Stages

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter and everything related. Only thing I own is this plot!

A/N – A bit of movement in this chapter, good people! Enjoy and do let me know your thoughts! :D

It's ironic really. Because the way it's just become obvious Sirius feels about Remus and Ella, is exactly the same way Remus, and Ella too, feels about him and Harry.

Chapter Eleven: Like His Constant

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

"I'm leaving," Sirius tells him one cold night after school goes back. The two men are sitting in Remus's living room, Sirius sipping muggle single malt and staring into the fire, Remus trying to work through his finances, and the statement is so sudden, Remus's hand screeches to a halt and his quill blotches right across the parchment. He watches the ink spread with a detached curiosity before slowly turning his head.

"You're leaving?" he repeats calmly. Sirius is looking at him now, an unreadable expression on his face. He nods.

"I have to, Moony. There's stuff going on with Harry and his scar and El- everything that I don't like. He needs me. I have to be there for him." A flash of anxiety breaks through, bringing life to Sirius's eyes and wiping away the almost blasé attitude. "You understand, don't you?" he asks, leaning forward, and although he doesn't make any other physical overtures, his body language screams 'beseeching.' "I can't stay here forever. There's a war out there and I need to play my part."

And I'm not playing mine? Remus thinks but doesn't say, wryly exasperated at his own thoughts. He knows Sirius doesn't mean that, or he doesn't intentionally mean that. There isn't much he can do at the moment and that's something Sirius is well aware of. His job up until this point has been keeping his best mate safe and trying to help him heal.

That's not to say that he won't miss him if he goes. Remus has gotten used to having a flatmate and the thought of being on his own again doesn't sit right at all. Annoyed with himself, he bites the inside of his cheek and pushes the feeling down.

"That's up to you. I'm not going to stop you going, Padfoot. I can't, can I?" he says when the anxiety on Sirius's face doesn't shift. "Harry does need someone. But for Merlin's sake, please be careful. Don't get caught. That'll just make the boy's life worse."

Sirius's shoulders drop some. "I won't," he says, leaning back and scrubbing at his face before blinking at Remus. "I'll be travelling as Padfoot and no one but a select few know about him." Tension tightens in his expression again and his head cocks. "What about you, though? Will you be all right?"

"Me?" Remus returns, surprised. "Of course I will. It'll be good to have the place to myself again. No more dog drool covering everything, yeah?"

Sirius snorts but the sharpness in his eyes doesn't waver. "You know that that's not what I'm talking about, Moony."

Remus frowns and his eyes drop, not-so-well hidden uneasiness curdling in his stomach. Yeah, he knows. Having Sirius staying with him has been a blessing in many more ways than one. For the first time in years, he's had company during the full moon, and it isn't just any company either. Sirius is pack. Not to mention that it's the first time he's ever had company while on wolfsbane, something he's surprised he's still getting. But Dumbledore insisted, and the experiences have been… interesting.

They've been joyful, his mind whispers. And they have. Sirius isn't the same person he was when he and James and Peter had joined Remus on his nights during school, but when he's Padfoot he's very similar. It'd been painful at first, to be reminded of that and all that had changed since. But Padfoot's enthusiasm was catching and Remus couldn't have said that those nights were fun, but he had felt…

At home. He'd felt at home. And it was going to be even harder than living alone again to give that feeling up.

Breathing in deeply, he raises his head. "I'll be fine. I will," he insists when Sirius's brow doesn't clear. "You don't need to worry about me, Pads. This is something I've been dealing with my entire life. Moony can handle himself."

"He might be able to but you're a different story," Sirius mutters, glaring moodily into his glass, swirling the amber liquid around the edges. "I don't want you to…" his head snaps up as a thought occurs to him. "Hermione!"

Remus's eyes narrow. "What about her?"

"She can keep you company!" Sirius exclaims, looking excited. "She can't run with you obviously, but she can-"

"She isn't here, Sirius. She's left last week to do something for Dumbledore, remember? Besides, even if she was here, who says she'd be willing?"

"Shit, I forgot about that. And 'course she'd be bloody willing!" Sirius's face is a picture of disbelief and disgruntlement, as if what Remus had said was blasphemes. "She became an animagus for you, didn't she? Where exactly is your head, Moony?"

