A/N: The reason Remus (or Lupin for that matter) didn't smell the Dark magic of the Horcrux locket back at Grimmauld Place, is because that house is FILLED with Dark magic. Also, the locket was last touched by human hands before 5th year when the Order made it Headquarters.

Chapter Twenty-One

September 14th, 1996

After breakfast on the morning of Quidditch tryouts, Remus and Hermione said goodbye to Neville before following after Harry and Ron. They walked hand in hand, and Remus stood proud as ever, still enjoying the new feeling of holding a girl's hand in public and having her know his secret and not shy away from—or go running in fear of—him.

They approached two of Hermione's roommates, who were staring at Harry and Ron, causing Hermione to chuckle. Remus looked at her and then back to the girls, noting that the blond one was grinning and giggling as she stared and, suddenly, Ron was walking a bit taller, his arms at his sides and his chest puffed out a bit. Hermione struggled to hold back her laughter as their friend continued to the Quidditch Pitch, strutting.

"Good luck, boys," Hermione said when they arrived at the stadium, pulling Remus with her through the stands and smiling when he cast a mild Repelling Charm to keep the misty drizzle of rain from soaking them through.

Once they'd found seats that weren't completely open to the rain, Hermione sat down and pulled out a book. "Quite the turnout," she noted, glancing down at the grass where Harry stood with Ginny, Ron, and everyone else that had come to try out for the team.

Remus smirked. "They're all here for Harry."

"What makes you say that?"

He leant close to her as if to whisper, gesturing to a small crowd of young witches. "That group of girls just there met us on the train. They were trying to get Harry to go and sit with them," he scoffed. "Irritating little chits."

Hermione pursed her lips and tried not to smile. "That's not very nice, Remus."

He shrugged, not caring. "They were rude to Neville and Luna," he said. "And their little leader is a pest. Flirted with Harry and then, when he turned her down, she . . . er . . ." His face flushed and he turned away. "Never mind."

Hermione blinked at him rapidly, moving her head to look at the young witches before returning her focus to her boyfriend. "Did she flirt with you?" she asked curiously.

He winced. "A bit. I told her I was taken," he said very quickly. "I was a bit harsh with my dismissal, really. Not jealous, are you?" he asked in a teasing tone when he saw a small flicker of annoyance in her eyes.

She lifted a brow. "Should I be?"

He laughed. "Gods, no," he said and then reached for her, pulling her close to him by the lapels of her cloak and buried his nose in her hair, breathing deep. "I'm lucky enough that you're willing to look my way and smile. Never mind that you let me snog you," he added before kissing her jaw, drawing a sweet little mewl from her throat.

She allowed the public display, her eyes on the field where everyone's attention was turned to Harry, no one looking toward the stands. "I'm not jealous," she insisted. "And you think too highly of me, Remus. Honestly," she smiled when he pulled away, rubbing his nose against hers before lightly kissing her lips, "it's nice . . . I don't normally have the attention of such a handsome wizard," she admitted flirtatiously, though the humble blush on her cheeks was genuine.

Remus smirked, doing his best to ignore the discomfort that came with being praised so openly. "What about famous Quidditch players?"

She laughed and shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Jealous?"

He shook his head, mimicking her with a smile. "I'm the one you're with, aren't I?"

She let out a small breath of relief. "Good," she said, cupping his jaw with the palm of her hand, very briefly getting lost in the green of his eyes, searching out the tiny flecks of gold that indicated his condition. "I dislike jealousy."

"I'm not the jealous type," Remus admitted, the gold in his gaze shining a touch brighter. "I am, however, a territorial type."

"Is that the wolf?" Hermione asked curiously.

Remus swallowed, still a touch nervous whenever his lycanthropy was brought up in discussion, as though one day Hermione would wake up, realise that she was allowing a monster to touch her, and then run away, screaming. She appeared to pick up on this change and leant closer to him, pressing her forehead against his. Remus closed his eyes and allowed the tension to roll off of him. "The wolf, a bit, yeah," he quietly confessed. "And if that bloke over there doesn't stop looking you over, I'm going to punch him in his pretty face," he added, casting a glance down to the grass.

Hermione sat back in shock. "What? Who?"

Remus growled. "That one there," he said and did his very best not to bare his teeth at the bloke in a Keeper's uniform who was staring at Hermione with a smug grin on his face.

