A/N: "Hey everyone! My apologies for the delay with this one. Just when I get my writing schedule all organized, something comes up and takes away all my free time!" -E
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oOoOoOo
"You have nothing to say?"
"No."
"I do love you."
"You can't."
"Why not?"
"I'm leaving in three months."
"You don't think I know that?" Remus reached out and gently pulled at her sleeve. "Face me, look at me."
Hermione turned around slowly and looked at him. Her cheeks were pale, the wind from the open window playing at her wild hair. "Do you love me?" He asked.
"No."
Hermione crossed her arms and turned from him. At her answer, it was Remus' turn to laugh. Frustration pulled at him, all the time she'd spent in his arms distorting. "Wonderful," he chuckled, rubbing his eyes. "Great to hear all these months together were… were…"
"Remus, in these circumstances I can't get close to anyone, I—"
"Can't get close?" he snapped, looking up at her. "So all our nights together, what were those then?"
"That have never happened between us!" her own tone rising at the implication. "I just—"
"You just what? Needed a warm body?"
"Don't be vulgar! Of course you were—I mean—"
Hermione stopped, her unreigned words almost getting ahead of herself. Folding her arms, she looked away, silent. Remus grew quiet again, watching her, studying her, as her words sank in. After a moment he stepped closer, his fingers hesitantly reaching for her side.
"You love me?"
"No."
Her lie was weaker this time. They both knew it. Remus smiled softly and stepped closer, his hand lacing around her waist.
"You love me."
"I don't."
"You do," his hands buried in her curls as Remus forced her to turn and look at him. "You love me."
Then he kissed her, and Hermione melted into him.
oOo
Dora sat at the table, her arms crossed, her face pale as she watched him. Remus stood against the kitchen counter, returning her gaze. They'd been fighting for over an hour now, and he was exhausted.
A break would be good, he'd told himself, a chance to get away from the pack for a while and see Dora. After several busy weeks with the carnival, the Spring was a busy season, it was exactly what Remus needed. Dora, too, had been excited by the idea about spending time together. They'd had a nice, intimate dinner at his cottage, followed by a passionate hour in one another's arms for desert. But then, as always, the argument had somehow broken out.
"What am I to you, Remus? Really?" Dora asked him. "You say you can't be tied down, but yet you always seem to return to me."
"I won't deny we have a connection—"
"Yes, but it makes me wonder, do you come because of me, or just because I'm there? A warm body?"
"Don't be vulgar—"
"Then tell me!"
For a long time Remus didn't even want to call his connection with Dora a relationship. They only saw each other a few times a month. Really, it was hardly serious. But, of course, he knew this wasn't completely true, either.
"I can't keep doing this," he sighed. "The timing is bad—"
"You've said this before."
"We're both working so hard to keep the world together—"
"Which is why we can't let it go!" she shook her head. "How can we hope to keep the wizarding world together if we can't even understand what's happened between two people? Sirius—"
"Don't bring Sirius into this!"
"Sirius died last year! So unexpectedly, after years locked away and all alone!" Tears filled her eyes. "We were there! It could have been either of us falling through the veil instead. How can we live our lives not embracing the moments that are important to us?"
"That's—It's completely different."
"It's really not," Dora sighed, and wiped away at the tears off her face. "Before he died, Sirius told me you'd be difficult. After everything that happened to him… perhaps I owe it to Sirius to stick by you and help you since he can't."
"Dora, I don't need help."
"Everyone needs help," she said, shaking her head. "I love you, so I will help you."
Her words, the first time the simple idea of love had really ever come up, hung between them. The cottage fell into silence, and something began to grow within Remus. A glimmer of something new shone through at her words, but then a familiar weight and reluctance began to grow alongside it, overpowering it.
"Do you love me, Remus?"
Dora asked it simply and clearly, her face serious as she awaited his response. Remus shifted, looking down at his shoes.
"I can't love you."
"Can't?" he huffed, crossing her arms. "What the hell does that mean? Do you love me?"
But, no, Remus couldn't answer. He couldn't have this fight again, not with her or with anyone. Time seemed to double back on him. The words, the ideas that bounced back and forward, were too familiar, too haunting. Remus didn't answer, and, after a long moment, Dora sighed and glanced at her watch.
"I'm going back to Hogsmeade."