Remus doesn't answer that and after a moment, Sirius sighs gustily, muttering something under his breath. Neither Remus or Hermione had told Sirius about Hermione's owl. Neither had had to. He'd smirked after he'd mentioned it the first time and they'd gawked at him, tapping the side of his nose in explanation.

"You don't actually think anything gets by me, do you?" he'd asked, which had made Remus feel like an idiot because he hadn't recognised Hermione's scent as an owl. His senses were confusing at times. When he'd said that, Hermione had given him a look and then proceeded to grumble for ten minutes about mental blocks.

"When are you leaving?" he asks now. Sirius looks at him.

"Tomorrow morning. It'll take a while to get there. Rem… my stuff. Do you have my stuff?"

Frowning, the werewolf shakes his head. "Your stuff? Your wand, you mean? Sirius, you know the ministry has that."

Sirius purses his lips in thought. "No, not that, although it'd be good to have it back. Feel like doing a little breaking and entering while I'm away? No?" he tries, then sighs when Remus sends him a look. "Ah, Moony, you used to be so good at that. Never mind. I was meaning some of the stuff we had at school, really. What James and I… P-Prongs shared. Just some personal possessions. Do you have that?"

Remus has to clear his throat. "Er, yeah," he says roughly, looking down and fidgeting with his quill. He doesn't know why he hasn't thought of it before. Sirius shouldn't have had to ask for the bloody stuff. "Sorry, Padfoot, I should've given them to you earlier. I'll get them now."

He gets up and heads to him room, rooting around in the back of the wardrobe. Pulling out a box, he stops as memories hit him full force and make him sway backwards. He hasn't opened this box for years and he suddenly really doesn't want to open it now.

"Take it, my boy," Dumbledore had said to him a week after Lily and James's death and Sirius's incarceration. Remus had taken two large steps away from the thing, his hands firmly behind his back, but Dumbledore had insisted, and he'd only been able to look through it a few times over the years, each time not managing to get anywhere near the bottom of the box before he couldn't look at it anymore. He stares at the top of the age-worn cardboard and rubs his aching eyes, feeling much older than his years as he turns and leaves the room, box in hand.

"Here," he says quietly, placing it on the floor next to Sirius's chair. There hadn't been much left in the cottage at Godric's Hollow – there hadn't been much of the cottage left at all – but enough had been saved. Remus doesn't know who had gone through Sirius's flat or why they'd bothered to save anything, but he's grateful now that they had.

Sirius does the same Remus did. He stares at box silently, then still without saying anything, he gets up and picks it up, leaving for his own room. The door closes with a soft snick and Remus sits, trying to work through his money woes for another half hour before he gives up, not able to concentrate.

He doesn't sleep much that night, and when he gets up in the morning, he knows instantly the Sirius is already gone. The house feels bare.

Goodbyes are overrated, Moony, the note his finds on the kitchen table says, don't know when I'll be back or even if I will be back. Take care of yourself, mate; I'll see you soon in one way or another. And stop being a clueless arse and talk to Hermione, would you? You might be surprised at what you find out.

The werewolf sits alone at the table for a long time, not yet able to face the now much emptier house.

~0~

Remus goes through three full moons on his own. The moons are miserable nights, bordering on horrific, and the loneliness after the first has him lethargic for days afterwards. It's only the threat of losing his job that gets him going again, trudging through the days and trudging home again to sit and do nothing, waiting to be called to action. He's curious and more than slightly worried about Hermione's mission, but he doesn't ask Dumbledore where she is because he knows he won't get an answer. And although he does get the occasional owl from her, the contents make it clear she doesn't know that Sirius is no longer there.

He doesn't enlighten her.

Sirius writes more than Remus expects him to. His letters are full of information about Harry, surprising Remus again, and the quickly become not at all rare comment about Ella, something that's very telling to Remus. Sirius doesn't love easily. He can't. It takes a lot to get him there, but when he is there, it's strong, loyal and wholehearted.

Ella may not know it but she has a force to be reckoned with solidly in her corner. The thought makes Remus smile.

The moons pass, as does the second task, and the third is creeping closer, Remus eager for letters from Sirius and slightly panicked about everything that seemed to be happening back in the wings. It isn't right. It's too much for a fourteen-year-old boy to handle and he's already basically made up his mind when he gets an owl from Minerva McGonagall of all people. His eyebrows reach his hairline as he reads the letter, and then a smile grows, slowly becoming megawatt with relief and anticipation.

