Author's Note: I would like to have a word with you all.

A couple of things apparently need to be made clear. This is a fictional story. The characters in it are obviously also fictional, and even if they are not in any way my own creation, I am, at this moment, coming up with what they are thinking and feeling. That means that what Harry Potter feels does not necessarily reflect my personal views about anything, whether that is the definition of love, or the effectiveness of a glass of water on nerves.

On a second note, I had the radio playing when I wrote this, and that new Hinder song came on, "Better Than Me." Now, normally I don't like Hinder…not at all, really. But somehow it seemed to put me in the Remus/Hermione mood, so I thought I'd share it for your listening pleasure. In the spirit of that song, also, I'd like to propose a challenge:

Menolly's Fic Challenge: Write a believable, convincing one-shot based on a song that you absolutely hate. Not a songfic, mind, you, but a fic inspired by a song or a set of lyrics. If anyone lets me know that they've posted a response to that, I'll highlight and link it in my author's notes.

Enjoy!

Menolly

Chapter Eleven: It Always Matters

Early in the morning, just after the sun had come up, Hermione reappeared in the dusty living room of Grimmauld Place. It was almost unrecognizable as a place where people had lived. Tables and chairs were overturned and destroyed. Long wood shavings and strings of what had been curtains lay around, abandoned in heaps on the floor. Several of the empty frames that had hung on the walls were cracked or smeared with dirt, and some were no longer in any shape to hang anywhere.

Picking her way through the remains of the house, Hermione started towards the staircase. She had to step carefully, avoiding large holes where Lupin had either fallen or torn through the boards. There were human footprints in the dust, which Hermione hoped were a sign that Lupin had transformed back, and retired to the upstairs bedrooms.

Hermione was prepared for more scenes of similar destruction on the upper floor. She wasn't surprised to see that everything was in equally horrible disarray. What she wasn't prepared for was the huddled figure in a torn shirt and trousers, his arm badly gashed, presumably by something that had fallen on him from the damaged walls. Lupin had his head buried deeply in his hands, his fingers running into the back of his hairline, his face totally obscured.

"That looks awful," Hermione murmured, crouching down next to him so that she could get a better look at the cut on his arm. "Deep, too. You should've washed it out as soon as you had the opportunity." She waved her wand at the wound, performing a silent charm that turned the gaping cut into a well-scabbed sliver of flesh, which stood out against Lupin's pale arm.

Very slowly, Lupin looked down at his newly healed arm. Then he lifted his eyes to Hermione, eyes that were dry, but bloodshot from strain. He didn't seem to recognize her for a moment, and then, in a tone of complete disbelief, he said, "You came back."

"Yeah," said Hermione, wondering why her voice was so hoarse. "Didn't I tell you that I wasn't going to let you just sit around here and feel sorry for yourself?"

"I tried to eat you," Lupin reminded her.

Hermione smiled, shrugging, and, at the same time forcing back the memory of how absolutely terrifying that experience had been. "You did do that," she admitted. "It's okay. I forgive you."

"Did I…hurt you?" Lupin was running his eyes over her arms and face, trying to catch a glimpse of any injury that he hadn't previously noticed. "I didn't get you at all, then?" An intense relief spread over his face at Hermione's nod. "Thank god. Thank…thank god." He shook himself, some of the color returning to his face. "And Harry? Harry's all right?"

"Harry's fine," Hermione insisted. "We're both just fine. Harry's going to the Burrow to draw the Ministry officials off on a false scent, so that you and I can get out of here. And next time, I promise I'll be more careful, Professor. We'll get you some of that wolfsbane before we do anything else."

"Please," Lupin said, putting up a hand in a gesture of some protest. "Don't…don't call me Professor. I haven't been your Professor in a long time. You can dispense with the formality."

"I'll try," said Hermione ruefully.

"Good." Lupin nodded at her as he rose to his feet. Taking a look around the room at the destruction he'd caused, he shook his head, and seemed to want to put it from his mind. Turning back to Hermione, he took her hand in his, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. "Thank you, Hermione. I'm more in your debt than you might realize. Now I really will get that time to live that you were so adamant about."

Hermione wanted to say "Don't mention it," but she found herself lost for words. Her insides had begun churning as she felt the touch of his lips against her hand, and she hoped that her face didn't look as red as it felt hot to her. Somehow, no words seemed quite sufficient, and even if she'd wanted them, she knew she probably couldn't have come up with any.

For some reason, she realized, Lupin hadn't made any move to start downstairs again. She didn't feel too eager to stray from this spot herself, but rather imagined that she'd enjoy standing there, letting him hold her hand just like that for as long as he pleased. The warm feeling in her face had begun to spread down the arm that Lupin had hold of, and was taking hold of her entire body, so that she had to make a concerted effort to keep herself from swaying on the spot.

Lupin finally broke eye contact, and made as if to turn from her, but Hermione held him fast, refusing to let go of his hand. He opened his mouth to speak, his eyes kind, grateful, and understanding. She couldn't' stand that understanding, because she knew that he didn't' understand, that he couldn't possibly really understand what was going on in her head. At the same time, she desperately wanted him to, wanted to believe that he could, and was totally incapable of convincing herself that he would.

