Falling Leaves

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Mud clung to her Dragonhide boots, capturing a dead, sodden leaf or two as she trudged the path across the grounds. The weather had been damp, dark, and dismal to the point its depiction rhymed in its misery. November had arrived amidst the rain and the biting cold, yet it had brought Hagrid back, bruised and filled with secrets, and, with him, the hovering threat of Umbridge. Passing muster on her so-called inspections, Hermione knew, had far less to do with being a good teacher than it had with meeting her standards on breed and her own beliefs on what constituted "necessary" education.

In spite of both that and Hagrid's stubbornness, Hermione still sought to rework his lesson plans, on top of studying for her O.W.L.s, completing class assignments, attending D.A. meetings, performing her Prefect duties, and caring for the garden. The last time this many commitments had piled up on her plate, Professor McGonagall had lent her the means to cheat time. And, whilst Hermione was meddling with it once again, this one wouldn't be fooled: it flowed in concomitance to her own. Which left Hermione no other choice but to redraft her entire schedule so as to keep missed tasks from snowballing the others. It got to a point she had only finished reading the books for her core subjects and was merely three chapters ahead for the others. It made her feel naked, somehow. What if it was knowledge Harry would need to fight Voldemort? What would she say, 'I don't know'?

The hourglass' fine, colored sand traveled so much faster than she could account for, and regardless of how much she tried to slow its descent, it kept slipping between her fingers as time and sand were wont to do. While Hermione was always available to her friends, she had to resist the urge to cross 'maintaining friendship' off her list the same as other tasks when she did. She doubted Harry or Ron would appreciate it, they didn't care much for planning. On the other hand, Remus had become fully integrated into her timetable. Together, they had set manageable - not to mention frequent - dates and times for them to meet, so as not to leave seeing each other to chance. Thus far, it had worked.

Hermione tugged her coat tighter, forgoing a warming charm, and continued on her way. If her mane of hair rivaled that of an actual lion in the humid yet cold weather, she cringed at how bushier still it would look if she magicked herself warm and dry. The heavy wooden door guarded the entrance to the room the same as always, veiled by the foliage as a mystery beckoning to be unfolded, the puddle before it a darker reflection of its call. Threads of water ran down the disturbed ivy as she pushed it aside, and Hermione grasped the wet, slippery iron handle, and turned it, only to be met with the more barren version of their garden - Remus had yet to arrive.

When did Hermione start dubbing the garden "theirs", she couldn't say, but the feeling of shared ownership came regardless. It was their secret, after all, and it was only right that she call the place their own, even if only for the school term. She descended the steps, dropped her rucksack to the ground, and waved her wand slowly from right to left until water began streaming from its tip, and Hermione directed it at the soil, caring not to drench any particular spot. Their pet project was coming along rather nicely, mostly due to Remus' green thumb - a knack she wouldn't in a million years imagine he possessed. None of the cuttings they had taken from his time's garden had yellowed, much less withered, even though so far the only thing in bloom were her feelings for Remus.

Hermione would catch herself stealing glances whenever his focus was either on the plants or spells and the slight crease of his brow proved endearing, the slight smile at a successful accomplishment tantalizing. They were friends, however, and friends didn't find themselves riveted by each other's facial expressions. The only thing riveting about Harry, for example, was the fact that, unlike Ronald, he could manage to chew with his mouth shut, and even then she wouldn't call it "riveting", but rather basic eating etiquette. She didn't dare put a name to her emotions regarding Remus, but, at this point, she doubted names alone would make much difference.

Therefore, when Remus missed their first scheduled meeting of the month, Hermione tried to suppress her disappointment. It was bound to happen eventually, with either one, it just so happened to be with him. She checked on the plants again and worked on putting together a safe, sensible syllabus for Care of Magical Creatures. When Remus was fifteen minutes late for their second meeting, Hermione sat on the floor and opened a book, but read very little of it between the constant glances toward the door that refused to open. By the time supper was approaching, she gathered her things and left, determined to check the dates on his year's lunar chart, thinking him too ill to show. The next transformation was still over two weeks into the month, though.

If not for his arrival after the fact, Hermione would have blamed his absence on his Patronus. She had insisted Harry teach her the charm beforehand since she was already familiar with the ones he had them practice, and while Hermione herself had no luck conjuring it, Remus' talent when it came to Defence Against the Dark Arts showed. As they practiced spells together over the last two months, she had been awarded a glimpse at his inclination towards teaching.