She stood and pulled on her jacket, Remus watching her silently. Grabbing her bag, Dora moved to the door, but then she stopped and turned back to him
"Remus, there's something here," she said, her head held up. "And I think if you just stopped feeling sorry for yourself, you'd realize it was something good. Something amazing."
And with that Dora pulled open the door and stepped out into the night.
Remus stood in the kitchen, unmoving, for a long moment. With a muffled crack, he heard her dissaparate, however, her words still hung in the air around him. He sighed, and rubbed his eyes. Dora. Was it good? Was it amazing? Remus had amazing once, and look where it had gotten him.
It all came down to the simple fact that Dora didn't know him. She had her ideas of him, yes, some good and some bad, but Remus knew that she didn't really understand him. There were parts of himself she could never understand.
He grabbed his cloak from the back of his chair and pulled it on. Part of him was tempted to go after her. Perhaps all it would take was a simple apology, and things would calm between them. But no, that wouldn't work. Stepping outside his cottage, he apparated away, appearing a moment later in a wood near the roar of the carnival. Pocketing his wand, Remus moved though the crowds towards the rows of caravans set up in the back. Crossing over the rope barrier, he moved to the circle of wooden tables.
"Remus!" shouted Rojin as he approached, surprise upon his face. "Back so soon?"
A few wolves got up and left when Remus approached, but he barely noticed. He sat down at the table, gladly taking a glass of Moonshine that was placed in front of him.
"How was your woman?"
Remus looked up at his friend. Rojin nodded and smiled suggestively. The werewolf leader could read people better than anyone Remus knew, and he hadn't been traveling with them for long before Rojin had worked out that there was someone Remus was seeing fairly regularly.
"Exhausting," Remus sighed.
Rojin, chuckled. "Yeah, they can be that…"
Remus sat at the table with the wolves for a while, his mind still lost and drifting. Even though he was tired, he really wasn't eager to go to bed. Instead, Remus slowly sipped on a glass of moonshine and nibbled on a piece of mutton in front of him, though he wasn't really hungry or thirsty either.
"You're back!"
Remus turned as a young, pretty girl sat on the bench next to him.
"Adele."
Smiling, she poured herself a glass of moonshine. "I heard you were leaving for a few days."
"I came back early."
"Couldn't bear to be parted from me?"
She winked, and Remus smiled.
"Exactly," he said. "Just getting off your shift?"
"Yes, it was absolute rubbish though. I hate these small farming towns." She took a long sip of her drink, then set down her glass and turned to Remus, a new smile drawing upon her face. "Remus," she leaned in, her hand moving to his leg. "How come you never try anything with me?"
Remus laughed. "You're too good for me. I'd hardly measure up."
"Oh, I seriously doubt that."
Her hand moved further up his thigh, and, as always, he was tempted to push her way. Remus still had a strange dynamic within this group. Many of the men didn't trust him because of his wand. It was a symbol of power that did, however, make him popular amongst the girls. They boldly flirted with him like this, and Remus normally resisted. However, that evening he found himself growing less eager to do so.
"Come to bed with me, Remus," she suggested softly. "You aren't attached to anyone are you?"
Remus poured Adele and himself another drink, her blunt question unanswered for a moment. Setting down the bottle, his thoughts turned to Dora, crying, loving Dora, then they turned to another girl. No matter how he tried to bar her from his mind, Hermione walked in easily, her hair messy around her shoulders, her lips red from kissing.
"No," he said, turning to Adele. "No, I'm not attached to anyone."
"And you do find me attractive, right?"
Remus studied her. He guessed Adele was around eighteen or nineteen, and even in the darkness he could see the scars that crossed her chest and neck. She was thin and dressed in an old shearling coat over jeans and a low-cut shirt. Her hair she wore in a french braid, away from a soft, heart shaped face.
"Take your hair down."
Stretching seductively, Adele smiled and reached back, slowly untying her braid. Messy brown waves fell down her back. Remus reached forward and tangled his fingers in her hair. It wasn't as soft as he wanted and the texture wasn't quite right, but he pulled her closer. His mouth brushed along the hollow of her neck, and she moaned softly, her hands moving to his chest.
Remus pulled her away sharply, his grip on her hair tightening and forcing her head back. "What do you want me to do to you?" he asked.
She gasped in surprise, her hands still on his chest, her nails biting into him. "Please—"
"What," he repeated slowly. "Do you want me to do to you?"
"Come—Come to bed with me! Please!"
