Chapter 75: Wednesday, June 17, 1981

"True strength lies in submission which permits one to dedicate his life, through devotion, to something that is beyond himself."

-Henry Miller

In the two weeks since the New Moon, Hermione had been uneasy. All of the research she had done had said that the completion of the ritual was to take place on the full moon, and she had no idea what that entailed. Fear of what would happen had begun to consume Remus and the lack of research available was unsettling.

"What if you turn?" Remus asked, for the fifth time that day as he paced restlessly around the house. "I bit you! What if—"

"Will you please sit down, Remus?" Hermione said, exasperated.

He paused mid-step and stared at her, blankly, before finally falling onto the cushion beside her on the sofa. She looked up from her journal, a mess of half deconstructed curses written in messy scrawled formulations, to meet his eyes.

"I am not going to turn," Hermione repeated. "You have to bite me in werewolf form under a full moon to pass your lycanthropy to me."

"But we don't have the—"

"No buts!" Hermione interrupted, setting the journal and her fountain pen aside to get a better look at him.

He looked knackered, as he always did before a moon. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of decent sleep, despite the constant naps he had taken the last three days. His face seemed to be sunken in, his skin paler than usual and tinged with a bluish bruising beneath his tired eyes. Yet, regardless of his obvious exhaustion, his leg bounced non-stop.

"The only way for you to turn me is to bite me while you are transformed." Hermione said again, clear and slow.

"There isn't enough research!" Remus said, jamming his fingers through his hair. "I-I fucked up! I shouldn't have…we shouldn't have…"

"The marks are healed," Hermione said. She pulled up the leg of the loose fitting shorts she wore, her knee falling to the side a bit to show her the mark on her inner thigh. Thin strips of silvery scar tissue that looked as if they were years old sat against her olive-toned skin. "And you told me yourself that werewolf bites don't heal as quickly or as cleanly as this has."

Both the marks on her thigh and the back of her neck had been nearly completely healed over by the time the sun came up, leaving behind only thin pink lines to show where his teeth had bit into her. Remus stared at the mark, looking rather revolted by the sight of them.

"I should have never—"

"Don't," Hermione said. She moved, crawling into his lap, and held his face between her hands. Lightly, she kissed his brow, his closed eyelids, the apples of his cheeks, the tips of his nose and finally his lips. "Don't tell me you regret this."

"I...I don't regret it. I just…" he sighed. "I don't want to ruin your fucking life, Hermione. You weren't supposed to stay and I knew that and now…"

"Do you want me to leave?"

Her voice wavered, hurt lacing through the words as she spoke them. She knew he was just scared of what may happen, terrified that the outcome would be the impossible worst. But, still, she had given him reason time and time again to doubt her love for him. Had tacked conditions on the end of every 'I love you' that she uttered in his direction and she couldn't get the memory of him storming out of their cottage months ago from her mind.

"No," Remus said, with more conviction than anything he had said to her all day.

A small smile tugged her lips upward and she planted another kiss, purposely wet and loud, on the side of his face. "Good, because I wasn't going to."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him. The steady, warm puffs of breath hitting her chest was calming. His arms encircled her waist, holding onto her like she was his anchor and despite his words today—the uncertainty of the ritual and his terrified ideas—she could feel the love he had for her in the way he held her against him. He muttered to himself and she smiled against his mess of honey coloured hair, knowing that Moony must be driving him absolutely around the bend this close to the moon.

Full moons had never made Hermione nervous as a child. Growing up, she had always felt a strange kinship with the bright silver orb that hung in the sky once a month. Often, she and her mother would stare up at the sky, appreciating the incandescent silver glow and the twinkle of the stars against the inky backdrop of night sky. Wonder would fill her when her mother would tell her stories of watching men walk on the moon on television. To be so far away, and to see the Earth as they saw the moon, must really be an amazing thing, she thought.

As she got older and learned of the lunar cycles and the effect it had on people—fully human or not, the tides, the very gravitational pull—Hermione kept that sense of amazement for it. In her third year, when she began to research werewolves to Snape's request, she had quickly put the pieces together that their beloved Professor Lupin was suffering at the hands of something she thought to be awe inspiring. And still, she remained amazed.

How could an enormous rock, rotating around the Earth, have such influence over someone? How could the silver glow in the sky that she looked for on the nights when she missed her mother most, cause such agony for someone?

Now, as she paced the back garden behind the small cottage where she lived, Hermione felt only frustration toward the moon. How could something so beautiful cause someone she loved so much anguish? How could something that reminded her of happier, better times be the absolute bane of the person she cared most for existence? Remus could never remember seeing the moon the way she had. He had never known the peace it had brought her. He had known only the fear, the anger, the pain of the moon.

She turned her eyes toward the sky and watched as the moon filtered out from beneath the wispy clouds, finally rising to full strength. She didn't know what to expect, wasn't sure if she would feel different or maybe Remus was right? Maybe she would turn and—

"Oh!" Hermione gasped, her hand flying to the back of her neck as the skin prickled.

