Chapter 86: Monday, April 8, 2002

"It's hard to turn the page when you know someone won't be in the next chapter but the story must go on."

-Thomas Wilder

The soft knock on the door went ignored as Hermione blinked her eyes open, staring up at the clock on the wall of the room she claimed upon her return. They hadn't needed a private room for healing since before she left, and she wanted to be alone. The knock became louder and more persistent, and she groaned, rolling onto her side and pulling her blanket over her head.

"Hermione?"

"Leave me alone, Harry," she said, her voice muffled by her pillow.

Hermione heard the whispered incantation and the lock give way as Harry pushed the door open and slipped into the small room. He sat on the single bed across from the one she laid in, the mattress creaking loudly under his weight.

"I brought you breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

"I know," he sighed. There was a clatter of ceramic on wood as he placed the plate on the stand. "I think you should get up."

"I was up late."

"I don't care."

She huffed out an annoyed breath and rolled over, sitting up to look at him. "If I'm going to figure out how to go back—"

"We've been over this, Hermione, you can't go back."

"I left him there," she said, looking down at the blanket. "I promised him I wouldn't leave, and I left. He's all alone and it's—it's all my fault."

"Time doesn't work that way, that's what my dad said in the note, didn't he?" Harry asked.

Hermione knew damn well that Harry knew that was exactly what that note said. He had read it almost as much as she had. "There's no research suggesting I can't go back."

"Yeah, except the whole 'you might cease to exist' thing. Oh, and the 'you'll change every aspect of the reality we know' thing."

Hermione looked up, glaring at Harry.

It had gotten easier to look at him now, but it was still painful. Just as it had been when she first arrived in 1979, the resemblance to James had jarred her when she returned. She caught his eye and looked away again, Lily's eyes staring back at her.

"I left him to die, Harry."

"No, you didn't. You knew you had to return eventually, you knew when you came back here Remus would be gone—they're all gone. There was nothing you could have done—"

"I could have saved them."

Hermione knew Harry was tired of this conversation. They had been going around in circles with it for months. The first six weeks after her return, Hermione barely spoke to anyone, except to tell them she was no longer cursed. Harry had brought her meals to her room and had given her as much time to heal as he could allow. But, the fact of the matter was that they were still at war. Regardless of how stagnant it had become—Dolohov was still at large with the rest of the Death Eaters. There had been minimal movement on any party, but that didn't mean they weren't planning something. Realistically, Hermione knew that. She knew that Harry had every right to feel frustrated that she was ignoring her other responsibilities. But, she couldn't bring herself to care.

"We should go to Godric's Hollow," Harry said.

"What?" Hermione looked back up at him, her brows pinched together. "Why?"

Harry shrugged, "Closure? It helped me when we went."

She stared at him, rolling the idea around in her head. She had been contemplating going back. When she returned, the only thing she had on her was her medical bag. The journals had been left, tucked away in the bedside drawer. She had considered the possibility of going back to the house, if only to try and retrieve the journals. That was, if the property was still standing. Given the amount of time that had passed, she wasn't confident it would be in good condition.

But, Harry was right—as he often was. She needed closure. She needed something tangible to close that door of her life and accept the fate she had been given, the fate Remus had been given.

Slowly, Hermione nodded. "Yeah, I think you're right."

"I am?" Harry asked, shocked.

"I think so. I need the journals. I took notes of every Order meeting I went to while I was there, there could be something useful in them. Plus, Dolohov's journal would be handy to have, especially if he's dabbling in those curses again. I had managed to break down a few of them before…" she trailed off, looking back down at her hands and taking in a deep breath.

The teardrop diamond sat centered on her left ring finger, glinting back up at her—she couldn't bring herself to take off the ring. It had been his mother's, afterall, and she was terrified of losing one of the only reminders she had of him.

"Go wash up," Harry said. "And eat. We'll go in an hour."

They didn't bother to use Polyjuice. The town had become almost completely muggle over the years, the majority of Wizarding families moved away after what had happened to Bathilda Bagshot had gotten out. There were still a few families that remained, but Hermione wanted to enter her home as herself. She knew that her reasoning was ridiculous, but something felt wrong about going into the house as anyone else.

