out her wand, which Regulus must have stowed in her robes after she'd inevitably dropped it. Regulus had his own wand out and was moving quietly toward the door. He closed his hand around the knob slowly.
Quickly, he opened it, wand in the face of her guest.
There was no one, until the Invisibility cloak had been whipped off and James and Sirius were looking at Regulus in disgust.
"Let us in, will you? Filch could be by any minute."
Regulus was powerless to stop the two men barging in as they pushed him up against the door to squeeze past. Hermione had lowered her wand, her already leaden stomach sinking further in her belly at the sight of the two boys.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Regulus hissed, shoving Sirius aggressively. The brothers glared at each other, scarily alike.
"Get lost, Reg," Sirius said, the nickname sounding anything but friendly given the sneer on his face, "We saw the two of you walk up to the castle."
He turned to look at Hermione, who was undoubtedly wan and slumped uncomfortably against her couch.
"What did you do to her?" Sirius rounded on his brother, furious. James stood by, frowning.
"Sirius," Hermione called out weakly. "Sirius!" She repeated when he didn't respond. He turned to her, his expression still fierce, his hair flinging wildly. It had grown some over the year and she vaguely registered that it suited him, although it made him look more like the mad Sirius Black of her third year. "I'm fine. Honestly."
"You don't look fine." James commented, coming closer. Hermione huffed, subsequently wincing at the stitch-like pain that pierced her ribs. Her legs jerked as if shocked. The stabbing pains were less frequent, but this seemed to make them more painful when they did hit.
"You two shouldn't be here." Hermione tried to discipline, too tired for it to come out as anything but weary and resigned.
"And he should?" Sirius said, jerking a thumb in his brother's direction. Regulus's lips curled in disgust. Hermione did not envy their mother, no matter how bigoted she was.
"Regulus saved my life tonight, so yes." Hermione told them, brushing some hair out of her face with a shaking hand, "Maybe you should be a little nicer to him."
Regulus glared at her, and Hermione remembered she was dealing with a Slytherin. They fought their own battles.
"I still think you should go to Madam Pomfrey." Regulus said, and although Hermione's eyes were closed, she imagined pursed lips and crossed arms. It almost made her laugh, the weird hybrid of Regulus Black and Molly Weasley she'd conjured up in her head.
"Shut up, Regulus." Hermione said without bite.
There was a moment of pause.
"Professor?" James said, coming close enough to nudge her gently, "Are you alive?"
"Yes, I'm alive." Hermione snapped, opening her eyes quickly to shoot daggers at them all. "And I would appreciate it if all of you left so I could get some rest."
As if to prove she was indeed alive, Hermione hoisted herself up off the couch, trying to keep the agony off her face. She hobbled over to the door of her bedroom. Looking over her shoulder, she glared at them until they muttered their goodbyes and left the room.
"Mind sharing?" she heard Regulus ask, and she realised he was asking about the Invisibility cloak.
"Shove off, Regulus." Sirius said grumpily, and her door closed behind the three of them.
Sighing, Hermione opened her door, almost falling onto her bed. Grimacing, she peeled off her robe, and lay in her dark underclothes. Too tired to do much more, Hermione stared at the ceiling and willed herself to sleep.
When sleep did come, it was in fits and bursts – she often woke quickly, panting at the images that plagued her dreams, the cruel voices that whispered in her ear; bloodthirsty and unforgiving.
At daybreak, however, her body did not feel as bone-deep tired as the night previous, even if her mind was groggy and not entirely lucid. She took a hot shower, wincing as the water pounded against her aching muscles. It was almost as bad as her worst full moon. Almost.
Her body seemed to forgive her after her shower, leaving her only with entirely liveable aches and pains. The memories from the potion that weighed on her mind did not so easily fade away into non-existence.
They were made all the worse for the way she could not forget the burning presence of the horcrux in her trunk. Nestled beside the Resurrection Stone in a lone sock, the temptation the two of them put forth was one Hermione was nearly unable to resist. They called to her, even as she had breakfast and ignored the concerned looks of the Marauders. Regulus, of course, was acting like nothing had happened.