Within seconds, her chest had started to tingle, a warmth radiating out from over the tops of her breasts. She pulled the baggy t-shirt away from her skin and peered down it, her eyes flying wide. The runes that had been smeared along her chest in blood and had long since been washed away, were glowing against her skin again. Shimmering, gold heat rippled from her chest to her inner thigh, rocketing back up to the spot on the back of her neck.

It was hard to breathe. The magic was encompassing her, compressing her from all sides and she had the sudden urge to disapparate from her home.

There was one time, she could recall, that she had heard of a similar sensation. When Dumbledore had bequeathed an old deluminator to Ron and he had used it to find his way back to Harry and herself. He had described it as a ball of light pulsing through him, and he just knew where he had to go.

No ball of light sank into her chest, but the warmth that radiated within her gave her reassurance that it was some similar form of magic and that should she snap her fingers, it would take her where she needed to go.

Afraid of losing the feeling, she did not waste time to find appropriate clothes or to don her trainers. Instead, she scrunched her toes in the grass, summoned her wand from the house and concentrated on the feeling inside of her.

Deliberation.

Determination.

...Destination?

She paused, her eyes closed as she tried to focus. Taking in a slow breath, she disapparated, trusting that the warmth in her chest would take care of that pesky little detail for her.

Her bare feet slammed hard into the earth and she winced as twigs snapped beneath her. She looked around, trying to figure out where she was. It was heavily wooded, the foliage thick and dark, obscuring everything but slivers of silver moonlight from view. But, not far off, she could see the outline of a structure, pointed roof with a small chimney that leaned slightly to one side.

The Shrieking Shack.

Hermione's brows furrowed in confusion and when a loud howl hit her ears, followed immediately by the barking of a dog, her heart stopped.

I am so stupid, was the only thought bouncing within her head. How could she not realize that completing the ritual meant...being bitten.

Because how else could a werewolf stay with a mate for life? How else could a werewolf claim another as their own if they weren't part of the pack? Terror began to pulse through Hermione, a cold sweat collecting on her back, the cotton of the ancient Pink Floyd shirt stuck to her skin. She heard rustling nearby, and her heart began to thump uncontrollably, a nauseous twisting in her gut pushing acid to the back of her throat.

She had to leave, she had to leave! She couldn't stay here and let Remus bite her! It wasn't even that she would be turned—that she could deal with. But, Remus would never forgive himself if he turned her. He had tried to tell her, over and over he had tried, and she waved it off! She told him he was being ridiculous and—

"Hermione?"

She spun around, nearly colliding with James. He stood, staring at her in confusion. "James!"

"You can't be here! What are you—"

A howl pierced the air again and James' head whipped around as he muttered obscenities under his breath. He looked back at her, his eyes wide with alarm. "Is there an emergency? Why are you here?"

"No," Hermione said. "I don't know! I—I got this feeling and I...I'm so stupid James! What do I do?"

"You can't disapparate from here," James said. "You'll have to go through the village but that's...fuck. Hermione, you have to go. You can't—"

Another howl and a snarling as Padfoot barked nearby.

"We're mated!" Hermione began, trying to quickly explain. "He marked me at the New Moon, look!" She turned around, pulling her hair to the side to show the bite scar on the back of her neck.

"They're coming this way," James said, his voice sounding urgent. "Look, Hermione, Moony's mate or not, it isn't safe for you!"

"I know that!" Hermione snapped, "God, how could I be so stupid! The ritual stated that it wasn't complete until the full moon and—"

"He has to turn you?" James asked, horrified.

"I don't know!"

Just as Hermione opened her mouth to explain what they had researched, James rushed toward her, shoving her aside and standing over her.

"Moony! No!" he shouted, "Pads! Pads take him the other way! TAKE HIM THE OTHER WAY!"

Through the trees, Hermione could see the massive outline of Remus—Moony—coming toward them. James looked over his shoulder, a pained look on his face as he shifted into an enormous stag and stood over her, blocking Moony from getting any closer.

Padfoot's eyes landed on her and he tilted his head, staring at her with his wide, grey eyes. He whined and turned toward Moony, snarling at him and attempting to force him back. Hermione jumped as Moony swiped at Padfoot, sending him careening across the space and smacking into a tree with a rib-shattering crack.

Moony whipped back around and rushed at Prongs, snapping his jaws as Prongs attempted to fend him off, rearing up on his hind legs to kick Moony with his hooves. He slammed back down with a loud thud against the earth, and began to swing his head wildly, bashing into Moony with his antlers. Yelps of pain came from Moony as Prongs' antler sank into his shoulder.

"Stop!" Hermione screamed, scrambling to her feet to try and shove Prongs away from Moony. "James! Stop it! You're hurting him!"

Blood matted Moony's dark fur and he yelped again when Padfoot lunged at his back leg, his teeth sinking into the leg and his jaw locked in place as he tried to pull Moony backward.