You and Miss Granger are a part of his family, Remus. You should be here to see him through this.

His reply is instant and he's in a good mood in the two days leading up to the next moon, despite the expected protesting from his body. An hour before the moon rises, he removes his clothes and makes his way down into the basement that a strong extension charm has provided, sitting on a load of cushions in the corner to wait. He sucks in a breath when the cold heat starts to creep through his marrow, jaw clenching and eyes closing.

Those eyes snap open when his even further enhanced senses are flooded with marigold.

What?!

"No," he mumbles, vision wavering, and just as marigold permeates the room and sinks into his skin, the wards breaking with unexpected force and the door smashing open, the moon peaks and Remus opens his mouth and screams.

He's burning. Cracking and splitting and breaking apart. Burning alive. So cold. The sounds are atrocious and the screams turn hoarse and become howls, and eons later he falls to the floor and shakes, little whimpers falling from between his newly lengthened jaws.

Something not quite sharp runs gently over his nose. The trill is a worried question and a single eye opens to see the face of a small brown screech owl, bright yellow eyes staring right at him.

Hermione.

What is she doing here? He asks her physically by snuffing at her body, grinning in his head when she takes exception to his nose and the little nip of his teeth, flaring her wings at him and clicking her curved beak in aggravation while hopping back. Some of his amusement must have shown though, because her head cants and then she's hopping forward again determinedly, moving around him and pushing her beak into his side.

Remus turns his head and looks at her. Then, with her continued encouragement, he slowly and carefully gets to his feet.

It's the start of a night like he's never had before. With Sirius, he's quite active. Playful, so to speak, because Sirius doesn't let him be anything else. With Hermione, however, he watches. He forgets about the questions swimming through his human mind, and sits or stands and watches her fly around and explore the room, chitter and squawk at him, and hop around his feet. He watches constantly and the warmth inside him blooms as the night passes, feelings he's been determined to suppress resurfacing and swarming out of control.

He can't begin to describe how fucking grateful he is that she's here and he just can't take his eyes off her.

Hours later, the moon sets and the pain storms through him. Remus whines weakly and collapses, howling becoming screaming, tearing his throat. His head spins and as it does every so often, the pain is too much and his consciousness deserts him. It doesn't last long, however, and soon after he wakes to the feeling of a lightweight blanket draped over him and a hand running through his hair. Stretching and wincing as his muscles shriek in protest, he groans.

"Hermione?"

The hand pauses and draws away. Remus blinks open his eyes and looks into her drawn, pale face, worry and relief front and centre.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

He can't do anything but stare. He's somehow leaning back against the wall, blanket covering his legs, and the woman is crouching next to him, a tentative smile on her face. She's normal. She's utterly normal, with her forever out of control hair and her concern, the stable in his life, even when she wasn't there. And now she's here.

She here. She's here.

She's there for him when he needs.

His chest tightens so much it makes it hard to breathe. His emotions are suffocating and his hand is reaching without his mind's say-so.

Hermione freezes when his fingers touch her cheek. Her skin is soft; so soft, and a little chilled from being in the unheated basement for twelve or more hours. Her eyes are wide and she still doesn't move when he brushes the tips of his fingers gently along her nose, down around her chin and then up onto her mouth. He stops and she swallows and they're halted in time, his fingers just barely resting on her parted lips. The silence is so sharp, it hurts.

He's never wanted to kiss her more.

"Don't do this to me, Remus."

Having found the sight of his hand on his skin fascinating, he looks up at the strangled words, her lips moving, his fingers slipping. There's heat scorching his belly and quickly blazing through his veins that he can't tell is physically or emotional, but her tone and her eyes have a jolt following quickly in its wake. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, and the amount of pain and confusion, the amount of fear, the amount of… something else looking back at him almost makes him pull away.

Almost.

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly, the words so bloody hard to say. They don't talk like they used to, not about the important things, and he realizes that in a disturbing moment of clarity. She's his best friend. Above and beyond everything else, she's always been his best friend, something they've come back to in the past couple of years. So why don't they talk?

The thing has always been a wall between them. It's terrifying to breach it because he isn't worthy. He's never been worthy, of anyone, but especially not her.

Never, ever been worthy of her.

Why do the people that matter the most always scare you so fucking much?