They passed through the town square, the large statue shifting into James and Lily holding baby Harry in the center. Hermione averted her eyes and kept walking toward where she had lived with Remus.

"You were two doors down from my parents?" Harry asked.

She nodded, "Lily's idea. She talked the Goblins at Gringotts into selling me the house for way below what they wanted for it. Honestly, it was probably still too much. The place was a mess when I moved in."

Harry chuckled and followed Hermione up the small path to the front door. She inhaled slowly before covering the handle with her hand, the magic tingled against her skin and she sighed in relief at the recognition. She twisted the knob and pushed the door open, stepping over the threshold.

Her eyes first landed on Remus' heavy boots in the doorway, and she stumbled a bit, thanking Harry as he grasped her elbow, offering support. She turned her head to give a half-hearted smile when he took her hand, squeezing it tightly and following her further into the house.

It was as if she never left.

Aside from the thick layer of dust build up from years of sitting empty, the house looked exactly as she had left it. The blanket thrown over the arm of the sofa, back issues of Transfiguration Today and The Daily Prophet sitting beside an empty mug of what she knew had been tea on the coffee table. The kitchen table was littered with the useless books she had searched frantically on the day she disappeared. Drops of blood staining the table darker in small spots where she had tried to repeat the ritual, in hopes that the lack of magic coming from the stone would somehow change.

Harry dropped her hand and lingered behind her as she stepped further into the kitchen, her hand resting on the tin that she knew probably still held shortbread and chocolate biscuits.

"He was a baker, did you know?" Hermione whispered, looking over her shoulder at Harry.

He looked up from the cover of one of the books on the table and shook his head, "No."

She felt a small smile pull at her lips, "He made Chelsea Buns for me all the time. Lily loved shortbread, once she was pregnant. She couldn't stomach chocolate anymore, so he made her biscuits every week. He apologized once to me, with a basket of baked goods. It had an extension charm on it, and it went up to my elbow."

"Did you learn to bake, too?"

"Merlin, no. I think he would've killed me if I had tried and moved his things around. This cabinet, here—" she stepped forward and opened the cabinet closest to the back door "—has all of his baking stuff and tea…"

Harry moved from the table to stand behind her, smiling at the cabinet. "He labeled the tea tins?"

Hermione nodded, "He was far more organized than anyone ever gave him credit for."

She sighed and motioned for Harry to follow her, walking back through the living room and down the hall. It felt good to finally talk about it. To relay some of the quirks she had learned of Remus. To tell Harry about the feisty side of Lily—her kindness had often been the subject of conversation when Harry was younger. But, the fiery, take-charge attitude Lily had was often left unspoken. He deserved to know everything about them, even if it hurt to speak it.

When they reached the door to the bedroom, she saw it was cracked open, and Hermione frowned.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"Nothing I...I just thought...I always close the bedroom door when I'm not in there."

"An animal or something, maybe?"

Hermione lifted a shoulder, pushing the door open further. "Maybe."

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the bed, still made on his side, blankets rumpled on hers. On the dresser, a picture of young Remus, with Hope and Lyall, sat under a thick layer of dust and Hermione picked it up, wiping it clean with her hand and handing it to Harry.

"His parents," she said. "This was before he was bitten."

"Looks like his mum."

Hermione nodded, "I thought so, too. Tall, like his dad, though."

Harry set the photo back onto the dresser and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Hermione, I'm really sorry."

"It's not your fault, Harry."

"I know," Harry said. "That's not what I mean. I just...you've been through just as much as I have. Maybe even more, now. I can't imagine losing Blaise like this. But, I'm not sorry you came back."

Hermione turned to face him, "What?"

"I'm sorry that you lost Remus. I can tell you loved him, still do. But, I won't feel sorry that I have you back. I don't know what would have happened if you stayed. You'd have Remus. Sirius and my parents would probably still be alive, but I wouldn't have you."

"You would have," Hermione said.

"Yeah, but not you. I would've had...auntie 'Mione, or something. I wouldn't have had you as my best friend growing up, as the one person I trust more than anything. I never knew them, my parents. But I know you. It may be selfish, but I'm not sorry you're here."

Hermione bit her lip, her chin trembling slightly at Harry's honesty. "I'm sorry. It must feel terrible watching me act like this."