He smiled, his grip lessening as he leaned forward to press his mouth against hers. She tasted like moonshine, cigarettes, and popcorn. And, as the carnival shut down for the night, she took his hand, leading him back to her trailer.
oOo
The Half Blood Prince.
Firstly, what a name. Yes, in a few wizarding cultures there have been wizarding monarchies, many of the old Maharajas were of magical blood, and, yes, half-bloods were quite common. However, The Half Blood Prince, scribbled in the front pages of a tattered, old potions book, a book Hermione guessed was from the late 60's or early 70's based on it's condition, seemed an impertinence.
Then there was what this prince had written. It drove Hermione insane to see Harry bent over the stained and moldy pages, reading the tiny notes and hints scribbled in the margins. She worked hard in class! She studied and researched! She followed every single direction to the letter, and yet Harry, with the prince's help, obviously, always seemed to come up ahead! But it wasn't just the matter of cheating in potions. The Prince had a habit of inventing, or at least jotting down, some very dark spells. Draco Malfoy had nearly died because of it.
This Prince couldn't be trusted, and so Hermione had to prove it.
Again, the best starting point was in the name. Looking through the Hogwarts records available, she found only one Prince in the last 75 years, an Eileen Prince, who had attended Hogwarts in the 40's. "I just don't think it's a woman," Harry had said when she told him. "The prince is a bloke." But what did Harry know.
Hogwarts kept a thorough record of its students accomplishments, OWL and NEWT lists for each year, special services to the school, and outstanding achievements. If Eileen Prince was the Half Blood Prince, Hermione suspected she would have done very well in potions, perhaps even receiving awards for it. However, Hermione was disappointed not to not only see Eileen Prince's name missing from the list of Outstanding Achievement in Potions, but that she hadn't even received a NEWT in the subject. A bit of research found a newspaper clipping with a picture of a girl, Slytherin, posing with the rest of her Gobstones team, but that was it.
Hermione left the library disappointed. There was a book of marriage records covering the years shortly after Eileen's graduation that she'd have to check later. Right now, she was eager to get back to Gryffindor Tower in case Harry returned from his meeting with Dumbledore.
Her feet made the well-trod path back to the common room. The castle was fairly quiet. Some of the windows had been thrown open, the June wind cool and refreshing. Reaching the portrait door, she said the password and walked in. A few people were still there. A couple third years were playing exploding snap in front of the fire, and Ron was sitting at one of the tables by the window, a roll of parchment out in front of him.
"Hey," Hermione took the seat next to him, setting her heavy bag on the floor at her feet. "Transfiguration assignment?"
"Yeah," he looked up and nodded. "I feel like I've covered everything, but it's nowhere near long enough."
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. Hermione pulled his roll of parchment closer, reading it over. Ron was right; McGonagall would never let it slide. Reaching for her bag, Hermione rummaged through everything, grabbed a thick roll of parchment.
His face brightened. "Your assignment?"
"No, my notes," she handed it to him.
"Good enough! Cheers!"
Hermione smiled as Ron began to read over her notes. It seemed that things were finally on the mend for them. His relationship with Lavender had recently ended, though Ron had lost interest much earlier. Hermione had huffed, annoyed, when Ron would hide from Lavender behind her or Harry in the halls, but she'd also been secretly thrilled to see him so miserable, his actions after that quidditch game so obviously a mistake. And now, after such a difficult year, Hermione was happy just to sit with him like this.
The fire was crackling cheerfully in the hearth and Ron had ditched his robe and tie, his shirt unbuttoned slightly. He leaned over the parchment, his hand on the back of his neck in his usual way as he read, and there was an ink smudge on his nose. She smiled.
"Is that for your Eileen Prince theory?" He asked, gesturing to the large book still in her arms.
Hermione was pulled from her thoughts. "What? Oh… no, just something else."
He chuckled. "A little light reading?"
Hermione looked over the old, leather book again, and sighed. She longed for the days of light reading.
An Advanced Study of Mind-Altering Spells and Their Application
By Oblitus D'Recedo
She opened the first few pages, her eyes skimming over the table of contents and the opening chapters. The font was very small and sharp, the ink fading, and a majority of the text in Latin. There weren't any images, but charts on wand movement and long passages of complex spells. Hermione had read a few other books on mind-altering spells, but the information they contained was minimal, nothing more than what had been briefly covered in their Charms class. This text, however, was from the restricted section.