"You can't do this to me," Hermione whispers. Remus frowns in confusion and she lets out a strange little sound and suddenly scrambles away from him, getting to her feet. Remus's hand hovers in the air for a moment and then falls to his lap. His eyes are on her and he sees the moment she decides.

"Don't run!" he blurts. Her head whips up and her body goes still, but it's clear she's ready to bolt at any second. Remus's chest aches.

"Please, don't run. Please. I've been running all my life. I don't… I'm not… you're everything to me. Please, H-Hermione, don't run. Can't we just talk?"

Her hands are clasped in front of her stomach. Her eyes are on the floor. She literally trembling with the need to leave the room, and Remus prays she finds it in herself to stay. She isn't a coward; he's always known that. It's him that's the coward and he doesn't know where all this courage has abruptly come from.

His leaning against a cold stone wall with only a blanket to cover his modesty – something he's already lost anyway, considering she had to have been the one who covered him, not to mention she saw him change. It isn't the most dignified position to be in, and he'd be on his feet if he could've found the strength to rise. He's rapidly getting cold and his bones, his very bones, are aching from being torn apart and turned inside out twice. He's hungry and exhausted, and at his lowest, but for some reason there isn't a better time to do this. No other time would be right. He doesn't even know why he's doing this. It's instinctive.

She's turned him away before. It would destroy him if she does it again.

Breath shuddering from him, he inches himself up further and straightens the blanket. "Hermione?"

Her mouth tightens when he says her name as an anxiety-ridden question. Then, still not looking up, she says so softly he barely hears her; "you broke my heart."

Remus's head rears back. "What? No."

"Yes," she says, louder, and she finally looks up, meeting the shock in Remus's eyes with an expression so fierce, his heart sprints. "You did. I laid myself out bare for you, Remus, and you made it into nothing. Nothing. Like my feelings weren't worth anything at all. You ignored them. I can't do that again. It ripped me to pieces the first time and I don't know if I'd have the strength to put myself back together again if I took the chance. I'm not a convenience, and I refuse to make myself into one or let you make me into one because you may've suddenly had a change of heart. You're my friend and I cherish that, but th-that's all. I'm… fuck it, no, I'm not sorry. I'm not."

Floored, Remus gapes. "Hermione, I don't understand. What are you talking about?" he asks, blinking when she laughs bitterly, the sound tearing a hole in his heart. She shakes her head and runs a hand through her hair.

"I wouldn't have thought selective memory would be something you'd possess. I guess I was wrong. Can you get up or do you need help?"

Confusion has a tangle of distress invading his insides, but pride had him grabbing the blanket and very slowly pushing himself up the wall until he's standing shakily, sweat trickling down the side of his face. He's still looking at her and his brain is rapidly going over each and every interaction he can remember having with her, distress compounding when he comes up with literally nothing that would explain her accusation. In his mind, he hasn't done what she's said he has. But watching her now, he knows that he can't say that.

He can't dig deeper because she's shut down. He can see that in her body language; her face. In her eyes. She's too stubborn to explain herself further; too stubborn to believe him if he tries to ramble through his own sort of explanation. She wouldn't want to believe him. Remus grimaces and swallows down the churning nausea.

He's hurt her very badly somewhere along the line. And he has no clue, no clue, when or where or how it happened.

"I can manage," he says. Her eyes are distant and her nod is precise, but when he takes just one step and his body betrays him with a violent wobble, decades-familiar exasperation floods her expression.

"No, you bloody can't. Stupid git. Let me help you."

She's wrapping her arm around his waist before he can answer and the trip up the short flight of stairs and down the hallway to his bedroom is wordless. The blanket falls when he climbs into bed.

"Sleep. I'll bring you some food in a bit." Then she's walking away and Remus wants with everything inside him to call her back. To get her to expand so that he can possibly figure out what it was he did and where he fucked up so enormously. But sleep is a drugging insistence and the words fade to nothing in his head. His eyes close.

She's gone when he wakes, a full plate on a tray on his nightstand, charmed to keep warm, the only evidence that she was there in the first place. That and his memories. And ten days later, when a young boy dies, Voldemort comes back and the world turns to a raging cesspool of terror and panic, he looks at Hermione over Harry's painful, soul-wrenching sobs and knows that the time to ask isn't likely to come anytime soon.

Sirius is right. There's a war going on and that as of now is the most important thing.