Falling Leaves
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When Professor Dumbledore had told her Harry's active link to Voldemort would be remedied, Hermione would never have suspected that to be the solution. Having Professor Snape invade Harry's mind on a regular basis hardly seemed like a reasonable answer unless the Headmaster counted on them strangling each other to death. That would stop the dreams, to be sure, but she doubted anyone, apart from Voldemort himself, could consider it a desirable outcome.
Analyzing the situation more carefully, however, led her to the belief that the decision was far from completely daft, if still somewhat ill-advised. Voldemort wouldn't be gentle in his exploitation of Harry's thoughts if he had become aware of his access to them, and people could accuse Professor Snape of many things, Hermione herself believing him as quick to display displeasure as he was willing to protect students, yet being gentle in any way had never ranked amongst them. So Hermione tried practicing the mind-clearing exercises every night, hoping that, in doing so, she could encourage Harry to do the same.
Although, if she were being honest with herself, trying to get the Giant Squid to learn to tap dance would have yielded better results. If influence by example was something her friends were susceptible to, they would have begun to study for tests and finish their schoolwork in advance years ago, rendering the planner she had given them both for Christmas unnecessary. Despite that, Hermione sustained the practice - who knew when the skill would prove useful, and she couldn't claim it didn't help lessen the constant string of worry about Umbridge's schemes, Voldemort's plans, Harry's dreams, the Order's well-being, the Army's safety, Professor Dumbledore's positively maddening puzzles, Hagrid's probation, the O.W.L.'s nearness, and, most of all, Remus. Not only one, but both versions of him.
And Ronald had said it was impossible to feel that much at once.
The last set of worries could have been avoidable had present-Remus shown up at Sirius' house for Christmas as Hermione had hope-dreaded he would. Were he there, she would've somehow gotten up the nerve to ask him about her presence in his past, about why he had stopped showing, and worked out a way to deal with the awkwardness the conversation would engender, seeing as that, if there was one word that could summarize 'We've been meeting each other in the past and I have fallen hopelessly in love with you even though you most likely don't feel the same, not then and definitely not now', that word was awkward. Mortifying wasn't a bad fit either, on second thought.
Though before she could ask Mrs. Weasley, in the most disinterested manner she could affect, about Professor Lupin's whereabouts, Hermione had overheard Harry ask Sirius about him and Sirius' ensuing dismissal, claiming Order business. The news made her stomach lurch. She only hoped he hadn't taken over Mr. Weasley's duties. Harry's link might not work a second time, more so now that measures were being taken to sever it, and what would be of Remus if Voldemort struck once more, trying to obtain whatever lay behind the door?
Thus far, progress on it and on Dumbledore's riddle had proved paltry. Hermione had asked Harry to describe the mystery door five times, four times more than he wished to do, for any detail that might connect it to Dumbledore's words and Celtic culture. According to Harry, the door didn't have anything much, other than a round, centered gold handle, and a symbol he couldn't recall etched in its middle. She had shown him all the runes in existence, hoping one would spark recognition, but he had been unable to identify any as the unknown marking, and it all remained one more oddity on her growing list of them.
Well, until the day he came back from his first Occlumency lesson, that is.
"The Department of Mysteries? Are you sure, Harry?"
The three of them had sat closer together around the Library table, their voices hushed.
"It was there when Mr. Weasley escorted me to my hearing. That marking on the handle? It's the Ministry's seal. I relived the memory just now."
Ron leaned over the table, tossing a look around before speaking. "Dad says the people working there are called Unspeakables, no one knows what really happens there other than them."
Hm... Hermione tapped her quill against the parchment a few times for something to do as she processed the new information and tried to tie it to what she already knew. 'Some doors open and close as they should'. Did it mean somehow that You-know-who wouldn't be allowed inside? That there was some protection, somehow connected to Lughnasadh and Samhain to keep him out? But then why had Professor Dumbledore seen the need to guard it?
"For what it's worth, it makes no sense." Hermione spared a glance at her friends, finding confusion mirrored in their faces. "Dumbledore's riddle, I mean, not the door. It does stand to reason that whatever weapon Voldemort wants would have been developed there, perhaps by the Unspeakables themselves, especially if it didn't exist during the last war. But in what way would Halloween have anything to do with it?"
Harry piped up, "Maybe, for it to open, you need to rap on it and yell 'trick or treat'?"
There was a beat before Hermione snagged her closed DADA book from the table and smacked it against Harry's head. Honestly!
"I deserved that."
"Miss Granger!" The shrill, ear-piercing voice sounded right beside Hermione's ear and she almost jumped out of her skin. "Good Merlin, I would never have expected this kind of behavior from you!"
Oh, no. Absorbed as she was trying to puzzle things together, Hermione had missed the tell-tale click of shoes belonging to Hogwarts' vulture-like librarian. And, right at that moment, Hermione had become fresh - and quite dead - meat. "I'm terribly sorry, Madam Pince. It won't happen again."
