Stages

Disclaimer: I no own.

A/N – Only a handful more chapters to go, peeps! I won't state a number, because, knowing me and my muse, it won't be correct lol. But we're very close to the end! Very close! :D

Then rattles hollowly and breaks apart, splitting in two as horror paralyses him, when Arthur dives forward himself and tosses Harry out of the way, the surge of sickly green light meant for Albus Dumbledore catching him directly between his shoulder blades and felling him in an instant.

Chapter Twenty-one: Like His Vitality

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

The world drops out from under him, the ground trembling beneath his feet as Arthur's body falls. For a split second, he gawks, and for a split second, it doesn't seem real. It can't be real. Can't possibly. But then Arthur's staring blankly at nothing, neck twisted, glazed, empty eyes in a lifeless, empty body, and there's a sound – a little gasp, a slight whine of denial – Remus wishes he couldn't hear coming from Arthur Weasley's son.

The dead man's son, who just watched the dead man die.

He's dead.

Arthur's dead.

The silence is so thick, it's a fog.

It is real.

"Dad?" Ron Weasley whispers into the fog, and all hell breaks loose. The killing curse hitting Arthur is as effective at removing the disillusionment as finite is, his body becoming visible the instant the curse hits. Lestrange screeches and then does cast the general counter-curse, making both Ron and Remus visible to the room as well, which has the two Death Eaters at the back of the room rushing forward, their wands raised. Dumbledore is looking at Arthur's body with an expression somewhere between forlorn and resigned, and Snape looks like he's swallowed a lemon as his wand that just cast an Unforgivable lowers, the sour look quickly replaced by a rage that echoes Bellatrix's second, louder, screech of fury.

"Thrice-damned fool!" he snarls, grabbing Draco's arm in a punishing grip as the first curse firing shakes Remus from his stupor and sends him rushing towards Harry and Ron, defensive and attacking spell tripping from his tongue without any thought. "Go! We must go!"

"But… you killed him…"

"Go!" Snape hisses, dragging the chalky-white Malfoy heir towards the door. Remus spares them a single glance before deciding to let them go. He can barely breathe from the crackling ozone left in the wake of four wands continuously firing, and he needs to get to the boys. He needs to get them out.

He won't have another dead body on his hands.

"Harry!" he shouts, throwing up a shield just in time. Ron's still standing, unmoving, staring at his father's body, and Harry's by his side, defending them both and looking panicked. Remus inches his way towards them, sensing the spell heading directly for his back and twisting out of the way with hardly a second to spare, his concentration interrupted by Snape's voice abruptly booming through the castle.

"RETREAT."

Bellatrix cackles. "Got the rodent!" she shrieks, firing spell after spell at Remus and backing towards the entrance to the stairwell, her two panting and injured fellows doing the same. "The rodent's dead! You'll be next!" She cackles again and kicks out at Arthur's body, smashing her foot right into his jaw. Remus hears it crack.

He sees it crack through Ron.

It's as if he's come back to life, animated again with shock and horror and grief and madness. He's broken, and he's furious, and he's moving, running, sprinting towards the stairs, bellowing at the top of his lungs. Harry shouts after him but Ron doesn't listen – or doesn't hear – and Remus has to change not only direction, but strategy.

There's vengeance in Ron's eyes. Vengeance doesn't think.

He should know.

Heavy sorrow has him casting a status charm, and then he's running after two teenage boys, one with the aim to kill. The castle is awash with confusion as he pelts after Harry and Ron, the latter still screaming, all three of them ignoring the chaos of a fleeing enemy and the scrambling witches and wizards who'd been fighting them moments before. He can hear Bellatrix's insane laughter; it seems to float on a non-existent wind, fluttering around them and fuelling Ron, and that's all he concentrates on – getting to the boy before he does the unthinkable.

That is, until Dumbledore steps into the fray.

Remus hadn't even seen him leave his office. He hadn't thought of the old man, the original target of Snape's Avada, too caught up in getting to and protecting Harry and Ron. He bullets down the staircase and tumbles into the Entrance Hall after the two boys, his eyes widening when he sees Dumbledore standing calmly, his arms folded in his opposite sleeves, next to Hogwarts's wide open main doors.

Snape's wand is once more on him.

"Move!" the Potions Master snaps. Dumbledore shakes his head.

"You have a job to do."

"My job is done," Snape replies, sounding as he's suffering from lockjaw. Remus has a split second to wonder what the hell they're on about, and why Snape thinks Dumbledore is in the way in the first place, before Ron roars something incomprehensible, tears streaming down his cheeks, and pulls his wand back.

