Chapter 73: Saturday, May 23, 1981

"The people with the best chance of fixing crazy are those who are in the process of going crazy."

-Steven Magee

It had taken over a week for Hermione to recover from the extensive testing Snape performed. In a surprising act of mercy, when Hermione could no longer take the pain of having her soul peeled away from her body, Snape suggested a strong sleeping draught that would keep her unconscious for several days as he peeled back her soul and went through the core of her magic to find the problem.

She agreed.

Perhaps, she was too trusting of Severus Snape. She knew when she sent the letter to Remus, explaining that she would be gone a few days until she could figure out what was wrong with her magic, that he would want to come with her. But, Remus didn't understand Snape's place in the Order yet. In time, she knew, he would come to terms with Snape and the assets he brought to the table. However, right now Snape was a freshly defected Death Eater and a person with whom the Marauder's all had a personal vendetta.

They hated him, and he hated them. And Hermione didn't have the time left to deal with petty squabbling and misplaced anger. She trusted Snape, because she knew what he would become, what he had done to get to where he was in her own time just before he died. She didn't have to like him to accept his help, she had to tolerate him. And what better way to tolerate a slimy, arrogant git than to be unconscious?

Memories filtered through her mind as she lay on the table, a cushioning charm to keep her comfortable. Memories of long forgotten nights with her parents, eating crisps and watching telly. Dancing with Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball, and again at Bill and Fleur's wedding. Laughing with Harry and Ron after a Quidditch match that Gryffindor had won—Harry as seeker, Ron as keeper.

Most of the moments that flitted around her mind were pleasant things she could attach to, happy moments in time that would keep her stress free as Snape whispered complex incantations over her and slid a variety of rare potions down her throat.

Separating a soul from its host unfortunately, is not an easy task. Particularly when you are not a creature who is designed to do just that. Hermione understood that because of the delicate nature of the spellwork involved, Snape required every bit of concentration. Before they began to work, Hermione sent a patronus back to Remus, asking him not to worry and explaining she would be home the moment she could be.

Hermione awoke, her back aching from the failing cushioning charm on the hard, splintered wood where she laid. She sat up slowly, blinking heavily and smacking her lips together a few times, trying to rid the cotton feel of her mouth. She carefully swung her legs over the table and heard rustling in another room of the small cottage. Carefully, she pushed off the table and took a few tentative steps toward the sink, sighing in disappointment when the faucet produced no water.

"Your wand," Snape's low voice came from behind her.

She turned around and saw him standing a few feet away, his face looked even more sunken and tired than it normally did. He took a step forward, holding out the familiar vinewood to her. She took it, muttering a word of thanks, and pulled a dusty mug from the filthy cabinet, using the hem of her shirt to wipe it out.

"You'll need to take a strengthening solution," Snape murmured, motioning to a few different tiny bottles sitting on the counter. "A calming draught would be of interest as well."

"Thanks," Hermione said, reaching for the phials. "Did you—"

"It was successful," he said.

"Well, yes, I had assumed so considering I'm awake and I have memories. If my soul would have been removed permanently, I wouldn't have any of those things."

"I'm aware," he said, cooly.

Hermione looked at him expectantly, folding her arms over her chest. "How long did it take?"

"You've been here a week."

"A week?" Hermione said.

"It was not easy magic," Snape said, sounding defensive.

Hermione's heart began to thump wildly in her chest, the thought that she had been unconscious a week, when time was already such a precious commodity for her, left her feeling anxious and sick. Not to mention Remus was probably beside himself with worry and—

"I alerted Dumbledore," Snape said. "So that your pet wouldn't do something stupid."

"You...you asked him to check in on Remus?"

A cold sound erupted from his throat, a biting, sarcastic sounding laugh. "Absolutely not. But, I assume it would not have been in your mind to alert anyone to what you were doing. It would not have been in my best interest to have someone show up here looking for you, only to find you unconscious with your soul pulled from your body and me standing over you."