She grimaced at the sight and then looked away, dismissing him. "I don't know him. But if he keeps looking, all he'll see is me staring at you."

A grin overtook Remus's face and he wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her forward and nearly onto his lap. She made a squeaking noise that he captured with his lips, not hesitating before slipping his tongue in her mouth, tasting the sweet citrusy flavour that was just Hermione, and groaning. His hands began to wander down her sides and over her back, eventually palming her hips and thighs. When the tips of his fingers brushed against the curve of her arse, she gasped into his mouth and Remus pulled away, so very tempted to go further, but not wanting to push her. "Just staring?" he asked teasingly. "Because the full moon might be weeks off but you . . . smell . . ." he said, inhaling deeply, "so bloody good."

Hermione licked her lips and groaned miserably. "We're in public, Remus."

He relented, moving his hands away from her bum and instead used them to push the hair from her shoulder, kissing the exposed skin. "Wish we weren't."

A shiver ran down her spine at the contact as her skin warmed over despite the chilly breeze that pushed through the stands. "Gods, what are you doing to me?" she whispered wantonly and then, hearing herself, cleared her throat and pulled away. "All right, enough of that. I have to set an example," she said, sitting up straight. "Plus, I need to catch up on my reading for Arithmancy. Will you let me know when to pay attention? I don't care about the others, but Ron and Ginny will be sore if I miss their turns."

When the tryouts were over, Hermione and Remus walked hand in hand down to the grass, each schooling their expressions as they approached their friends. "Come on, Ron's going to be upset that he didn't make the team," Hermione said, having noticed the way that the redhead's shoulders slumped when Harry had announced the position of Keeper.

"You did really well, mate. But you only caught four and McLaggen caught five," Harry said, glancing up and giving a nod of greeting to Hermione and Remus before returning his attention to Ron. "I can't show preference because you're my best friend. Someone will complain and they'll take away my Captain's badge. Then you still won't be on the team. At least this way, you're my reserve Keeper. If McLaggen gets injured, you're in."

Ron frowned, looking positively defeated. "I hate that sodding prick."

Hermione gasped. "Ronald!"

"No, he's right," Harry said and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "McLaggen's an arsehole. He'll likely get injured early on. I wanted to set the Bludgers on him more than once myself."

"What's his problem?" Remus asked, narrowing his eyes at the back of the wizard in question as he stood at the edge of the pitch, flirting with a few Hufflepuff girls who had stuck around to watch.

Harry frowned. "He thinks he's Merlin's gift because his uncle's some big to do in the Ministry or something. He was at the lunch thing I went to with Slughorn on the train."

Hermione was about to say something else when she was interrupted by the sudden presence of her roommates. "You did brilliantly, Ronald!" Lavender said excitedly, standing in Ron's personal space, making him step back awkwardly in confusion.

"What? Er . . . thanks," he mumbled. "I missed one. Didn't make the team."

Lavender looked puzzled by the news. "You didn't? But you were clearly the best," she insisted and then turned an angry gaze on Harry as though it were completely his fault.

Ron blinked. "I was?" he asked and then let a small smile cross his mouth. "I umm . . . I made reserve Keeper," he said and his smile widened when Lavender grinned at him.

"You see?" she said. "That's on the team, isn't it?"

He nodded. "I s'pose."

She continued to smile at him until his ears turned bright red, at which point she turned her attention to Hermione. "Hi, Hermione," she said. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your boyfriend?"

Hermione, fully amused by the entertaining conversation that had just taken place, was shocked to suddenly be involved. "What? Oh, umm . . . all right. Remus, these are my roommates Lavender and Parvati."

Remus smiled politely and nodded his head in greeting, remembering how—no matter who they were or how old—Sirius would always kiss the fingertips of any witch he was introduced to. Remus had never been so bold. "Ladies, it's a pleasure."

"Are you Professor Lupin's son?" Parvati asked.

"Yes."

Lavender smiled, her expression genuine instead of the overplayed grin she had just spent minutes giving Ron. "Will you tell him we all miss him. He was loads better than Professor Snape."

"Handsomer too," Parvati added.

Remus's eyes widened, and he felt Hermione's grip on his hand tighten.

Lavender giggled. "Parvati! You're terrible."

Remus awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "Er . . . thanks?"

"We should be off. Congratulations, again, Ronald," Lavender said, giving him one last bright smile before Parvati pulled her off the field.

Hermione smirked at the way Ron's eyes followed after the girls. "She fancies you."