Her lazy Sunday had turned into something different by lunch time, by which she was helpless to the draw of the two magical objects. Retreating to her quarters, Hermione pulled the patterned sock from the base of her trunk, the clinking of the two items filling her with a dire feeling.
She pushed her hand in, her fingers brushing the stone lightly before she clutched the locket instead, pulling it out in a hurry. Flinging the balled up sock back into her trunk as quickly as she could, she slammed the lid hastily and leant against it, breathing heavily. She squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the little voice that whispered undeniable truths.
You'll never see them again. They're lost to you.
"Peter," she addressed, the locket a dead weight in her robe pocket next to her wand. She'd entered the common room, knowing the Marauders would not have ventured outside the grounds today. The rain was belting down in sheets, unprecedented considering it was half-way through April and spring was meant to be well under way. "Can I speak with you for a minute?"
The boy in question appeared curious, looking to his friends briefly before standing up and walking over to her. She had sequestered herself into the opposite corner of the common room, shooing away some laughing second years with a mere glance.
"Have you thought much more about what you'll do after Hogwarts?" she inquired, trying to find a segue.
"A little." Peter said with a frown, "But I can't help but think that's not what you asked to speak to me about."
"No," Hermione huffed, chuckling slightly, "You're right. It's not. I was wondering– I'm willing to tell you about what Dumbledore and I have been doing."
Peter's mouth opened in surprise, and his watery eyes got much bigger.
"Professor, I–"
"You wouldn't be able to tell anyone, Peter." enforced Hermione, very serious, "Not your friends, not even your parents."
Peter frowned.
"Professor," He said slowly, considering, "I'm… I'm really grateful you're willing to tell me, but I'll be honest," He paused, searching for the right words, "I don't think I can hide something from my friends."
Hermione smiled, pleasantly surprised.
"You can't, or you won't?" Hermione asked, the terrible voices that had been whispering at her since last night finally fading in place of a seemingly foreign feeling – she realised that it was hope, singing inside her chest loud and clear.
"I guess I won't." said Peter, giving her a timid smile. Her heart soared.
"Well," she said, wanting to beam at the boy – no, the man – proudly. "I guess I'll see you in class, Peter."
She left him then, ducking out through the portrait hole with a grin on her face. She couldn't will it away no matter how hard she tried.
Peter had denied her. Ordinarily she might be offended, but Peter had denied her! Hermione wanted to tap dance, she wanted to shout and scream with glee, she wanted to sing from the rooftops.
Maybe everything wasn't lost, as the potion had promised her.
All the things Dumbledore had said to Harry in the future – they began to make sense, more sense than they ever had before. Love, hope, happiness… the positive emotions swelling inside her combated the swirling evil of the potion. It wasn't even a fair fight, the glee within her beating down the despair with every remembrance of Peter's denial of her offer. Dumbledore had been right – love was their greatest weapon.
And, Hermione realised, they just might win with it.
Hermione felt less appreciative of Dumbledore the day before the full moon, her good mood of the week temporarily dampened by his disapproving expression.
"Miss Huxley," he intoned, "What you did was incredibly dangerous. If Mr Black hadn't–"
"But Mr Black did. He and Kreacher saved me." Hermione breathed, still smiling serenely at Dumbledore.
If Hermione could read the old Headmaster better, she might've said he was scowling. As it was, his mouth twitched downwards slightly before his face resumed a blank expression.
Pulling it out of her pocket proudly, Hermione's smiling mouth morphed into a grin as she plonked the locket down onto Dumbledore's desk triumphantly.
"You'll take care of it?" she said, glad to be free of the dark presence from her heart, "The full moon is tomorrow, and–"
"In the future, Miss Huxley, we need to discuss your approach to this. We are all much stronger when we work together–"
"But I wasn't alone, Professor," stated Hermione, taking his non-answer for an affirmative and opening the door to his office so as to leave, "I had Regulus."