He's got a point, she thought. The idea of Remus—or Sirius—showing up to see her laying under Snape's wand was not ideal. She gave a terse nod, "Thank you."

"I did not find any evidence of the curse," Snape said.

His dark eyes met hers and she saw a flash of something in them—relief?—and she could feel a surge of some strange emotion unfurl inside her chest. Her words seemed to escape her as the weight of what Snape had said settled over her.

Gone.

Her magic had been wonky for weeks, she still wasn't sure why, but the curse had not been the cause. The curse had died when she did, when the vow did. And now, the only thing that she could seem to focus on was the thought that finally, finally, she could tell Remus that she could stay. That she didn't give the back end of a blast-ended skrewt what happened to time, or the war, or anything she knew before. What mattered now was that she could change it. They could change it.

"You're sure?" Hermione said, finally. A whisper of words as she tried to slow the rapid beating of her heart. As she tried to quell the excitement that was beginning to blossom in the depths of her core and spread through the tips of her fingers. She felt lighter than she ever had before, weightless in a spiral of relief and happiness.

The war had claimed so much of her life, from the young, innocent age of eleven, she had been fighting. And now, she could reclaim it. Remus wouldn't have to move mountains for her, he wouldn't have to drain the oceans and rearrange the stars. Because she could rewrite time for him. She could give him the life he deserved, she could be the person he wanted her to be. She could stay.

"Your magic has been fragile from the experience of having your soul pulled away from your core," Snape said, in a tone that seemed unfamiliar to her coming from him. It was softer than she had ever heard, empty of malice or sarcasm.

"Thank you," Hermione said, her voice thick with the elation that was threatening to burst from her. "Snape...Severus...I can't...thank you. You can't possibly understand—"

"Spare me the feigned niceties," Snape snapped, slipping back into his cold, indignant tone. "I suggest you don't make a habit of dabbling in Dark curses again."

"I didn't dabble," she said, any budding fondness she had been feeling dropping away instantly. "It wasn't as if I wanted to live out the rest of my day as a Dementor."

Snape snorted, "Is that what the Order is calling them? Fitting name, I suppose."

"I need to go," Hermione said. "Thank you."

He stared at her, his face cool and collected as ever but as she grabbed her bag and strode to the door she could have sworn she saw his lips twitch upward.

Hermione burst through the front door of her cottage, immediately hit the lovely scent of cinnamon and currant and she could have cried at the comforting smell as it washed over her.

"Remus?" she called out, "Remus, where are you?"

For a brief moment, a fear reared deep inside of her. Had everything been some sick figment of her imagination again? Had she died back on the stiff, splintering oak table in the cabin, at the end of Snape's wand? Frantically, she kicked off her trainers and began to look around the house. It seemed real, there weren't any mysterious sounds or smells coming from anywhere. A ghostly version of James wasn't sitting on her sofa to greet her with tea and riddles…

However, the smells and sounds were not disembodied, encased in a strange fog. In the kitchen, the scent of cinnamon and currants came from the oven, as a batch of Chelsea Buns baked. The light hum of George Harrison came from the very real record player, creating a light, static scratching sound as the vinyl spun beneath the needle. Evidence of existence, of life, was everywhere in the way Remus' apron hung from the back of a chair and the mug of rapidly cooling tea sat on the stand next to the sofa.

Hermione sighed in relief and turned down the hall, calling out for Remus and smiling to herself when the bathroom door flung open, smacking hard against the wall. The steam from the shower filtered from the room, leaving behind the thick scent of Remus' soap that clung to the humidity in the air.

"You're okay!" Remus said, his voice twisted with relief and confusion. "Dumbledore sent an owl, he said he didn't—"

"I'm fine!" Hermione said, the strange urge to laugh bubbled in her throat. She looked him over, the silvery-pink of his scar lined chest and shoulders glistened with warm water droplets. His favorite fluffy, green towel tied around his waist as his hair dripped onto his face and shoulders, small suds of shampoo still visible.