He shook his head, "It doesn't. We all grieve differently, I won't fault you for that. But, don't be angry at yourself for not changing things. I know you wanted to, and I know that if things would have been different, you would have. But, time doesn't work like that. If it's supposed to happen, it will."

"When did you get so smart?" Hermione asked, pulling Harry into a tight hug.

"The day I decided to call you and Ron my best mates, I reckon."

Hermione laughed and turned away, wiping at her eyes before opening the drawer on the nightstand. She stared down at the wood, "It's gone."

"What is?"

"The journal…" Hermione shifted around the spare bits of parchment that were inside the drawer. "They're both gone."

When they arrived back at the Shrieking Shack, they were met by Draco and Ron. Ron was pacing the floor, chewing on his thumbnail and Draco stood, leaning against the wall with his ankles crossed.

"What's happened?" Harry asked.

"Werewolf sightings again," Ron said, shoving a hand through his hair. "A week before the moon."

"Out of cycle?" Harry said, shocked.

"No, Potter. We've just conveniently been misled to believe that werewolves turn during a full moon, they actually turn at the waxing gibbous," Draco said, rolling his eyes.

"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron muttered. "There's more important things than you being an arse right now."

"It's not my fault that you two clearly failed Astronomy—"

"Moon morphing," Hermione said, interrupting Draco.

"What?" Harry asked.

"It's a potion the Death Eaters used during the first war. I never figured out how they made it, but they gave it to werewolves by the buckets. They were turning out of cycle constantly toward the end."

"Can they infect people out of cycle?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Hermione said. "We never got that far."

"Fat lot of good that does us," Draco grumbled.

Harry shot him a look and Draco glared back at him. "You've seen this before?"

Hermione nodded, "It's how they were convincing werewolves to join sides with them. Giving them access to power…"

"Do you know what's in it?" Ron asked.

"Not completely," Hermione said. "But, I know how we can find out."

Hermione turned on her heel and tore up the stairs, the thundering of foot steps as the three men followed behind her caused her heart to thump hard in her chest with an adrenaline she hadn't felt in months. She burst through the door of her claimed bedroom and fell to her knees next to the bed, crawling under it to pull out the black dragon-hide bag that held her medical supplies. She opened it up and reached inside, pulling out phial after phial of pepper-up and muscle strengthening solutions, blood replenishers and dreamless sleeping draughts. A few pain potions that she had specifically designed for Remus after his transformations and, finally, a small phial of a dark liquid.

It was almost black in color, thick and viscous as blood. She tilted it in her hands, watching as the air bubble floated from the bottom of the tube to the top, and held it up for Harry, Ron, and Draco to see.

"I don't know exactly what's in it," she said, "but, I have some."

Hermione pulled her hair to the top of her head, shoving her wand through the knot to hold it in place while she chopped Valerian root. Draco sat across the table from her, using an old pestle and mortar to grind the moonstone, his fingers leaving the stone bowl momentarily to trace over the list of ingredients he had written down.

"It's reacting to aconite, so it has to be some sort of Wolfsbane base," Hermione said, watching as the liquid in the cauldron to her right bubbled and turned red. "They didn't have actual Wolfsbane then, though."

"If Snape created this potion, there's a chance he made it, and didn't even realize it." Draco murmured, taking a pinch of the moonstone and adding it to the cauldon. A plume of red steam puffed from the inside of it before the colour darkened slightly. "I just need to know what the conduit is."

"I had a theory," Hermione said.

Draco looked up, raising his eyebrows. "And you've waited to tell me because..?"

"Blood."

"Blood?"

Hermione nodded, "I'm not sure what kind of blood. I think maybe werewolf, possibly taken when they're transformed."

Draco considered this for a moment before giving a shrug, "Could be."

"If I would have had more time…" Hermione whispered, more to herself than anything.

"You had two years, Granger. And you were broken of the curse before that. You should be thankful you're not floating around, sucking souls from people."

"I am," Hermione said, a bit petulantly. "But, there was still so much we didn't know. I could have—"

"What?" Draco snapped, setting the mortar and pestle aside. "What exactly could you have done? Stopped Voldemort sooner? Great. We would have still had to deal with Dolohov and the rest of their lot. You think too much of yourself if you think you're the only reason everything played out the way it did. I get that you lost people, we all have, but we all got over it."

