Disclaimer: Just three words: Joanne Kathleen Rowling


LOVE ALWAYS FINDS A WAY
Chapter 28: Reunited

"How long has she been missing?" Remus demanded, as he hurried up the stairs to Hermione's room. Her usually closed door now stood wide open after a concerned Harry and Ron had broken in that morning.

"I don't know," Harry answered. "She had lunch with us yesterday and then went up to her room. She didn't come down for supper."

"And no one thought that suspicious?" Remus demanded.

"Well, no," Ron said honestly. "You know how she's been since... We didn't think anything of it," he added defensively.

Remus strode into her room and looked around for any clues as to her whereabouts. It was already midday. Hermione could have been missing for nearly 24 hours.

He was more angry with himself than anyone else for Hermione's disappearance. Ever since Dumbledore had died last year, he was, as the Order's most senior member, more or less their leader. He berated himself for not keeping a better eye on the younger lot living in Grimmauld Place, but he and the older members had been preoccupied with searching for Voldemort's Horcruxes. They had located and destroyed all but one.

"She was looking for something or took something with her," Remus said, pointing at her open trunk, noticeable because of the neatness of everything else in her room. "Do you boys know what it could be? Do you see anything missing?"

After taking a look, Harry and Ron both shook their heads. Helplessly, Harry cast his eyes around the rest of her room. His gaze fell on her bedside table. It looked different, he just couldn't place why—

"Her badge!" he exclaimed. "Her Head Girl badge used to be there, but it's gone."

"Harry, bring me the Marauder's Map," Remus said, grasping at this one clue. "I don't know what might have possessed her to go there, but we need to know if Hermione is at Hogwarts."

Moments later, Remus was unfolding the Marauder's Map for the first time since Filch had confiscated it twenty years ago. He tapped the old parchment impatiently, no time for nostalgia.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no—"

Before he had finished saying the words, however, lines of ink began to appear on the parchment. It was writing, his writing, he realized.

You have to remember her, the writing said, in blotted, jerky script. Remember Rosemary Gardner.

Rosemary Gardner. The name sounded vaguely familiar, as if it were something he had once read or heard someone say in passing. Rosemary Gardner. Or had it been in a dream? Rosemary Gardner. The name awoke the faintest of memories from the corners of his mind.

More writing appeared in increasingly harder to read writing: Brown eyes. Brown hair. Blue dress. Charms. Shooting stars.

As he stared at the seemingly random words appearing haphazardly on the page, a face began to materialize in his mind of a girl he once knew, a girl almost too painful to remember, a girl who looked extraordinarily like—

More writing appeared on the Map, this time James Potter's.

Moony, Rosemary Gardner's real name is Hermione Granger.

And then someone pounded on the front door, waking up Mrs. Black.


Hermione could feel herself passing through people, places, and time at a speed faster than she could comprehend. She was falling forward one moment, then spinning uncontrollably the next, until she barely knew who she was anymore and all she wanted was for it to end—

She landed hard on her hands and knees, gasping for breath and trying not to be sick. She stared for a long time at the ground, getting used to the feeling of being still and whole once more.

Her legs shook under her as she pushed herself to her feet and looked around, trying to figure out where she was. She glanced down at Sirius' watch; the date was July 4, 1998.

"Close enough, Dumbledore," she murmured, looking around to see if anything could give her a clue as to where she was exactly. As she spoke, a building squeezed itself into existence between two others. "Close enough indeed!" she amended, recognizing the facade of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

She tried to walk up to Grimmauld at a measured pace, but soon she was sprinting across the street, nearly sobbing as she pulled herself up the steps and collapsed against the door.

The rational part of her mind knew she was dangerously close to becoming hysterical but could do nothing about it. Disregarding the bell entirely, she hit the door with the flat of her palm, relishing the sting because it meant she was really there. The portrait of Mrs. Black began her obscene screaming, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

The door was ripped open, and Hermione pitched forward ... into Remus Lupin's arms.

"Rosemary..."

That she was home at last, really and truly at home, was the last coherent thought she had before she gave herself up to exhaustion and darkness.

"Hermione!" Harry and Ron exclaimed, starting forward.

"Good heavens! You two, out of the way! Remus, bring her here." Mrs. Weasley pushed her son and Harry into the kitchen and led Remus to the nearest guest bedroom, which was never occupied because of its proximity to Mrs. Black. He laid her on the bed, and Mrs. Weasley began to fuss over her.

"She looks exhausted," she said. "I wonder where—but never mind that for now..."

Remus stared down in shell-shocked silence at the unconscious form of Rosemary Gardner—no, Hermione Granger. She looked exactly the same as when he had last seen her, more than 20 years ago, down to the wilting corsage on her wrist that was still shooting stars. Her dress—Lily's dress, he recalled—was smudged with dirt and the hem was in tatters, as if she worn it for a long time or traveled far in it. In a way, he supposed, she had.

He realized Molly was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to leave the room so she could further tend to Hermione. He turned on his heel and walked out, ignoring the questions the others threw at him.

"MUDBLOODS AND WEREWOLVES—!"

As he strode to the front door, he Stunned the still-shrieking Mrs. Black's so strongly she would sleep for days afterward. He shut the door behind him rather more harshly than he intended, the bang echoing loudly throughout the house.