A spell shoots from the tip before either Harry or Remus can stop him.

Everything freezes. It's another universe-trembling moment as the spell hits the wall and blasts it apart with a shockingly loud boom, stones crumbling and falling, collapsing in a heap on top of an unsuspecting Dumbledore and not getting anywhere near Snape, as he's somehow managed to jerk himself and a silent and still unnaturally pale Draco out of the way in time. Within the bubble of scattered time – as short as a breath but as long as the moon dominating the sky – Remus gapes at the place the headmaster used to be standing.

Now there's just a mess of concrete, and a single, blackened hand, sticking out of the rubble.

Someone screams.

"Move!" Snape barks. He's running, Draco right behind him, and Remus isn't entirely sure why he's running after them. He can't think. But he does know that Ron's weeping, the sound piercing through the exclamations of denial and the overload of panic, and some little bit of logic veers Remus's brain off course. He loosens his hold on the end of his wand and slows himself down to a stop in the middle of the grounds.

Just in time to catch Ron as the boy tries to hurtle past him.

"No!"

"It isn't worth it," Remus murmurs, arms wrapped tightly around the redhead, who's tall and lanky and not that much of a boy anymore. Would never be a boy again. There's a thunder of running footsteps behind them, multiple voices shouting, and he throws up a shield without thinking when a spell shoots in their direction. "Don't let this change who you are, son."

"I'm not your son!" Ron moans in a tone broken, dripping with helplessness and fury and endless, endless mourning. He claws at Remus's arms, kicking out with his feet, bucking and lunging. "I'm not anyone's son!"

"You are your mother's son. You're Molly's son. You are Arthur Weasley's son. Make your father proud. Don't do this, lad. Please."

Ron shakes. And then drops, all fight seeping from him. People run past them while Remus sinks to the ground and cradles Ron in his arms, rocking him as he lets out high-pitched wounded-animal noises that are somehow so low Remus is positive only he'd be able to hear them. His cheek resting on top of Ron's head, Remus watches the Death Eaters disappear, still throwing spells over their shoulders. He watches Snape step over Hogwarts's boundaries, and he watches him twist on the spot, Draco still firmly in his grasp.

He watches the rebounding curse hit him directly in the centre of his chest.

In many ways it's as shocking as Arthur's had been. The spell isn't a passive spell; it's a body-wrecking curse with rips through Snape's sternum as easily as a hot knife through butter, and Snape's face flickers with a mild sort of surprise as the front of his robes turn into a gory mess. His head turns as if directed by force towards Draco, who's staring in blatant horror at his Head of House, and his mouth opens to speak.

Remus doesn't find out what Snape was going to say, because Snape doesn't get a chance to say it. Instead, a wet, gurgling type of sound emerges.

And then Severus Snape dies.

He topples over, face-first. Draco jerks himself away from the falling body in a desperate, wild movement, almost tripping over his own feet in his effort to get away. He's still staring, panic slowly carving its way across his face.

Suddenly, his head lifts. Remus's eyes flick to the right, where Harry's crouching next to him, his hand on Ron's shoulder.

His eyes locked with Draco's.

"Don't," Harry mutters, and as if he'd heard the single word, impossible across the distance separating them, the panic vanishes and Draco's face hardens. They stare at each other for a long moment, and then Draco lifts his chin, takes another step back and twists on the spot.

Harry's face twists as well as the crack of disapparition rents the air, his breath leaving him in a rush. He swallows, fills his lungs again, then turns to Remus and Ron, something a little like heartbreak in his eyes.

Remus doesn't know whether that's over Draco, or the very much broken Ron he's still cradling in his arms.

Somehow, he thinks as they're quickly surrounded by people and shouting, grasping hands and worried voices, it doesn't really matter.

~0~

Arthur's funeral is indescribable. Remus struggles to remember a lot of it, just as he struggles to remember the days leading up to it. The last of the Death Eaters had fled the school in the moments following Snape's death, and with the end of the battle and the need to protect, aid and comfort, so too did Remus's fight.

It's as if he can't be normal. He just can't find it in himself to be human, a normal, living and breathing, everyday person, the months upon months of being a wolf roaming through his brain and doing their best to drive out his humanity. The adrenaline is gone, making him tired, showing him how completely lost he is; showing him that he wants to be lost.

There's no defence against the memories now.

It's the scents that keep him from giving in to the urge to let it all go and embrace the animal. To just run. Earth is there, as is daffodils and Darjeeling tea. Leather, spice and coal dust never seems to leave him alone. Lemons and sunshine make him breathe, even as they bring tears to his eyes – a small hand in his, a hollow silence much like his own.