Her good mood slowly faded into her normal demeanour over the course of the day as she thought back to their conversation, and by the time the full moon came around the next day – a Sunday, the first time it had ever been on a weekend – Hermione was pretty much back to normal. The success of Peter still lingered, and overall her stress levels were better; but there was something about being a werewolf on a full moon that could crush even the most persistent of good spirits.
Hermione collected Remus from the Gryffindor common room this time. Students lingered about, and so they had to huddle under James's invisibility cloak whilst the daylight still remained. The others would join them later under the cover of darkness and Disillusionment charms. She anticipated an uneventful full moon, and was incredibly grateful for it. Even if it turned out to be awful, the anticipation of terror was always worse than the terror itself.
"We haven't seen each other much." Remus commented mildly as they made their way down a staircase from the fourth to the third floor.
"I saw you on Thursday for hours, Remus," replied Hermione, smiling wide.
"That's different," Remus said quickly, almost petulantly, "Class is different."
"Okay," Hermione assured him, "A week ago, then."
"You spoke to Peter," Remus corrected her, his voice laced with impatience, "Not me."
"Remus Lupin," Hermione remarked in a whisper, unable to hold back her grin as they reached the more populated first floor, "Are you– are you jealous?"
"What?" Remus exclaimed, and a few of the students looked around in confusion. He quietened down, only replying once they were outside on the grounds, unlikely to be heard. "I'm not jealous." he whispered fervently and Hermione bit her lip, butterflies causing a stir inside her in an instant.
"It's alright, Remus." Hermione assured him as they whipped off the Invisibility cloak, safely inside the passage to the Shrieking Shack. Remus's hair looked windswept, and she was sure hers weren't much better. Their clothes were old; Remus's were a little too small for him. Her eyes drifted over his strong shoulders appreciatively, very visible in that particular t-shirt, before Hermione snapped them away, whirling around with a certain heat in her cheeks to walk down the passage.
"Are you?" Remus asked her, and Hermione had almost forgotten their conversation now that they were in the creaking shack, the claw marks on the wooden floorboards beneath them an immediate mood killer.
"Am I what?" Hermione asked absently, attempting to unhook her bra but having difficulty.
"Jealous?" confirmed Remus, and she turned around in shock, completely forgetting that she was in her bra and underwear. Her hands were paused at her back, still unable to unhook the infernal breast-trapping device.
Remus was in boxer briefs, the awkward kind that looked like they'd seen better days. Hermione's eyes flicked down and away too quickly for him to notice, but the knowledge that he worse boxer briefs had never really stuck in her mind. It would definitely stick now.
Unlike all the other full moons – all of them experienced with Remus – this one had an unusual sort of energy to it. Every other month previous she'd been too worried or too tired or too scared to think of much else but the impending pain. But the churning in her stomach now was not the same as the unpleasant feeling last month, like her body had been warning her. No, this time the feeling left her uneasy, yes, and fidgety – all to be expected. But it also left her… excited. Playful.
What–?
"Remus." she breathed. He was closer now, and the distance between their two bodies seemed entirely too short. It felt like with every intake of breath, her covered breasts brushed his bare chest.
Her bra finally came undone, falling balefully to the floor with a soft thwup.
She wasn't breathing anymore, her body suspended in motion. Her eyes were wide, connecting to Remus's. He had not looked down, and was instead staring at her with an intensity she had not ever witnessed directed toward her.
It was like the temperature had been turned up a few degrees. Everything was hazy, but extremely distinct at the same time.
Her breath left her in a great whoosh, and Remus's eyes swept down to her bitten lips and back up again so quickly he almost gave Hermione whiplash.
And then the transformation was upon them. Groaning, Hermione let her head fall onto Remus's muscular but somewhat lithe shoulder, her body trembling. It was still a little weak from her cave escapade, and it was like the transformation was targeting the most vulnerable parts of her body. Her legs in particular began pulsing in pain. Crumpling onto the floor, Remus grasped her shoulder painfully to keep himself upright. It was a losing battle, though, and he soon followed her, the both of them panting against the floorboards.