"What?" Ron asked, looking confused and pleased at the same time. "Nah. Really?"

Hermione nodded and chuckled at his reaction.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. "Something tells me they would have much preferred to look at Remus. He's much handsomer than Professor Snape, y'see."

Hermione and Ron laughed, and Remus's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Bugger off, Harry," he said, playfully shoving his friend in the shoulder.

The smell of roast beef made their stomachs ache with hunger, but they had barely taken three steps toward the Gryffindor table when Professor Slughorn appeared in front of them, blocking their path. "Harry, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see!" he boomed genially, twiddling the ends of his walrus moustache and puffing out his enormous belly. "I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We're having a little party, just a few rising stars, I've got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin—I don't know whether you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries—and, of course, I hope very much that Miss Granger will favour me by coming too." Slughorn made Hermione a little bow as he finished speaking. It was as though Ron and Remus were not present; Slughorn did not so much as look at either of them. Ron, likely for being unknown to him, and Remus for being a reminder of students of the past.

"I can't come, Professor," Harry said quickly. "I've got a detention with Professor Snape."

"Oh dear!" Slughorn exclaimed, his face falling comically. "Dear, dear, I was counting on you, Harry! Well, now, I'll just have to have a word with Severus and explain the situation. I'm sure I'll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention. Yes, I'll see you both later!"

He bustled away out of the Hall.

"He's got no chance of persuading Snape," Harry said with a scoff, the moment Slughorn was out of earshot. "This detention's already been postponed once; Snape did it for Dumbledore, but he won't do it for anyone else."

"Oh, I wish you could come, I don't want to go on my own!" Hermione anxiously said, frowning as she thought about mingling with Slytherins who hated her, a professor who seemed to think she was some sort of rare thing, a talented Muggle-born. And then there was McLaggen.

After walking with Remus to McGonagall's office for his detention, Hermione walked with Harry to the dungeons, offering him a sympathetic smile before leaving him with Professor Snape and then making her own way toward Slughorn's quarters, Slug Club invitation in hand. She nervously ran her hands down her pleated grey school skirt, having paired it with a red jumper she'd brought from home, forgoing her school robes. Slughorn knew that she was a Muggle-born and she wasn't about to let him forget it. Muggle-born and proud. She would showcase her talent and rub it in his snooty pureblood face.

"Miss Granger, Miss Granger, so lovely of you to join us," the Potions Master greeted her at the door. "Terrible that Harry had to miss the fun. I had a chat with Professor Snape and he seemed very stern on a timely schedule for detentions," he said, pulling her into the room and speaking without giving her a chance to even say hello. "If you ask me, detentions are easily rescheduled, especially for someone like Severus. It's not as though you see him entertaining much, now, do you?" he chortled.

She blinked, shocked with how informally Slughorn spoke with her. "Umm . . . no, sir."

He grinned, appearing pleased as punch to have her agree with him. "Come, come, m'dear. Let me introduce you to everyone else." They moved through the room and Hermione briefly acknowledged the few people she knew personally, doing her best not to appear anxious when Slughorn moved toward a small gathering of Slytherins. "Ah, Mister Zabini, have you met Miss Granger?"

The boy glanced her over as though appraising her and then lifted a slender brow. "Charmed," he said, looking anything but.

Slughorn, sensing the tension, moved over to a short Ravenclaw boy who appeared nervous, standing there by himself. "And here we have Mister Belby. Marcus m'boy, any letters from your uncle?"

The boy, Marcus, looked positively uncomfortable. "No, sir. As I've said, he and Dad don't really get on."

Slughorn nodded. "Much too busy, yes, yes. Ah, I see the food has arrived. Will you excuse me?" he asked Hermione and then disappeared from her side before she could respond.

She cleared her throat and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Your uncle is Damocles Belby?" she asked the Ravenclaw.

He stared at her suspiciously. "Yeah."

She smiled kindly at him. "He's a brilliant potioneer," she said, despising small talk and wishing very much that Harry had come with her. A part of her wished that she could have declined the invitation and spent the evening with a book in hand, snuggled into Remus's side in front of the fireplace in the common room. But he had detention, so attending this little soiree had seemed like a good way to pass the hours.

"Invented wolfsbane, right? Keeps werewolves from lifting their legs around the house," Zabini said as he approached the pair, glass of what looked like firewhisky in hand.