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath at Draco's harsh words. "Get over it?"

"Yes, Granger, get over it. You can let Potter and Weasley walk on eggshells around you, but I'm not going to. In case you've missed it, there's still a war going on. If you hadn't come back, there's no telling what would have happened to the rest of us. Have some perspective, for Salazar's sake."

"It was your stupid amulet that sent me!" Hermione said, flustered.

"And it was your idea to go. I wasted my time putting up blocks in that great bloody brain of yours, only for you to tear them down! I made a fucking vow for you. And you repay us all by moping about all day because people you already knew were dead, are dead?" He snorted. "Pathetic."

Just as Hermione opened her mouth to tell Draco to shove it up his arse, she felt a strange tug in her chest. She doubled over, her hands flying up to the locket around her neck as her heart thundered against it. It was almost painful, the way her insides clenched, as if her magic was gripping onto her organs and squeezing them tightly.

"...And honestly, I don't think you should… Granger?" Draco stopped in the middle of his lecture, dropping the blade in his hand and moving around the table.

Hermione felt dizzy, like all of the air had been sucked out of the room and she nearly collapsed when she tried to stand.

"Red!" Draco shouted, as Hermione's knees buckled and she gripped the table. "GINNY!"

She could hear quick footsteps from down the hall as her vision blurred, could feel Draco's hands on her arms, guiding her back to the chair.

"What's happened?"

"I don't know," Draco said. "Get my med bag, it's under my bed."

"YOU CAN'T COME IN HERE!" Mrs Weasley shouted from downstairs, her voice alarmed and confused.

"Mum?" Ginny yelled, "Mum, are you okay?"

"Red! My bag!" Draco hissed, shoving Hermione's sweat soaked hair from her forehead. "Granger, breathe. I'm going to get you a calming draught, but you need to breathe."

"Harry!" Ginny said, "Go check on mum!"

"Let me in!" A shout came from downstairs.

The sound pierced through the haze of Hermione's mind, her body nearly bowing backward to get off the chair.

"No, you need to stay put." Draco said, "I wasn't done telling you how irritated I am."

"I know she's… Get off of me!"

Harry sped into the room, Draco's bag in hand and thrust it at Draco. "Is she all right?"

"I don't—"

"I'm fine," Hermione breathed. "What's going on downstairs?"

"I think we've been breached," Harry said. "Stay here."

"No! You can't—" Molly's voice broke off and Harry looked up at Ginny, both of them sprinting down the stairs, their feet stomping against the old wood as they went.

"I need to go down there," Hermione said, shoving Draco away from her and scrambling up to her feet. She gripped the table as she walked forward, the pull in her chest tugging her closer to the commotion happening on the lower level.

"What is this? Who the hell—?"

"No, Hermione, you need to stay—"

"Let go, Draco," Hermione hissed, pulling at his wrist to get him to drop her arm.

Her breath came in uneven pants as she exited the room, rushing to the stairs. She knew that voice. She knew this feeling—this strange bubbling of magic lying just beneath her own. The overwhelming connection to something else. She slipped on the third stair, grasping the bannister to keep herself from falling. She was dizzy and her eyes burned.

It can't be. They're dead. They're all dead. But, even as she thought it, a treacherous voice echoed in her mind. James' voice, as it had so often these days…

"As long as you can see the moon and the stars in the sky, there's a Marauder."

It had sounded so bizarre coming from the mirage of James her mind had cooked up while she was nearing death. Like a riddle she wasn't meant to solve. Something meant to bring peace and comfort in her last moments, as she made the decision to pass through this life, onto the next.

Halfway down the stairs, she could see the landing. The back of Harry and Ginny as they stood, ready to fight. Mrs Weasley pressed against the wall leading into the kitchen, wand out and pointed at the person standing between herself and her daughter.

When she got to the second to last step, her heart surged into her throat and she gasped.

"Remus?"

END BOOK ONE

a/n: I will be going on a short hiatus until April 17th, as I get book two finalized. I love you all so dang much.

If you haven't already, come check out my FB group (Mimifreed Writing) or just add me on fb? Mimi Freed.