She had also seen the way that spark had dimmed at the form his Patronus took, yet had been unable to contain her excitement, hoping it would somehow infect him as well. It didn't. Harry might have mentioned off-handedly that he had never seen Professor Lupin's Patronus in corporeal form, and she recalled, from the train ride to Hogwarts, only its beaconing light, pulling her from the darkness the Dementors had brought forth. Now, Hermione understood the reason why.

She had a mind to tell him. To admit to the knowledge of his condition and spew out her thoughts on werewolf discrimination. The only thing to hold her back was herself. How would Remus feel, years from now, when thirteen-year-old Hermione, believing him a traitor, spat the very word in his face, as though it had something to do with why he couldn't be trusted? As though she attributed his betrayal not to choice, but to a preposterous predisposition to it?

She had told him about being entitled to one's mistakes, yet that did not exempt a person from the consequences. And perhaps there was no other mistake she regretted more. Her actions had mirrored that of many others, fueled by their prejudice and bigotry when she did know better. She still remembered the way the word Mudblood fell from Malfoy's lips. Had a friend done the same...

Hermione had strived to hurt Remus then, and, given the time they were spending together now, had likely accomplished to do so far deeper than she had realized. It was sobering to judge one's own behavior through the lens of another. The heavy, crushing feeling of her ribcage closing around her lungs stayed the revelation. What would it achieve? Whom would it comfort, Remus or her consciousness? She wasn't worthy of his forgiveness yet, but someday… Meanwhile, she got him a tonne of chocolate from Honeydukes and a few of Zonko's newest trinkets, and nothing else was said about the wolf or any Patronus. By the end of the afternoon, unless she had started to delude herself, things had seemed better.

The truth was Hermione still knew very little about Remus' past. Perhaps Gryffindor had won a match and he was celebrating in the Common Room, or had he been handed out a detention? It was unusual for prefects to receive them, and it might put his badge at risk, but then Ronald had been made one and if he hadn't managed to lose the position, she doubted Remus ever would. Then again, the reason could be another one entirely. Hermione herself kept reprimanding Fred and George for testing their magical inventions, hammering on the dangers involved, and, as far as her understanding went, the Marauders were just as bad as the twins, if not worse. She worried her lower lip to swollenness. Had he injured himself with a tricky prank gone haywire? Part of her was tempted to break into Madam Pomfrey's records to find out, but it would imply asking Harry for his Invisibility Cloak, and she had no plausible excuse to offer him.

When she established Remus wouldn't show anymore, she checked out random books from the library in the hopes one would contain a message of some sort - never had she wished for the desecration of books quite so fiercely. In fact, she doubted she had ever done so before. Madam Pince seemed none too pleased by her removing books at random from the shelves and asked more than once if she could help her. Only one person could, though.

And Hermione did write present-Remus a letter. Then proceeded to rewrite it a thousand times over. Sometimes she addressed him as Remus. Others, as Professor or Lupin. She would ask a million questions or the words would cling to her quill and refuse to touch parchment. In the end, the entire thing felt silly. Nothing fatal had happened, after all, or he would no longer exist. And he had been there to take her to Grimmauld's Place just a few months before, amused by her demand that Professor McGonagall transform. The letter remained in her possession, buried in her trunk beneath her belongings, but it didn't keep her from visiting the garden every day, tending to it for when he did show. The thought soothed the ache in her chest, if only momentarily.

She now had more time at her disposal, yet wished that wasn't the case. Harry seemed happy, at least. The D.A. meetings kept going swimmingly well, and Hermione hadn't missed the way he and Cho Chang looked at each other. A seedling of envy wrapped its roots around her stomach, and it made her miss Remus even more acutely. But she pushed it down and set out to knit hats and socks to free all of Hogwarts' elves. There was magic in weaving wool even when no actual magic was involved. Although a clock like the one in the Burrow would've been more reassuring, the repetitive, constant movements settled her mind, keeping it from devising horrible scenarios about what could have happened. Once Harry came to them about his first kiss, Hermione felt less a pit of woes, and more the friend who could listen and support him as he deserved. Though she did sympathize a little more with Cho than she did with Harry.