Too much like his own.

But it's the marigold that does the most. It surrounds him constantly, her voice a murmur in his ears. Her arms around him, her lips on his forehead. She never, not ever once, lets go of his hand.

Not once.

She's clutching it particularly tight at the funeral. The Weasleys have fallen apart in the wake of Arthur's death. Molly hasn't stopped crying, her tears scenting the air along with multiple others. She doesn't make a sound as she cries, however, something that's leaked down to her stern-faced and trembling children.

They're too hard.

They're all too hard.

Especially Ron.

Death has its own scent. That scent sinks into Remus's skin as he sits in the hard little chair in the Burrow's backyard, everything at the edges of his vision blurred. Death has an oily tinge to it, thick and glugging, that's trying to seep its way inside him.

That's partially succeeding, it seems.

He stares at Arthur's coffin, at Molly crying while not making a sound, at the boyhood forever destroyed in her youngest son.

At the dry, red eyes and white knuckles of her only daughter.

And wakes up.

He's not dead.

He's not.

Enough of this.

"Remus?" Hermione whispers as he gets to his feet. They're sitting at the very back of the ceremony, right at the end of the row, and as such he's able to rise without causing too much disturbance. A polyjuiced Sirius lifts a ginger brow in question when Remus pulls Hermione up next to him, the witch rising hurriedly in response to the urgent way he tugs at her arm. He starts to get to his feet as well, then hesitates, his eyes going to Harry sitting at the front, next to his silently cold and unemotional best mate.

Ron hasn't spoken a single word since the battle ended. Not one.

"It's all right, I've got it," she says quietly, waving him back down. Sirius hesitates for a moment more and then nods, settling back down again, looking extremely odd as a distant Weasley relative. Remus tugs at Hermione's hand again, and the two of them quickly walk away from the scene of sorrow and death, Remus nearly running.

He's alive.

So is she.

"Remus, what's wrong?" the love of his life ask as they round the corner of the Burrow and head for Arthur's shed, the door creaking loudly as Remus pushes it open. He pulls Hermione inside and kicks the door closed with his foot, the lights coming on automatically to show a jumble of mismatched muggle artefacts and junk, some in pieces, clearly in the process of being taken apart. There's a different kind of oily scent in the air this time, and Remus gulps the smell down, pulling grease and oil and marigold deep into his lungs.

Filling his head up with the scent of life.

He's alive.

So is she.

He's kissing her without being aware of moving. Her lips give under his in surprise, the rapidness of his move making her take a step back, and Remus follows that step with more of his own, until he's crowded her back against the junk-strewn bench. His hands are cupping the sides of her face and his head is turning, and he's slanting his mouth over hers, prying her lips open and darting his tongue inside.

He's alive.

He's alive.

So is she.

He tastes victory the moment Hermione kisses him back. She lets out a little sound of wonder and thirst and wraps her arms around his neck, pushing up against him, her mouth opening wider in eager invitation. Remus takes that invitation and runs with it, his hands falling to her waist to pull up her shirt and waistcoat, fingers rough and impatient for the feel of her skin.

It's warm. It's home. Remus runs his fingertips up her back, drinking in the mews she lets out when he digs his nails in. He kisses her again and again and runs his hands around onto her stomach, only abandoning the addictiveness of her skin to push her clothes up further.

He needs all that warmth in his hands. Right now.

"Take it off," Hermione murmurs against his mouth, pulling away to push at his shoulders, her eyes dark and deep and slumberous, her lips swollen. She bites her bottom lip and peers at him through her lashes, leaning back against the bench a little. Remus groans and hardens to the point of uncomfortableness at the look in those enigmatic eyes. "Take it off. Touch me."

She takes his hands and makes him take handfuls of her clothing, guiding his wrists so that her waistcoat slowly slides up her body. "I need you to touch me," she whispers, leaning in close to him again and hovering her lips over his ear. "Remus, please, touch me."

All oxygen vanishes. Her waistcoat is gone, her shirt soon following, and Hermione laughs at the way his hands scramble to undo her bra and remove that as well. Her laughter dies, however, the instant he cups her breasts and thumbs her nipples, her breath hitching, her head falling back.

Exposing her neck.

The arch of his throat is everything he's ever needed and more.

He's drowning in the taste of her pulse. It thumps under his lips, under his teeth, and the last of the blurriness evaporates as he uses his hands and his mouth to make the woman he loves moan. To make her cry out as he sucks on her pulse point, his blood roaring as he spins her around and crowds her into the bench once more, one arm around her waist to protect her from the bite of the edge of the wood, the other still playing with and tugging at a nipple. He pulls at her pulse, sucking her skin into his mouth, and pushes his erection against her skirt-covered arse, making them both groan.