"Where have you been? I've been so worried! Dumbledore wouldn't tell me anything and when you missed the meeting I thought—"

"Remus," Hermione said, stepping forward to place her hands up on his shoulders. "I'm fine. Better than fine, actually. Go finish your shower and we'll talk when you get out."

"I have a better idea," Remus said, a smirk pulling half his mouth up as he covered her hands with his own and tugged her forward. He walked back into the bathroom and motioned to the shower. "Wash my back, I'll wash yours?"

Hermione bit her lip, smiling and pulled her top over her head.

It was under the stream of hot water and plumes of steam that Hermione realized how much her body ached. Snape had told her she had been unconscious a week, but she hadn't even thought to ask how long the process actually took, how long she may need to recover. Remus stood away from the jets, allowing Hermione to soak her hair and lather it with suds. She nearly moaned when he stepped forward, pressing his body against hers and began working his fingers into her mane of curls, massaging the shampoo through the strands and scrubbing her scalp.

"You look knackered," he whispered, pulling her closer to him to scrub at the nape of her neck. "Are you sure you're—"

"If you ask me one more time if I'm okay, I'm going to smack you," Hermione said, a smile playing on her lips as she tipped her head back under the spray to rinse the lather from her scalp.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I've just been so worried. With everything that's happened and now Dorcas—"

"What about Dorcas?" Hermione asked, a sick feeling twisting her stomach.

"You haven't...well, of course you haven't. You've been gone a week…"

"Remus…" Hermione said, opening her eyes to look at him. A wet slapping sound echoed against the tiles as her waterlogged hair hit the small of her back.

"Erm...I-I don't think nude in the shower is the best place…"

"Just tell me! What happened?"

"Well, it feels disrespectful, you know? I just—"

"Remus!"

"Dorcas was killed."

Whatever she had thought may have happened to Dorcas Meadows while she was gone, that was not it. Her mouth dropped open and her hand came up to cover it, a gasp pushing through her fingers. Water streamed over her face, blurring her vision as she stared at Remus, shell shocked.

"What...what happened?" Hermione said, finally.

Remus sighed, his face falling. "Maybe we should talk now?"

Hermione nodded, moving out from under the shower to allow Remus to crouch beneath it, scrubbing the rest of the shampoo from his own hair while she quickly washed her body. Once they were both clean, Remus turned the water off and summoned two towels from the cupboard for her, wrapping one around her frame as she twisted her hair into the other. He draped his own around his hips again and together they exited and stepped into the bedroom.

They quickly dressed in comfortable clothes, Hermione nicked the beat up T-Rex t-shirt from Remus' hand with a coy smile and slipped it over her head before stepping into a pair of sleep shorts. Remus rolled his eyes and pulled another shirt (an ancient Beatles tee) from the drawer and over his head after pulling a pair of pyjama bottoms over his hips.

Remus took her hand and led her into the kitchen, lightly pushing her into a chair and donning a pair of oven mitts to pull the Chelsea Buns from the heat. He grimaced, murmuring under his breath that they had baked a bit took long, before fixing them both steaming mugs of black tea and sitting in the seat next to her at the table.

"Dorcas…?" Hermione asked.

"Killed last Friday," Remus whispered. "Voldemort himself, we think. Dumbledore called for an Order meeting on Sunday, but was very clear we were not going to Headquarters. We met at the Burrow—"

"The Burrow?" Hermione asked, shocked. "But all the kids…"

"Molly's Aunt Muriel took them," Remus said. "I went with Kingsley, Ted, and Dumbledore to check Headquarters. It had been upended. Every bit of furniture was shredded, the windows were blown out, the roof caved in. It looked like a bomb had gone off inside. We combed through what we could, but there wasn't much left, to be honest. Doe's body was laying in the dining room."

"How did he know?" Hermione muttered, more to herself than to Remus.