Hermione did her best not to react to the liquor and the Slytherin's little insult and, instead, lifted her chin defiantly. "He invented the Wolfsbane Potion, not wolfsbane. That's a plant, also known as aconite or monkshood. Aren't you in N.E.W.T. level Potions class?" she asked incredulously.

Zabini laughed, his expression relaxing a bit. "All right, Granger, ease off."

"A bit obsessed, aren't we, Granger?" Hestia Carrow said as she walked over, her twin sister's arm looped through hers. "Looking for handouts for your boyfriend's daddy?"

Flora Carrow giggled. "Oh, you haven't heard?" she said when Marcus lifted his brows in surprise. "Miss Mudblood here is dating the son of a werewolf."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and clenched her teeth, giving no reaction to the slur used against her, but the disgusted tone with which the girl said "werewolf" was enraging. Hermione opened her mouth to tell the Slytherin girls exactly how offensive and horrible they were, when an arm draped over her shoulders and pulled her against a hard body. She turned to look at the source of the interruption and grimaced in shock.

"Well, I don't know about you ladies, but I think she could do much better," he said and then winked at her. "Hermione Granger, allow me to introduce myself. Cormac McLaggen, Gryffindor Keeper."

She shrugged his arm off of her and moved away as quickly as possible. "I'm aware of who you are, I was at the Quidditch tryouts."

He grinned. "Impressive, right? Caught everything they tried to throw at me."

Appalled, she gave him her very best Draco Malfoy sneer. "I wouldn't know. I'd only gone to watch my friends try out."

Cormac laughed. "Weasleys, right. Interesting . . . lot, aren't they? A bit slow."

She gasped and her mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"

He stepped forward and into her personal space again, causing her to stumble into the Carrow twins who actually hissed at her in reply. She tried to offer a small apologetic look—deserved or not—but was caught off guard again when Cormac put his arm back around her shoulders. "It might be the poor quality of their brooms, of course," he said. "I prefer things that are up to standard. And very, very fast."

She could feel her magic flaring in anger. "I wouldn't know. I don't care much for flying."

Cormac smirked and then chucked her chin as though she were a child. "Oh, you're a laugh, you are. My uncle would like you. Tiberius McLaggen, you've heard of him, of course."

She narrowed her eyes and tried to move away, finding herself trapped between Cormac and a wall. "Have I?" she asked, feeling for her wand and wondering if she'd get in trouble for hexing the idiot.

"He and I go hunting every holiday with Bertie Higgs and Rufus Scrimgeour. He'll be Minister of Magic once he runs Fudge out of office. The man denies the return of You-Know-Who for a full year and then thinks a PR campaign, pardoning a man who had already escaped from prison, and putting together a few pamphlets will get him back into the good graces of the public? Hardly. No, no, Scrimgeour's the future, you mark my words. He and I are very close. You should come hunting with us sometime."

Ignoring the fact that McLaggen appeared to think he had an in when it came to politics, not the least of which was the fact that Rufus Scrimgeour was trying to oust Cornelius Fudge, Hermione scowled at the boy. "I don't hunt."

Cormac nodded, looking like he found her just positively adorable. "Leave the rough stuff to the blokes, right? Good for you. Delicate hands," he said and then reached for her fingers, bringing them to his mouth, "should be saved for . . . delicate things. Perhaps just dinner then?" he asked, smiling when she ripped her hand out of his grip. "Next Hogsmeade weekend."

"I beg your . . . no, thank you," she growled. "I'll be going to Hogsmeade with my boyfriend."

He rolled his eyes. "Lupin? The professor's son? They don't make much money, do they? Professors, I mean. Of course, he's not a professor anymore, now is he? Who still hires werewolves? Isn't there a law about that?"

"A ridiculous law that is currently being investigated, yes. And it doesn't matter where his father works."

"Oh, you're a riot, Granger," he said with a laugh and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, earning him a slap to the chest and a shove that allowed her to escape him. He ignored every protest as though they hadn't happened at all. "So, Hogsmeade? Maybe you could wear this," he said, looking her up and down, "and we could sneak up to the Shrieking Shack and—"

"If she's sneaking off to the Shrieking Shack with anyone, McLaggen, it'll be Remus, now be a good lad and fuck off, will you?" Ginny snapped as she approached, looping her arm through Hermione's in a very possessive stance that was obviously threatening, even to an idiot like Cormac.