"We should-!" he began, but she leaned in and pressed her lips to his before he had a chance to finish the sentence. She couldn't tell who was more startled by the action, Lupin or herself, and she felt him stiffen, his hand going rigid in hers. She wrapped one arm around his shoulders, afraid that he would pull away, and embarrassed, at the same time, that he might linger there simply to indulge her. Just as she was beginning to feel as though the only possible way to salvage what had happened was to pull away and make a run for the downstairs landing, Lupin's arm was around her waist, and he was returning the kiss, hesitantly, but warmly, and urgently.

His tousled hair fell into her eyes as she kissed him, and he reached up to cup her face with the palm of his hand. His hand felt rough, and torn against her face, and she spent a moment wondering if he'd cut that, too, during his rampage. His touch was so gentle that he seemed to think he might break her, and she dropped her lips from his, leaning her forehead against his chest, feeling that the rise and fall of his chest had sped up, so that his heart seemed to be beating at an alarming rate. Or, Hermione wondered, was that her own heart? How odd, she thought, that she couldn't seem to tell.

"I could have killed you," Lupin said gently, breaking the amazing reverie that had arisen between them. "I wouldn't have known the difference between you and anyone else. I would have torn you apart. I can't live knowing that-!"

"But you didn't'," insisted Hermione, "you didn't do any of those things. You don't' have to think about it. Don't bother. It doesn't matter anymore."

"It always matters," whispered Lupin, in a hollow voice.

Hermione couldn't say that it didn't matter to her. She couldn't tell him that it didn't bother her, that it was of no consequence, because that wouldn't be true. She'd learned the previous night that she was, in fact, very attached to her own life, and she couldn't quite convince herself that there was no harm in Lupin's being a werewolf. That would be stupid, and no matter how many mistakes she might make in this case, she wasn't stupid.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," she said, under her breath. To her surprise and pleasure, Lupin chuckled.

"If this is what you meant by 'living my life,'" he added, after a moment, "then I'm starting to see your point." She grinned at him, expecting to see an answering smile on his face, but Lupin wasn't smiling. His laughter had faded, and he was looking distracted and morose again. Frustrated, Hermione tried to think of how she could reanimate him, but he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, stopping her from speaking. "No, don't," he told her, "don't try. You can't always heal me so easily." He gestured at his arm.

Hermione wished desperately that she could.

"We'll need to get you some proper wizard's robes," Hermione was saying, as she rummaged through the drawers of her armoire, back on Beulah Street. "If you walk around in muggle clothes all the time, it'll be more than a giveaway."

"I didn't think I'd be walking around at all, Lupin reminded her, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione shrugged that off impatiently. "Well, no," she agreed, "no, not for the moment. Once we get you cleared, of course, you'll need something to wear, or else people will stare. You had some at the theater, didn't you?"

"We're not going back to the theater." There was no uncertainty in Lupin's tone that time. "I slept on the premises, so all of my things are there, yes, but I'm sure if anyone finds them when they're cleaning out my dressing room, they'll just assume they're part of the costume."

"Probably so." Hermione agreed. "That's convenient. I hadn't really considered that."

"And," added Lupin, "I'm convicted as a wizard, but no one's trying to arrest me as a muggle."

"But you did disappear, and they will be trying to find you. It's really the same danger either way, because if the muggles announce that they've found you again, that'll get to the Ministry's ears in no time."

Hermione gave up on that train of thought, and closed the drawer with a snap. Taking a look, appraising look at Lupin, she frowned, crossing her arms over her chest in thought. "Well, all right. Robes aside, then, we need wolfsbane, and quickly.

"We could make it," suggested Lupin, "but it takes too long to be effective after you've brewed it. It wouldn't be ready in time, and…"

"And we aren't going to have that again," Hermione cut him off, trying to sound totally unconcerned. "So, where have you been getting it? How about that instant stuff, that you were taking in the theater?"

Lupin sighed. "I made it myself, months ago. I was just in the process of brewing some more, when this all blew up in our faces."

Guiltily, Hermione realized that he'd been about to say "when you came along," as it had been her that had started the chain of events which led to his discovery. But, she reminded herself, that was obviously of no consequence now. Blame could be placed later. For the moment, she needed to find a way to come by some wolfsbane potion, and she only had a couple of day's leisure in which to do so.

Frustrated, she gave Lupin a look that was half-apologetic, half forcedly-hopeful. To her surprise, he as regarding her steadily, clearly thinking hard about something. "I don't suppose," he asked hesitantly, "you still have that time-turner, do you? I know exactly how to make the potion. The only problem is having enough time for it to mature."

"Oh!" Hermione couldn't think if she did still have the instrument, but she didn't remember getting rid of it, either. "It must be around…somewhere. I'll look for it." She held up her wand, and said, very loudly and clearly, so that she could have been heard throughout the whole house, "Accio time-turner!"

Almost immediately, she could hear a whirring sound coming from the attic. It seemed to take the time-turner several moments to negotiate the cramped space, but, before long, it whizzed down the stairwell towards her, flying forward at such a speed that she made a hasty grab for it to prevent it from crashing into a wall and smashing to bits. As soon as she closed her hand around it, the little golden hourglass stopped buzzing, and fell against her palm, inanimate again. Extremely pleased with her success she held the time-turner out towards Lupin, grinning more confidently than she had since they'd returned from Grimmauld Place. "So, how long does the potion take?"