Ever since that day in Harrods, Hermione knew something had to be done. The Ministry had been able to cover up the spells used in the department store that day but they hadn't been able to catch the Death Eaters. And while Hermione spent the rest of her Holiday vacation boosting the spells and defenses on her parent's home and office, she knew it wasn't enough.
Naturally, her first thought had been the Fidelius Charm. The spell was old and strong, invented to do exactly what she needed. But the more she researched the hiding spell, the uneasier it made her feel. Perhaps it was the whole situation with Sirius, Peter, and Harry's parents that tarnished her trust in it. Hermione knew she would never betray her family, but that was easy to say now, safe within the walls of Hogwarts. What if things got worse? What if Hogwarts fell or she was captured? What if she died?
Her mind turned again to that day in Harrods. The crowds and pandemonium kept her and her father safer than Hermione would have originally expected, a fact that put new ideas in her head. What if her parents fled the country? What if they lived under false identities amongst other muggles? The Death Eaters couldn't check every middle-aged couple in the world, could they? Hermione was lucky. Her family had always been small. Her mother had a sister in Wales that was rarely mentioned, and her father had been an only child. They lived quietly and worked quietly, which meant their sudden absence wouldn't be missed by many. But would her parents agree to this?
Maybe they didn't have a choice.
"Is Harry back yet?" Hermione asked, setting the book aside. Ron shook his head. "I wonder what Dumbledore wanted. He's never called Harry so spontaneously before. Do you think it's—I mean—do you think they found one…"
She tapered off, and Ron looked up from his homework, a similar hesitation in his posture too.
"One of the Horcruxes?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Yeah, I was wondering that too."
He set down his quill, and a silence fell between them. Then Hermione leaned forward, her voice low.
"Aren't you nervous, Ron?" she asked. "About everything that's going on, everything we are preparing for? Dumbledore doesn't just take students for special lessons. This is… this is…"
Hermione glanced around the room. The other students weren't paying them any attention. She turned back Ron. He was watching her, his blue eyes serious as they locked onto hers. Hermione looked away. Ron sighed.
"You know," he started slowly. "After the whole ordeal with the Sorcerers Stone in our first year, I thought that'd been a fluke. One of those crazy once-in-a-lifetime experiences or something. And then, when the Chamber was opened in our second year, I thought it was just this school."
He rubbed his eyes.
"But by the third year, and then definitely with the fourth, I've realized it's Harry." Ron sighed. "You know I'd follow him to the ends of the earth, but…"
Hermione leaned forward. "But is that going to be enough?"
"Exactly."
Hermione nodded. "The older I get the more I realize how absurd all of this is… How are we supposed to survive this?"
"Well, maybe we aren't."
"You're okay with that?"
Ron sighed again, a sadness lining his face as he turned away from her.
"You know me, Hermione," he said softly. "I used to be so jealous of Harry, his popularity and talent, the simple fact he didn't have five brothers to compete with… perhaps I'm still a little jealous, even now," his ears tinged red. "But Harry is my friend. And if that means fighting to the end with him, well… alright then."
"That's really brave."
Ron shook his head. "We've done this before. It didn't feel brave then, did it?"
"No, you're right," she said, nodding. "Perhaps the only difference now is we have more time to prepare… time to think before we jump down the trap door."
"Yeah…"
Behind them, the game of Exploding Snap ended with a bang, followed by the sound of cheering and laughter. It seemed painfully distant from where they were. Hesitantly, Hermione reached forward and took Ron's hand.
"I am happy," she started slowly. "Knowing I'm not alone in all of this."
She didn't look up, but Hermione could tell Ron was going red. Her own heart beat in her chest as Ron squeezed her hand in reply.
"Yeah," his voice was soft. "Me too."
A sudden creak of the portrait door sounded. Hermione turned as Harry rushed into the room, his expression dark. She pulled her hand from Ron's.
"What does he want?" she asked. "Harry, are you okay?"
Harry rushed past them and up the spiraling staircase. Hermione listened to the sound of his hurried steps, and then turned back to Ron. Worry lined his face, and a dread slowly began to fill her too. She wished she hadn't let go of Ron's hand. A moment later Harry was back. There was a frantic, determined energy about him, something she found far too familiar. Rushing over to them, he threw down the Maurader's Map and the vial of Felix Felices upon the table.
"I've got to be quick. Dumbledore thinks I'm getting my Invisibility Cloak. Listen.…"
oOoOoOo
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A/N: "Again, thanks for all the support!" - E