"I like this Weasley," he said with a laugh. "Care to try a ride on a quality broom?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Ginny grinned. "Oh, I'd love to, but the last time I rode one that small, it didn't get very high off the ground," she said, looking victorious when Cormac's overly confident grin finally faltered, and a laugh escaped Hermione's lips.

Several hours later, Hermione finally was able to get away from Slughorn's barrage of questions about her Muggle heritage, all of which were laced with passive aggressive insults that he appeared to be completely oblivious to. She'd successfully avoided Cormac for the rest of the evening by sticking as close to Ginny as humanly possible, smiling when Neville showed up as well, sandwiching herself between him and the redhead. Her heritage had been brought up multiple times, mostly by the Carrows twins and once by Zabini, and both Ginny and Neville rose to her defence before she had a chance to even open her mouth.

While Slughorn busied himself with Melinda Bobbin, Hermione turned her attention to Neville. "I didn't expect you to be here," she said. "I thought you'd dropped Potions?"

He smiled. "I did," he said. "And I'm pretty sure when Slughorn figures that out, I won't get another invite."

She frowned. "Thank you," she said a moment later. "You didn't have to stick up for me like that, you know."

"I know," Neville said. "But . . . but friends look after one another." He cleared his throat before adding, "And even if you weren't my friend, which you are, Remus is my friend and you're . . . well . . . he'd want me to look out for you."

She smiled. "You're a good friend, Neville." He preened a bit under her praise but then blinked in confusion when she suddenly scowled over his shoulder. "McLaggen's coming over. I need to get out of here," she said and tried to sidestep the Quidditch player only to stumble into Neville when he tried to do the same and suddenly a heavy, sweaty arm was back around her shoulders.

"I should tell you, Granger, I don't do Madam Puddifoot's. I've got a connection at the Three Broomsticks. Firewhisky. Do you drink?" he asked.

Her jaw ticked and the ends of her hair sparked. "No, but I see you do," she said, glancing at his glass. "Can I get you a refill?"

Cormac grinned at her. "See? I knew you and I would get along swimmingly. There's a good girl," he said, holding out his glass to her.

She smiled and took it from his hands, using the prop as an excuse to get away. When his back was turned, she set the glass on a nearby table and ran for the door, offering no farewells.

She practically flew through the portrait hole, eager to shed her clothes and grab her shower kit before rushing away to the prefect's bathroom to scrub away the stench of McLaggen, firewhisky, and the terrible mixtures of incense that Slughorn had burning in every corner of the room. Before she took a step toward the staircase, her eyes locked on Remus who was relaxing on the sofa in front of the fireplace, one arm draped casually behind him, the other bent and resting against his knee as he held a book in hand, looking the very picture of relaxation and comfort.

He turned and looked at her and the fire brought out the gold in his eyes so easily. She swallowed and remembered his words from earlier, speaking of his territoriality. Not wanting to ever give him reason to think that she feared his conditions and the symptoms that came with it, she rushed toward him, eager to embrace the wolf.

"Hello, beautiful," Remus said with a smile, discarding the book in his hand in order to pull Hermione into his arms.

"Kiss me," she desperately pleaded.

Remus frowned at the strange look in her eyes. "Wha—mphf!" he tried to say but was assaulted by her mouth muffling his words. Two weeks away from the full moon and, though his senses weren't yet completely hijacked by the wolf, his instincts were on alert. He melted into her kiss, and inhaled deeply, expecting oranges and rose oil but met with . . . something . . . not Hermione. He pulled away instantly, his brows furrowed. "You . . . you smell . . . wrong," he said angrily. "Why do you smell—"

"McLaggen was there," she told him, shivering in disgust. "Creep kept putting his arm around me. Ginny and I both told him off but I feel like his eyes were crawling all over me and I—"

Remus took a step forward, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her tight against his body. "I don't like his smell on you," he growled through clenched teeth, pushing her back until her knees hit the arm of the sofa, forcing her to sit, at which point he stepped between her thighs.

She swallowed, delighted and overheated by the possessive look in his eyes and the rumbling sound in his chest. "Me either," she breathed. "I want you . . . only you. Are you in control?" she asked, pressing her palms against his chest.

He groaned at the contact. "Gods, barely," he answered. "But . . . I won't lose myself," he said, understanding her worries. "Just . . . I don't like that someone else touched you and—"

"Me either," she said. "I only ever want you to touch me."