And that would've been the end of it, accompanied perhaps by more high-pitched lectures and months of increased scrutiny from the older witch whenever Hermione stepped foot inside the Library.
"Don't worry, Madam Pince," Harry said, "I'm fine."
For the briefest moment, Hermione entertained the thought of whether her friend really was that dense or if he had done it as a provocation of sorts… When she turned to look at him, nothing in his expression pointed to the latter. Denseness it was, then. Her lips parted of their own accord with an involuntary huff, and she could feel her eyebrows almost meeting her hairline in disbelief. From her chair, she couldn't see Madam Pince's expression, but she could imagine it in detail, from the way the triangular band of her hat framed her mistrustful, narrowed black eyes to the thin, almost disappearing lines of her tightened mouth.
"I can see that, Mr. Potter. Do you know what isn't fine?" Hermione closed her eyes, screwed up her face, and drew up her shoulders. "The book! Go on, you three, gather your things and leave."
Letting out a long breath, Hermione placed her writing supplies and books inside her rucksack, caring to do so as gently as possible so as not to further provoke Madam Pince's temper. She kept her gaze straight ahead, ignoring the looks of the other occupants as she made her way towards the double doors, flanked by Harry and Ron. Once they were firmly closed behind the trio, Hermione adjusted the straps of her rucksack on her shoulders, whether to better accommodate the weight or steel herself, she couldn't tell.
"Bloody hell! I think this is the first time someone tossed Hermione out of a Library."
"Well observed, Ronald," There were times not unlike this one when Hermione wondered how her life at Hogwarts, academic and otherwise, would have been had the Sorting Hat placed her in Ravenclaw instead. Surely she wouldn't have found herself doing half the raving mad things she had done over the last five years, much less needing to badger her friends to follow the rules and study. More importantly, she was absolutely certain she would never, ever have found herself forced out of the Library. "Thank you for pointing that out."
Life as a Gryffindor was a gift that kept on giving, she supposed.
When Valentine's Day arrived, with a clearer sky than she had seen in quite a while, Hermione tried to stifle her wistful yearning for Remus, forbidding herself from even contemplating his motives. The ones her mind provided grew more outlandish the longer he failed to show, and Hermione was starting to run out of explanations to disguise how bereft his sudden non-attendance had left her feeling. She had been to the garden this morning already - had kept going almost every day since Remus had stopped showing - but did very little this time, staring at the plants without seeing them, the room too wide, too silent, and worse still, too empty without him. For someone rather timid and quiet, his presence had been radiant and nothing felt quite the same without its shine.
Hermione didn't feel quite the same without him.
Yet to even allow the tears pricking her eyes to fall and run their course down her face felt wrong. She had no right whatsoever to feel Remus' absence today any more acutely than she had all the others. Despite that, the silent tears were there all the same, and so were the twinges that shrunk her heart a little bit more each time. Although Hermione could no longer deceive herself about the nature of her feelings, or even their proper names, nothing seemed to indicate they were returned in any way.
When it came to the opposite sex, her experience was limited to her friendship with Harry and Ron, on one end, who up until last year hadn't considered her a girl at all; and Viktor, on the other, who had made his interest clear from the beginning, and had turned into a friend as a result of distance, not choice, at least on his part. Remus remained an enigma: he neither fit into one category nor the other and while Hermione could explain girls' feelings and motivations to Harry and Ron, she sometimes wished they could return the favor. Then again, that would imply telling them about the garden, Remus, and the time travel, and she had already decided against doing so. Somehow, she also doubted they could move past the fact that she had feelings for Remus Lupin, Harry's godfather's best friend and their former professor, long enough to be of any help.
Hermione had poked and prodded her breakfast long enough that it looked eaten at least in part, and tried to be happy for all the couples getting a trip to Hogsmeade, swallowing the bitter taste that all the doe-eyes and stolen kisses around her left on her mouth. Even if her feelings were returned in some measure, this wasn't a romantic comedy she would sometimes watch with her mum while eating popcorn. Remus would not show on Valentine's day to sweep her off her feet and have all their problems solved through love alone. Things were more complicated than that. Starting with, but not limited to, the fact that there were two versions of him - one who had disappeared without explanation, and the other who had never given any sign he remembered her. Not to mention Voldemort. It was ridiculous and preposterous and rather childish of her to even entertain thoughts that related to her love life when her actual life - and everybody else's - was at stake.
When Skeeter's letter arrived, she took it as a wake-up call. Her message gave her something else to think about, and though Hermione had never imagined she would feel grateful for anything coming from that cow, she was when it came to this. Some things took precedence over her hurting feelings, and Harry was at the top of that list. Whatever charitable thoughts she had for Rita vanished, however, in the face of her charming personality, but they got the task done. Afterward, Hermione did feel a bit guilty when Harry told her about his disastrous date with Cho, yet, in the end, only part of the fault rested on her shoulders. Cho's jealousy of her could prove to be a problem if not addressed, and there wasn't much Hermione could do about Harry's cluelessness until after the fact unless she took to standing nearby, whispering the right answers to him as if helping him to cheat a test. Letting them copy bits of her assignments was degrading enough.