She gave one last mournful thought to her underwear, still seated on her hips, before her world went black.
Hermione woke slowly.
Blinking blearily, she turned her head. There were tatters of cloth all over the floor of the room. Hermione glanced down, and saw the top of Remus's head. His head was on her chest, his right cheek crushed up against her breast amusingly, covering her nipple. Hermione did not feel like laughing, however, as the position they were in suddenly became apparent to her. Remus's hairy leg was thrown over her own. He was lying half on her and half on the floor, face down. Hermione was on her back, her left arm resting lightly on Remus's shoulders. She jerked it back as if burned.
Their naked bodies were all over each other, and Hermione had the ridiculous thought that they hadn't even kissed yet.
Blushing furiously, she brought up her hands to cover her face. She groaned, forgetting about the man lying on top of her in her embarrassment.
Remus moved, and Hermione froze.
"Are you okay?" asked Remus, his voice rough and deep with sleep. He cleared his throat, and Hermione imagined she might see a confused look on his face. She could only imagine, considering her hands were still obscuring her vision.
His warm hands pried hers away, and Hermione was left staring at him in mortification.
Remus simply raised an eyebrow, his expression entertained, and his eyes travelled down. Hermione prepared to cover her chest modestly (although it was pointless, really), until Remus's gaze settled on her left shoulder guiltily. He brought up a hand, brushing his fingers lightly over the tender skin there.
"I hurt you." He frowned, his tone filled with remorse.
"Really?" Hermione asked, not feeling anything but tenderness – which was quite normal following a full moon. She tried to angle her head so she could see, but the bruise he seemed to be talking about (there was no blood, fresh or dried) was in too awkward of a position for her to glimpse without a mirror.
"Don't worry about it." she said, awkwardness and embarrassment temporarily forgotten as she brought up a hand to halt his.
They stared at one another for a moment, before Hermione cleared her throat and sat up, forcing Remus to do the same.
"Strange, isn't it?" Hermione asked him as she shouldered on her robes, a little appalled that she was essentially going commando back to the castle. She had to focus on not thinking about Remus doing the same. "That we barely spent time together and you're fine?"
"I've decided not to question it," Remus said decisively, pulling his t-shirt over his head, "But if you wanted to spend more time together, I wouldn't be opposed."
It was easy to forget that for all of his kindness and thoughtfulness and studiousness, Remus was a Marauder.
Hermione fidgeted, and chose to ignore his comment.
The awkwardness of the Shack followed her into the next week. She chose to spend her Tuesday free period with Emilia instead of Remus, discussing the new innovations in potion-making of all things (many of which Hermione had not read about in potions journals, but in future textbooks). She avoided Remus's hurt looks in class on Thursday, too scared of what he might do if she were to keep him back to apologise.
A werewolf and a scarlet woman. She would never hear the end of it if it got out.
There was a voice at the back of her head, different to the harmful ones so far heard that month, that told her she was being silly. No one had figured out she was a werewolf just yet – bar Snape, but he didn't count considering Sirius had tipped him off – and so why would they figure out if she was kissing a student on the sly?
The fact that it would have to be on the sly is what bothered her, she soon realised. Because didn't she want to give Remus happiness? Wasn't that the whole point? How could he be happy living in secret, hiding another part of his life away from curious eyes? No. It was unfair of Hermione to place that on him. She was still a teacher, his teacher.
Coward.
She scowled at the voice petulantly. What did it know?
Hermione was pretty sure she needed to see some kind of magical therapist after all of this was over and done with. To quote her thirteen year old self – hearing voices, even in the wizarding world, wasn't a good sign.
So when the last Hogsmeade weekend of the year came around at the end of the month, Hermione had originally decided she wasn't going in the hopes that Remus wouldn't be able to find her. She had much thinking to do, about how she might tell Remus to wait. Anything she thought up simply came out desperate and begging, though, so she wasn't doing so well.