"Is this… enough?" he pants into the curve of her shoulder, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and repeatedly bucking his hips. "Am I touching you enough? Do you want… fuck. Do you want more?"

"Yes!" Hermione whimpers, pushing back rapidly against his thrusts. "Fuck, Remus, fuck yes, please! Please!"

Remus's grin is feral. "Shall I fuck you then, Hermione? Right here, right now?"

"If you don't, Remus Lupin, I'm going to lop your bloody prick off and feed it to Crookshanks for breakfast!"

She growls the threat. Remus chuckles. "Hmm, tasty," he whispers, then pulls them both away from the bench just enough, dropping his hands to yank her skirt up and her knickers down. He brushes his fingers along her wet sex, the animal he still is rumbling at the way she jerks and moans and widens her stance, then attacks the fastening of his slacks.

Once he's released himself, he takes her in hand again, her naked back to the wool of his sweater, and presses her lips to the top of her spine.

"Ready?" he whispers. Hermione's nod is swift.

"Yes, yes, just fuck me, please, Remus, I need you please."

So breathy. Remus growls deep in his throat, wraps an arm her neck, the other back again around her waist, and with a single thrust, sheaves himself inside her. Hermione's gasp turns into a whine, her throat moving against his forearm as she swallows. The whine cuts off, jumping in octave and force as he withdraws and drives back in, Remus grunting and setting a pace that has the sound of skin slapping rapidly against skin ringing through the shed.

He's home.

This is life.

He's alive.

So is she.

"I love you," he groans and sinks his teeth into the muscle of her shoulder. Hermione lets out a choked cry, her hand wrapped around the back of his head pulling sharply at his hair, the other busy between her legs, and her orgasm take him by surprise, her body tightening like a bow and clamping down hard around his cock. Remus lets out a hiss through his teeth as does his best to guide her through the spasms rattling through her body, before laying the abruptly limp front of her down on the bench.

Gripping her hips, he takes what he needs.

It doesn't take long. She hot and slick and her neck is sweaty, her hair damp and curling wildly, and she's his. He snarls and slams in, stilling and coming with a force that has him seeing stars, emptying his very soul inside of her.

It feels like that, anyway.

Her hair's tickling his nose. Remus snuffs at it, mouthing along the back of her neck, where her scent is strong. Hermione sighs under him, wiggling her shoulders.

Breathing in her scent a final time, he presses one more gentle kiss to her skin, and then reluctantly moves.

Turning her head, her eyes are sleepy as she blinks at him.

"That was unexpected."

"Yeah," Remus answers quietly. The curl falling over her cheek draws his hand. She smiles at him when he tucks it back behind her ear. "Wanna get dressed again? I don't think anybody'll come in but we don't want to take any chances."

Hermione snorts softly. "Didn't seem to care about that when you were cheerfully hiking up my skirt," she groans, lifting herself off the bench and almost falling when her feet touch the floor. Remus steadies her, grinning to himself a little when she blows out a breath and pushes her hair back out of her face, before quickly casting a cleaning charm on them both and sorting her clothes on her bottom half back into their correct places. "Where's my bra?"

Zipping and buttoning himself back up, Remus scoops up the offending garment – how did it manage get all the way under the bench and nearly out the other side? – and hands it to her. She smiles at him in thanks, and Remus watches her get dressed in silence, suddenly awkward. Her smile flickers a second time once done, a curious cock of her head following.

The familiar action throws years of memories through his head.

Not knowing what else to do, Remus stands with his hands in his pockets and watches Hermione watch him. He watches her searching his eyes, those flickers of smiles blooming across her face slowly; cautiously. He watches her approach him on careful feet.

His eyes close of their own accord when her palm comes to rest on his cheek.

"Hello, my love. Welcome home."

Ah, fuck me.

She squeaks when his arms vice around her, laughing softly and borrowing in close.

"I'm sorry," Remus mutters some time later, his chin on the top of her head. He darts a look towards the wall of the shed when he hears the murmur of voices coming closer, then releases a quiet breath when the voices head into the house instead of heading towards them. The ceremony must be over. "I shouldn't have… it's a lot. I need to talk to you about a lot. It was too much and I couldn't… I was hiding. M'sorry."

"Hey." Hermione's hands rub up and down his arms as she steps back and takes his hands in hers, bringing his wrists up to whisper a kiss to the inside of each. Her eyes are earnest, her grip steady and strong. "You have nothing to apologize for. Not to me. I love you, no matter what. Understand?"