Over the next few months, any happiness and relief Hermione had felt from the published interview on the Quibbler, from Hagrid having finally abided by her syllabus, and from having managed to conjure her otter Patronus from her memories of Remus were short-lived. Not only had that toad of a woman sacked Professor Trewlaney before the whole school - who, Hermione thought, despite her dislike for the witch and her ridiculous tea leaves, had done nothing to deserve such humiliation - but Grawp wasn't a variable she could have predicted.
Hermione didn't think it possible anyone could have - Hogwarts was enormous, surely, but hiding a giant? In the forest? Her worry for Hagrid mounted into full-blown panic. If Umbridge caught even a sniff of Grawp's presence, Hagrid would not only be sacked, he could be charged with deliberate endangerment of the students and staff and be removed from Hogwarts altogether. Imprisoned, even. There was no way the three of them would be able to sneak a full-grown giant out of the grounds the way they had with Norberta their first year, and Hermione, unlike Harry and Ron, was no longer under the illusion that they had managed to do so in secret. The Headmaster had known about it. Yet Professor Dumbledore wasn't here now, was he? Edgecombe's betrayal had seen to the discovery of their Army, and the damage fell to him, leaving them under the full, unbridled reign of Dolores Umbridge.
If things went sour - or, she should say, more so than they had already gone - they were on their own.
The one bright spot amidst it all had been, to Hermione's surprise, the twins' shenanigans. The fireworks alone had been a thing of wonder. And if she had not only closed both eyes when it came to Fred and George but encouraged their behavior... Well, what could she say? She was in love with a Marauder, after all - it was bound to screw up her rule-following at some point. And the fact that she really, truly despised Umbridge and the twin's actions allowed Hermione to sit back and watch while she got sent into a flat spin?
That was just further incentive.
February 1995 - Number 12, Grimmauld's Place
Sirius ran two fingers over the open pages of one of the books lying atop the dining table, the wood barely visible under them, and its few clear spots peppered with half-drank cups of tea. "And you're sure this… whatever it is... will work?"
"It will, Sirius, because it has to," Remus told him, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's the closest I've gotten to a solution."
"A solution, you say." Remus watched as he picked up one of the books - either Callihan's or Turner's, they had all started to blend in Remus' mind at some point. "To what problem, Moony? We're brothers, you and I. I want to help you. But doing shit without as much as an explanation isn't something I've done since we were boys."
"Ah, thinking before doing, are we? Well, I'd say you've matured, Sirius, but we both know it isn't true."
"It's good to see you're as bleeding hilarious as ever," His words notwithstanding, Sirius shot him a grin, his eyes glinting. "Have you? Matured?"
Remus lifted the corner of his mouth. "Not as much as I should've, I'm afraid. But a little more than you all the same."
"Well, you were always the smarter one."
"You do know that, if this wasn't important to me, I wouldn't be asking."
"I know. And I hope you achieve whatever it is you're aiming for."
"So do I... trust me."
"I do trust you. That might end up being the death of me someday, almost was with Wormtail... Yet you still can't tell me. Is my life not worth one measly detail?"
"Don't be dramatic. It doesn't become you."
"Of course it becomes me. And we did this dance already... you dispairing over a secret, us discovering it. Remember how it went the last time?"
"With you sending Snape my way during a full moon?"
Sirius rolled his eyes and chose another volume to peruse. "Not that part, and I apologized. You know, all these books seem rather romantic to me. In a twisted way. This wouldn't be about a bird, would it?" Something in Remus' expression must have changed without him being any the wiser, because Sirius' sobered, his tone no longer playful, "It is. You've met someone."
A fresh cup of tea wouldn't have gone amiss, but Remus had used all the leaves already.
"I can't tell you about it unless… If this works - when it works, I promise you'll hear everything, Padfoot. The wonderful, the horrible." At the last word, Sirius' face fell, and he placed a hand on Remus' shoulder. Remus looked away, his last words were but a whispered secret, "Whatever you want to know."
"Alright, Moony. Let's do this thing."
A/N: Hey guys! Longer chapter this time, yay!
I just want to point out that I had zero control over the banter between those two. It was supposed to be a serious (no pun intended) scene, but what could we expect? Those two are troublemakers. Hope you enjoyed it :)
As always, I'll be over the moon if you can spare some time to let me know your thoughts!
Licorice Wands to PaleandBroodingsGirl, Ghostwriter71, LyraMRiddle, caprubia, and szaboalexandra1991 for the reviews.
To VolvicBabe, Igotyou12, and ouran-otaku for adding the story to their favorites.
And to italytigger, VolvicBabe, HopewillbefoundinBree, Ghostwriter71, and Igotyou12 for following the story.
You guys are wonderful :)