"Dunno," Remus said. "Dumbledore said someone must have told them where Headquarters was at. Part of the protection charms—they would have had to have been told the address by someone in the Order, I think."

"A spy."

Remus nodded, "We've known for months, we've known there was someone...but we don't know who. Everyone has airtight alibis, don't they? Everyone goes on their missions with another person or under direct orders of Dumbledore."

Hermione stared into the mug of tea, her finger tracing the rim absentmindedly as she tried to chew over the information. It was Peter, it had always been Peter. She wanted to scream it from the rooftops, to shake Remus by the shoulders and tell him someone he trusted had turned their back on him. But, for some reason, James' words echoed around her head.

"When the time is right, you'll know what to do. You always do."

And try as she might to find a way to force the words from her brain to her lips, she knew the time wasn't now.

More than anything, Hermione wanted to change what had been done. To give Harry the life he deserved to live, a loving family in a safe home where people thought the world of him and love was never in short supply. But, she had to be smart about it. She knew that she was already risking so much by staying, that she could completely upend time itself and destroy everything she had ever known.

And the others she cared about didn't deserve that. Didn't Ron deserve to fall in love with the spritely and grounding Luna Lovegood? Didn't Draco deserve a chance to think for himself, to get out from under the tyranny of his family and prove he was better than the mark on his arm? Theo, Pansy, Blaise, Ginny, Justin, Neville, Percy… Didn't they also deserve decent lives and moments of happiness they had found within the iron walls of war?

But if she could stop the war here and now, if she could save them here…

Hermione knew about the Horcruxes. She knew their locations and how to get rid of them, she could give the information to the Order, and they could take Voldemort out at the knees, right now! They could rock the entire foundation of the Death Eaters and capture them all—prevent Dolohov from ever reaching higher ranks than he already had and continuing the disgusting display of purist ideals that he had killed for.

"Why were you gone?" Remus finally asked, pulling Hermione from her thoughts.

She blinked several times, trying to dip back into the happiness she had felt upon leaving the rundown cabin in Yorkshire. "I met with Snape—"

"I know," Remus said, irritably.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "I needed help with some extensive healing. He helped create those awful curses, so it stood to reason he knew how to check for them."

"You let him test on you?"

Hermione chewed her bottom lip, nodding. "In a sense."

"If he hurt you—"

"He didn't." Hermione interjected before Remus could work himself up, "But, I didn't know how else to go about checking...Remus, it's gone."

He stared blankly at her for several minutes, his brows pinched together as he tried to work out exactly what she was talking about. "It's gone?"

"The curse," Hermione said. "I...when I died, it broke the curse, Remus."

Remus surged forward, knocking the mugs over and spilling lukewarm tea all over the table and sunk his hand into the back of Hermione's damp curls, pulling her face to his. The kiss was rough and longing, full of emotion. When they broke apart, both gasping for air and Remus' shirt soaked in tea, Hermione let out a breathy laugh.

"I want you to mark me," she whispered.

"We don't...it isn't necessary now. I don't have to—"

"I want you to, Remus. I'm yours, I will only ever be yours. And I need you to know that I choose you, no matter the circumstances. I choose you because I want to choose you, not because it could save my life or because I'm cursed or—or whatever! Because, I love you."

She watched as the apple of his throat bobbed with a swallow, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he looked at her with an intense gaze. Finally, he gave a sharp nod. He looked completely unsure of himself, his eyes filled with worry and doubt, but a small smile crept to the corners of his mouth, lifting them ever so slightly.

"You're sure? I don't want you to feel like you have to, or—or—"

Hermione leaned forward this time, paying no mind to the tea that dripped from the table onto her legs as she pressed her lips to his. Her hand rested against the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair. The time would come to upend everything and win a war that had been fought for far too long. But, right now, the war waging within Remus was more important. She would be his, and he would never doubt her love for him again. She could stay, and allowing him to claim her in this way, to bond their magic together, would prove that she meant every word of it.

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a/n: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! let me know your thoughts?