His heart slams. Please don't ever change your mind.

"Remus?"

"Yeah, all right," he says. "We should go in. The wake's about to begin."

"Remus."

He sighs and sends an arm-folding Hermione a wry smile. "I'm fine, love, truly. I just want to get this over with. Dumbledore will want a debriefing and…" trailing off, he grimaces and runs a hand through his hair. "Moody will want a debriefing. Damn it."

"That man deserves everything he's getting," Hermione mutters, walking over to wrap her arm around his waist. "Come on, then. Let's go continue celebrating life, yeah?"

The playful look in her eyes reminds that she can read his mind far too well. "Yes, let's," Remus agrees, shaking his head and barely holding his smile back. The smile escapes his control, however, when she smirks at him, leans up on her toes and kisses him on the cheek.

The woman's a menace.

He loves it.

~0~

"Where have you two been?" Sirius asks Hermione when they walk into the living room. The Burrow is packed to the rafters with funeral attendees, the mood remarkably cheerful considering that this isn't their first funeral – nor will it be the last. The Weasley family isn't around, as they'd accompanied their patriarch to the cemetery. Remus knows that a number of others had wanted to go as well, but Molly's great-aunt had insisted it be family only.

Merlin knows that Molly hadn't been in the right frame of mind to contradict her.

"Oh, just living," Hermione answers, grinning cheekily. She yelps in surprise when Remus elbows her in the ribs. "What? It's true, isn't it?"

"Hush your mouth," he says, once again hiding his smile. Hermione laughs and winds her fingers through his.

"Moony, you're back?"

Looking over at Sirius, Ella and Harry sitting quietly and watching everything with eyes too old to match their numerical ages next to him, Remus shrugs. "I guess? I never really went anywhere."

"The hell you didn't," Sirius states flatly. Remus blinks a little at the tone and focuses all of his attention on the man.

Sirius looks exactly like his name tells people he is. Serious. He's looking at Remus with knowledge in his gaze – past experience that speaks of things he'd rather forget. There isn't any pity there, just a quiet empathy Remus had forgotten he was capable of, and a level of compassion people tended to overlook.

His best mate included.

Remus winces. He really needs to start giving Sirius more credit. How was he supposed to heal along with everyone else when the people he interacted with on a daily basis treated him as if he'd left his mind behind in Azkaban when he'd escaped?

"Yes, well, the destination wasn't all that exciting. Sorry, mate. Right here's much better."

Sirius grins. "'Course it bloody is, you tosser," he says, getting up and throwing an arm around Remus's shoulder, the werewolf desperately trying to push him away when he plants a sloppy, smacking kiss on the side of his jaw. Getting kissed by a strange redhead is not something he wants to repeat. "Still, getting away sometimes does do the mind some good. Just remember that we're all here waiting for you when you get back."

Remus coughs a little and clears his throat. Yes, he really needs to give Sirius more credit.

"Love you, Padfoot."

Sirius blinks, and then laughs, reaching over to ruffle a flushing Remus's hair. "Love you, too, Moonbeam!"

"Sirius, for Christ's sake, how many times do I have to tell you? Stop trying to steal my man! Go get your own if you want one that badly!"

There's laughter from multiple sources around them. Hermione squeezes Remus's hand as she chuckles, and he squeezes hers back gratefully, feeling ridiculously relieved and a lot more at peace with himself than he expected to feel.

Human.

He feels human.

The realisation has a grin spreading across his face that doesn't fade until the door opens and the Weasleys trek into the room. The camaraderie drops into dead silence for a moment, and then slowly picks up again as the family spreads out and makes their way to different parts of the house, stopping to speak to people briefly before moving on. Remus watches with interest, sharing a look with Hermione and Sirius when a sombre-looking Bill and Fleur stop at their side.

"We're having an extra little get-together after the wake's over if you'd care to hang around," Bill tells them calmly, single earring swinging when he turns his head to include everyone in the conversation. He's clutching his fiancée's hand tightly, her arm twined through his, and there's nothing in his tone to indicate that he's speaking in riddles.

Still, the riddle is solved.

"Of course," Hermione says. Bill nods and moves on, and the three adults share another look. Sirius's hand finds Harry's shoulder, the boy's worried eyes on Ron, who's leaning against the far wall, staring at nothing. He looks like he's going to pass out from sleep deprivation any moment.

It's a timely reminded that they couldn't escape it. Remus squeezes Hermione's hand once more, pulling her over until he's able to wrap his arms around her and snuggle her back against his chest. No matter how much easiness and laughter lightens their world, they still have a war to fight.

To win.

It's something he really prefers they do very soon.