"No! Stop! Stop!" Hermione cried, "You're hurting him!"

Moony was thrashing about, taking furious swipes at Prongs and Padfoot. Low, dangerous sounding growls emitting from his throat as he snapped his jaws in their direction. Hermione jumped out of the way as Prongs pulled back, a sickening squelching sound filling her ears when his antler pulled from Moony's shoulder.

"James! James, listen to me! You're going to severely—NO!"

Prongs had turned around to face her and given a kick of his back legs to Moony's chest sending him flying several feet backward, smacking hard into a tree. The branches above shook with the force and she heard a loud cracking of wood as an enormous branch fell on top of him. Before Prongs could move again, Hermione dove to the side and scrambled back to her feet, sprinting as fast as she could toward Moony. She could feel the pain he was in and she knew that once the early morning light graced him with his human body again, Remus would be broken and bloodied at her feet.

"NO! HERMIONE, NO!" It was Sirius' voice that rang loud as she skidded to a halt beside Moony.

"He's hurt!" Hermione cried, wiping at her face as tears blurred her vision. "He's not going to hurt me but you're going to kill him!"

Moony growled dangerously in Sirius' direction and Sirius swore under his breath before shifting back into Padfoot. He came charging toward Hermione and she delivered a swift kick to his side.

"I'm sorry!" She said, "I'm sorry but you have to stop!"

Hermione fell to her knees and began to pull at the splintered, dead wood. She could feel her fingernails splitting and breaking, her knees burned from the scrapes of twigs beneath them. The heaviest branch had Moony pinned, his front leg twisted at a nauseating angle. Hermione brandished her wand and levitated the wood, flinging it aside.

Without thinking, her hands sunk into the fur lined face as Moony whimpered. His large, amber eyes stared at her, curious. Adrenaline pulsed through her, her heart hammering hard in her chest, as she looked at the beast beneath her fingers. There was something in his face, a recognition flickering in his eyes and she recalled the other time she had seen this very same look from the massive creature. When Remus had been forced to turn in a dungeon, outside of the lunar cycle.

"It's me," she whispered, over and over. "Remus—Moony—love, it's me. Are you all right? Please…"

Fear sat low in her belly, but she couldn't find it in her to remove her shaking hands from his fur. Tentatively, she brought her thumb to the space between his eyes and gave a slow stroke to his snout, whispering garbled words to him as her mind worked hard to figure out what the hell she was doing here.

Finally, Moony straightened up, pulling his head back a few inches to look at her. Then, ever so slowly, his muzzle rested against her neck and her hair moved with his intake of breath.

"Yes, that's right. You know me, I'm yours, Moony, your mate. Do you remember?"

He pulled back again, his eyes boring into hers and he stared at her, unblinking, for several long seconds. Hermione pulled her eyes away from the intense gaze when it became too much and looked over her shoulder. Prongs and Padfoot stood, merely a few feet away, watching them intently. Moony then moved, lightning fast, and Hermione shouted out when he pinned her to her stomach.

She heard the rustling of the fallen leaves and grass as Padfoot and Prongs moved forward and she held up a hand, "I'm all right," she shouted with great effort, as Moony had a claw to her back, holding her in place. "I'm okay!"

Her breath shook and she closed her eyes, waiting for the worst. She felt tears burning bright beneath her lids. Fear wormed its way through her, grasping onto her lungs and digging it's nails into her stomach. She knew he could smell it on her, knew he would become even more aggressive at any second.

She felt his nose press into the back of her head, shove the hair away from her neck and the tangled mass moved as Moony sniffed deeply, a low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest.

"I-if you do this, he'll never forgive you, Moony. You know that. He'll never forgive himself." Hermione pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

She could feel her back crack as he shifted his weight, lowering his head to the exposed flesh on the nape of her neck. Hermione continuously whispered pleas to him, begging him to not act on instinct, unsure if he could even understand what she was saying. The tears began to spill past the rim of her eyes, wetting her face in hot, stinging, salt water as his mouth opened against her skin. His hot breath against her hair, saliva dripping from his mouth. A shudder tore up her spine and she squirmed uncomfortably under his crushing hold when his tongue pressed against the scar on her neck before his jaw opened, his teeth pressing against her. He held her to the forest floor, his jaw open against her neck and she closed her eyes tightly again.

I am such an idiot. She thought, not for the first time in the last sixty or so minutes.

She waited, her breath held in her throat, for his jaws to clamp down and either kill her or turn her. The only thought in her head was how absolutely stupid she was to disapparate from the safetyof her cottage and how Remus would wake with her skin still between his teeth.

Hermione clenched her eyes shut, her jaw tight and when she heard another rumbling sound above her, she thought this was it. She felt her entire body tighten, every muscle going rigid in anticipation, waiting for his teeth to sink into her skin. Instead, Moony stepped off of her, alleviating the crushing hold he had and turned his head toward the sky, howling.

.

.

a/n: oooh ritual 2.0? what'd you think? Let me know?

xo