When Hermione exited the girls' dorm the next day, it was to rattling news. Neither Harry nor Ron were waiting for her, and Neville told her Harry had screamed himself awake that night, though no one knew for sure why. Not even Ginny or the twins were anywhere to be found. She stormed out the portrait, leaving her things behind, and stalked the floors of the castle, pulling open doors to classrooms and broom closets in a manner reminiscent of Professor Snape's.

As she exited the Infirmary with still no clue whatsoever of their whereabouts, Colin Creevy came skidding out the stairs, almost colliding with one of the suits of armor. But Hermione had too much on her mind to even reprehend him as she should so she turned a blind-eye and strode in the other direction.

"Hermione, Hermione!" Colin shouted.

"What, Colin?" She had no time for pictures at the moment.

"Professor Dumbledore," At that, she turned. The boy was doubled down, hands on his knees and sweat pooling on his forehead. Of course, she should have gone to him! The Headmaster would obviously know what happened. The young Gryffindor boy swallowed a gulp of air and continued, "Professor Dumbledore asked to see you."

Hermione was already in motion. "Thank you!"

Once she reached the second floor, it was to a disagreeable sight: Umbridge stood at the end of the corridor, lips scrunched as a prune and nose up in the air, glaring at her as though Hermione had killed her cat. It only made the dread slushing in her stomach worsen, but Hermione walked up to the Gargoyle and whispered the password all the same. The stairs didn't seem to move fast enough, and she was inside the office at the first syllable of 'enter'.

"Ah, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore was sitting in his armchair, his garish robe clashing against every color in the room, "do you know why I have called you?"

"No, sir, but I assume it has something to do with the news Harry looked so awfully ill last night Professor McGonagall had to be called, and how I wasn't able to find neither him nor Ron, nor even any of Weasleys, for that matter, anywhere in this castle, and why that bloody toad was looking at me like a constipated little bloodhound… Professor."

"I am sure I wouldn't know what toad you are referring to. Never liked them much, myself, to give them the time of day," His eyes twinkled in mirth, yet only for a moment, "But your assumptions would be correct. Please, sit."

"I'm babbling, I'm sorry, Professor, it's just… it's them, and trouble is bound to be involved." She chose the closest chair, took a breath, and tried to reclaim some semblance of collectedness. "What happened, sir?"

"Arthur Weasley has fallen victim to a snake attack while on Order duty."

If the ground could disappear beneath her feet, she was sure it had just done so, the arms of her chair her only lifeline. "Mr. Weasley? Is he-how is he? Will he make it? What-?"

"Arthur is on the mend, according to the healers. He was found on time and brought to St. Mungos. Harry witnessed his attack while dreaming."

"A snake, you said... it was Voldemort's, wasn't it? Nagini?"

Dumbledore gave her a curt nod.

"And Harry witnessed it?"

"I'm afraid so, Miss Granger. As luck would have it, it was also what allowed us to come to Arthur's aid."

"That's… good, in part. But it doesn't bode well, does it?"

"It is of no matter at the moment, I will take the steps to remedy it after the holidays," He extended a tin filled to the brim with lemon drops towards her, but Hermione shook her head. She doubted anything would agree with her stomach right at the moment. "In the meantime, I have sent Harry and the others to Snuffles' house, you are more than welcome to join them once the term is officially over."

"I'll write to my parents, Professor," She slid to the edge of her seat, knees a bit weak, and wondered if there would be any school owls available to borrow this close to Christmas, "If that's all?"

"It would be. Unless I could ask that you indulge an old man's curiosity?" When Hermione didn't protest, he continued, "How much do you know about Lughnasadh and Samhain, Miss Granger?"

"Headmaster?"

"The Celtic celebrations, my girl."

"I know. The Celts considered Samhain the beginning of winter. It was also the day when it was believed that the boundary between the dead and the living weakened, something that we've come to know as All Hallow's Eve or Halloween. They would make offerings to the spirits and fairies and wear costumes to personify them, it's said it placated the spirits and protected the living from harm. Lughnasadh, I'm not so familiar with, only that there are two more, Beltane and Imbolc. I meant why do you ask, Professor."

"Some doors open and close as they should. Understanding might come in handy, don't you think?"