That was all until Minerva had cheerfully informed her she was to be supervising. It made sense, given that she had supervised the first and no more after that. She'd managed okay until Sunday, the last day of the month, by which time Quidditch had been had (Hufflepuff victorious over Slytherin) and she'd avoided the Marauders around Hogsmeade for the first day. She suspected Quidditch had much to do with it – it was rare that Hogsmeade and Quidditch fall on the same weekend, but McGonagall had muttered something about scheduling disputes and left it at that.
When Hermione was confronted on Sunday, however, it was not by the Marauders, but by Marlene McKinnon.
"Alright, Professor," she said, striding up to Hermione as she gazed longingly at some fancy quills from outside Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, "Colour me intrigued. What's going on with you?"
Hermione blinked at the Ravenclaw, drawing blanks, her lips parted in stupefaction.
"I'm sorry?" Hermione said, looking behind her to check that Marlene wasn't talking to someone else. No, it was all on Hermione.
Marlene rolled her eyes, and dragged Hermione into the quill shop. She wanted to be mad and reprimand the seventh year for her manhandling of a teacher but got distracted by a rather pretty self-effacing quill.
"I'm meant to be patrolling, Marlene," Hermione said tiredly, but somehow knew by the determined look on Marlene's face that she wouldn't buy it, even if it were true.
"Voldemort can wait five minutes," she said, waving her hand as if waving away the Dark Lord himself. "Tell me what's happened. First you look as though you might collapse at a slight scare from Peeves you're so wound up, and then all of a sudden you're breathing as if someone's paying you to do just that, smiling at fifth year Gryffindors of all people – and everyone knows the fifth years are the worst. Then just this past week you've been ducking inside alcoves and taking back routes to all your meals, looking over your shoulder all the while. So tell me – what is going on?"
Hermione stared at Marlene, flabbergasted.
"I think," Hermione said slowly, realising a solution to one of her problems might just have been in front of her this whole time, "I might have something to tell you, Marlene."
"That's what I thought." replied Marlene smugly.
"You know, Moony, glaring at me is not going to help." Peter said absently, jotting something down from his Transfiguration textbook. They had an essay due on Wednesday, and Peter had a feeling he wouldn't get it done unless he finished it by the end of the day.
"I can't believe you gave her the map, Wormtail." sighed James, too happy to be too annoyed with Peter. He'd got back from his date only recently, after all.
"May I present to you," He'd announced to the three of them who'd been left behind at the castle, "The future Mrs Potter!" He'd gestured grandly at Lily, who'd rolled her eyes with a blush.
"You proposed?" Sirius had asked, excited.
"No, you idiot." Lily had said with a smile, "James is just being a prat."
She'd shoved her boyfriend playfully and headed up to the dorms.
So yeah, James was a little starry-eyed.
"It was a nice gesture. She seemed stressed." Peter shrugged, unruffled at Remus's continued glaring.
"If you're so desperate to talk to her, just follow her."
"Moony doesn't want to be committed to St Mungo's, Prongs," Sirius said with a snort, playing with his wand by the fireplace, lounging on the couch, "Or Azkaban."
"I just don't understand why–" Remus started, cutting himself off with a groan of frustration.
"You know," Peter started with a put upon sigh, like he dealt with their dramatics all the time. Peter would tell you did, he most certainly did. "She is a professor, Moony. Maybe she doesn't want to lose her job."
"Give the man an award!" Sirius called out, and Peter rolled his eyes at his friend, smiling.
"Why don't you get detention?" Peter said, ignoring his friend, "Do something so bad she has to punish you in class, right then and there."
Sirius looked up from the sparks his wand was emitting, sitting up with sudden interest.
"You know, Wormtail," said Sirius, looking to his sandy-haired friend whose face was alight with the possibilities, "That's not such a bad idea."
It's very rare that I'll go into a non-Hermione POV, but I just wanted to add on that little titbit as some kind of promise that Hermione can't just ignore Remus forever.
Really curious to hear how you guys felt about this chapter. Please review :)