Remus didn't return to Grimmauld Place for three days. He had the Order working around the clock trying to find the last Horcrux. The longer they waited, the stronger Voldemort became, but they didn't even know what the object was. From Dumbledore's notes, it was highly likely the Horcrux was an artifact of one of the founder's, and Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were the only possibilities left.

"If anyone would know, it would be Hermione," Harry said, after Remus summarized the Order's movements for him and the Weasleys. "She's memorized Hogwarts, A History."

Remus had been rather relieved Hermione hadn't come down along with everyone else when he had arrived. He had been busy hunting Horcruxes, yes, but that wasn't the full reason he'd stayed away.

With each passing day, his memory of Rosemary Gardner had become clearer and clearer until he could recall almost every moment of that whirlwind, crazy month they had spent together. And by the time he returned to Grimmauld, he had decided what he was going to do about it.

The easiest course for both of them would be for him to pretend the effects of the spell had been permanent. That way, she wouldn't feel pressured to return his feelings or act on any vestigial feelings she might have once had for his 17-year-old self. That way, he wouldn't have to sort out his increasingly confused feelings toward Rosemary, the girl he had fallen in love with his last year at Hogwarts, and Hermione, his former student and a girl now 20 years his junior. He was older, his hair was graying and there were some wrinkles on his once-smooth face. It would not be fair to let her know that he remembered.

"How is she?" he asked. "I don't want to bother her if she's resting."

"She's been asking for you, Remus," Mrs. Weasley said. "She refuses to explain how she ended up outside Grimmauld Place and dressed for a ball ... until she talks to you."

Everyone was looking at him curiously, but he kept his expression neutral. "I had better speak to her, then."

Hermione was sitting in the middle of her bed, knees pulled up to her chest. She knew Remus was in the house and could hear the conversation floating up the stairwell. When she heard footsteps coming up the stairs, she knew without a doubt it was him, but still her heart jumped when he knocked lightly on her door.

"Come in," she said in a steady voice.

He opened her door, and the instant their eyes met, she knew he remembered. But the guarded look on his face, hidden behind an easy smile, put her on guard as well.

"How are you doing, Hermione?" he asked politely, stepping into the room but keeping the door wide open.

She'd half-expected him to call her 'Rosemary'. "Fine," she assured him, following his lead.

"Everyone's a bit worried," he said, taking a seat at her desk. "No one quite understands how you came to be outside the other day—"

"It's not going to work, Remus," she said suddenly. A humorless smile curved her lips. "Whatever you're trying to do, it's not going to work. You remember."

The silence stretched between them. They both knew they were on the brink of something either wonderful or terrible, and whatever was said next would determine which.

"Yes, I remember," he finally said. She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "But what does it matter? You were my student, Hermione. You're still in my care, not to mention the fact I'm 20 years older than you."

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and leaned toward him. "So we're just going to pretend none of it ever happened? Because I ... I can't."

His chest tightened at the desperation that bled into her voice. "It's just been a few days for you. In time—"

"Tell me that's true," she begged, reaching out to touch his hand. "Tell me you don't feel for me like you did—"

He flinched from her touch and abruptly stood because space between them was the only thing keeping him from taking her into his arms, holding her, kissing her...

"You're confused, Hermione," he said. "You were pretending to be someone else. We were both caught up in the moment—"

"No!" Hermione's eyes flashed. "No, you don't get write off what happened between us like that! The only thing I ever lied about was my name! Everything else I said, everything else I did was me. I never felt more myself in my entire life than I did when I was with you. Rosemary Gardner was Hermione Granger in a way I never get to be! I'm always just the clever girl, the smart one, always useful to have at your side if you're in trouble, but that's about it! Isn't that why you're here? To ask me about something I read in a book?"

Remus hated it because it was true, but he steeled his will. "Even if that's true for you, I'm not that 17-year-old boy anymore, Hermione! I have changed since then. I have lived an entire life since you knew me!"

"Is that true?" she demanded. "Do you honestly believe that?"

"Yes!"

"Then this should make no difference to you!"

Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, she was kissing him and he was kissing her. He was 17-year-old Remus Lupin again, and she was Rosemary Gardner, and that missing part of his soul that he had ignored all those years was whole once more.

"Well?" she demanded breathlessly when they finally broke apart for air. She looked up at him searchingly, chest heaving. "Tell me you don't care for me. Tell me you don't love me."

He cupped her cheek and smiled, half-happiness and half-defeat. "Hermione Granger, you're the brightest of your age," he said softly. "Don't you know I can't?"

And just in case his answer wasn't clear enough, he kissed her again.

"What the hell's going on up here? What's the shouting—?"

Remus and Hermione tore themselves from each other, but it was too late. Harry was standing near the top of the stairs, staring at them with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and betrayal.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped. "Wait—"

He spared them one last look of disgust before he turned round and thundered back down the stairs.

"Oh, God..." Hermione croaked.

Remus steadied her as she swayed, pale, though he felt sick himself at the unexpected turn of events. He tightened his arms around her.

"Everything's going to be all right," he assured her. "We'll—"

The front door slammed shut so forcefully it seemed to shake the whole house. Hermione dashed to the window, just in time to see Harry Disapparate in broad daylight, in the middle of the street.

"What—?"

Ron ran up the stairs then. There was an odd expression on his face, steady and strangely noble.

"Harry's gone to face Voldemort."