Hermione furrowed her brows and tried to make sense of it, "Will this help Harry, sir?"

"Your friends are quite lucky to have you, my dear. You're in possession of not only a quickness of mind but of an exceptional willingness to help others. While one is an innate talent and will serve you well, as it has done for witches and wizards across the ages, the other holds far more value." He rose from his seat, walked towards a bookshelf, and dragged one of his long, brittle-looking fingers over one row of books' spines until he stopped and pulled the chosen volume out. "Allow an old fool to provide you with some in return, although I fear it may be too small a demonstration in the grand scheme of things."

She left Professor Dumbledore's office with a tome in hand and more questions than answers.

Once Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place, she couldn't help but look around, expecting to see Remus with a mesh of tension and anticipation. The living room was empty, and so was the Library, but she followed the small, muffled noises leading her to the kitchen. She was met with Sirius preparing some tea for Mrs. Weasley, and Harry's Godfather was the first to spot her, "Hermione! Come, take a seat. Tea?"

"Do come in, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, while discreetly trying to banish a tear from her cheek. "Ron had told me you would be staying with your family. Skying, wasn't it?"

"Skiing, actually. But Professor Dumbledore told me about Mr. Weasley, and I told my parents I couldn't make it. How is he? Is there any news? And no, Sirius, thank you."

"That's very sweet of you, and Arthur will be quite pleased, but all will be well, dear, the healers are confident in his recovery. I'll make you something to eat."

"No, Mrs. Weasley, it's no trouble, really. I've just eaten at the castle. I'll put away my things and go look for the boys."

"Hermione," Sirius called after her, then added in a lower voice, his face equal parts hard and worry-creased, "Harry is in a mood."

"Oh. I'll see what I can do."

He inclined his head, the lines in his forehead less pronounced.

Once Hermione had gotten Harry to open the door, and Ginny had hammered him with how it felt to be possessed by Voldemort on the head, demonstrating the ridiculousness of his behavior, Ron suggested a match of Exploding Snap. Before they left the room to follow the others, however, Hermione tugged at Harry's jumper.

"Harry... did Professor Dumbledore talk to you about a door?"

"I haven't seen him enough these past few months for him to tell me anything much, Hermione. Why?"

"Nothing, nevermind."

"I did dream of one, though. When-when Mr. Weasley was attacked... I can still remember it." He rubbed the scar on his forehead. "Can't seem to forget, to be honest. What did Dumbledore tell you?"

"A riddle, I think. 'Some doors open and close as they should'."

Harry looked to the side for a beat, then said in a deadpan voice, "Brilliant."

Hermione grimaced. She couldn't help but agree.

A/N: Here's another!

I think I should clarify some things before we get further into the story: my plans for it include going all the way through the Battle of Hogwarts, with maybe one or two chapters after that, and I'll try to stick to canon as much as I can. Sometimes that will mean choosing movie canon instead of books simply to fit my needs on what happens next until the time neither will be of use and things will go AU. That said, Ron/Hermione and Remus/Nymphadora definitely won't take place, like, at all. I think these are the canon pairings I dislike the most, so I don't think I could write them even if I wanted to, which I really, really don't. I don't hate the characters, though, so there's no need to worry about any bashing. I'll let you guys know if something else arises and feel free to ask if you have any questions. I can't answer them all, but I'll do my best :)

Now, this chapter turned out longer than even I expected, and I blame caprubia for motivating me more than any energizing drink in existence!

I totally - and shamelessly - stole PaleandBroodingsGirl's pun and used it at the beginning of the chapter, so all credit for romance/feelings blooming goes to her ;)

Last, but not least at all, this story got a new art! Krankykittie made it as a gift and I adore it! I have no clue if it's even possible to display it here at FFN, but it'll be up in all of the HP Facebook groups I divulge this story if you're curious! Chances are most of you have already seen it, but I had to mention it because I LOVE IT!

As usual, I do sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter and let me know your thoughts if you get the chance :)

Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans to szaboalexandra1991, WinterOrion, PaleandBroodingsGirl, BWOHA, and caprubia for the reviews.

To Elengessner, BWOHA, Jucy Potter, and Nickelun for adding the story to their favorites.

And to RosieJones95, BWOHA, Jucy Potter, DudettRin101, chester258, roon0, and Nickelun for following.

You guys are the best :)