Chapter 90: Wednesday, March 10, 1982

"Love builds highways out of dead ends."

Louis Gittner

Remus laid on the cold, splintered floor of the shed behind his cabin in Yorkshire. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, staring up at the spiderwebs that had collected along the few beams holding up the ceiling. He was bleeding, somewhere on his back, if the feel of wet warm blood seeping from him as he laid there was any indication, and tried to gain the strength to sit upright.

His hand was definitely broken and could tell just by the mangled angle at which it hung. At least it wasn't his wand hand this time—that had been difficult enough to heal the last go around and he didn't fancy doing it again. Remus grimaced, wincing as he flexed his feet, trying to concentrate on the stretch of his toes. They all seemed to be in working order, so that was a good sign. He felt along his ribs with his uninjured hand and discerned they were all where they should be. He rolled his shoulders and found they were sore, but he'd live.

He reached up and grasped the shelf that was built into the wall, heaving himself into a sitting position that took more effort than what should have been necessary. Blessedly, Moony was silent this morning and Remus thanked Merlin for small favours. With a sharp inhale and a whimper of pain, he pulled himself to his feet and began the slow trek back to the cabin.

It took much longer than it should have to get inside. Remus had to stop every few paces to double over as he tried to get in a good breath. By the time he laid on the sofa and wrapped a blanket around himself, he decided he would deal with the broken hand once he'd had some sleep.

He balled up the yellow tee shirt, pressing it to his face and took in a slow breath, letting the faint smell calm him as he closed his eyes.

Hermione looked up at Remus through long dark lashes, her hair a mess around her face and a smile pulling at her lips. She clung to him, her fingers digging into the space between his shoulder blades, her chest flush against his. Her soft skin felt cool against his too-hot flesh, her breath fluttering over his face as she opened her mouth to speak.

"I'm leaving," she said. Her usual melodic tone tainted sinister—twisted like it was clawing its way from her throat.

The previously comfortable atmosphere shifted and he was suddenly standing in the woods, holding Hermione's body in his arms, her breath shallow and barely there. Her heart beating a barely audible rhythm in her chest.

"No," he pleaded. "Stay with me. Please, stay with me,"

His voice sounded strangled to his own ears—muffled and bizarre.

"You were supposed to have more time. You promised. You said you would stay. We can figure it out, please don't go," he begged.

He was on the ground now, clutching her to him, his hands threaded into her hair, his face wet with tears. Slowly, she began to fade. Her body becoming ethereal as she disappeared into nothing, disintegrating before his eyes until he was left with nothing but a whisper of her voice and a pile of ash.

"Please...I need more time…more time..."

Remus bolted upright, panting for air as he made sense of his surroundings. This was the fourth time in the last week he'd had this nightmare. It always ended the same—Hermione disappearing, Remus left alone, clutching to the wisps of her memory as she faded before his eyes. He reached to the floor, looking for his wand, and gasped as pain shot through his hand when his knuckles collided with the wood.

Right, broken hand.

He carefully turned to his side and found his wand with his good hand, and murmured a few healing charms to get his other back in working condition. As he was trying to decide whether or not he wanted to just take some dreamless sleep and ignore the rest of the day, a tapping sound pulled his attention to the window in the kitchen. He groaned and made his way to let the bird in, grumbling with every step that he was getting awfully tired of the amount of owls showing up at his cabin.

He fumbled with the latch on the window, swearing under his breath when it finally opened, bringing with it a rather irritated looking owl and a cold burst of late winter air. He untied the scroll from the owl's leg and shoved it back out the window, not waiting for the nip of the finger it would give when he didn't offer a treat. Ruddy damn owls...always so demanding.

Remus sat heavily at the table, the chair creaking loudly under his weight. His eyes scanned the letter and his heart jumped into his throat.

He had been convinced this would be the worst birthday he had ever had—even worse than the one he'd spent in detention during fourth year, scrubbing toilets by hand with Filch. However, the lines written in neat, delicate script made his heart flutter with excitement, a feeling he hadn't had in quite some time blossoming in his chest and spreading to his toes.

Hope.

Thursday, March 25, 1982

Remus didn't know what had possessed Andromeda to have a change of heart and, to be honest, he didn't care. All Remus knew was that he was going to be given the chance to see Hermione again, and that Andromeda would be the one to give him the instructions to do it.

They had been writing to one another every few days, ironing out details of the bits of knowledge she possessed on the amulet with the vague findings Remus had come across in different books. There was nothing really promising, per se, but he was more optimistic than he had been in months. Years, actually.

He knew he had to perform a blood ritual to travel to whatever time he would be thrust into, but it didn't matter. He would sacrifice everything for her—he had no problem handing over his blood, sweat, and tears if it meant he would be able to see her. He would willingly give up his leg if that was the price it called for.

He was just lucky the amulet didn't require a monetary sacrifice.

As the days slipped into weeks, one thing became apparent—Remus would have to go to Hermione. It wouldn't be as simple as saying a spell that plucked her from her timeline and brought her back to him. He would have to travel to wherever the hell she was and find her. And then, he would have to pray to every deity he could conjure that she would be willing to come back with him. Andromeda had been very clear. He could not stay with her. He could not, under any circumstances, stay wherever Hermione was. The only hope he had was that he would be enough to convince her to come back with him.

Because, if he were being truthful with himself, simply getting the chance to say goodbye to her wasn't good enough for him.

Remus knew it. He knew that the second he laid eyes on her again, he wouldn't be satisfied with anything short of having her. He would do whatever he had to do to convince her to come back and live the life they had tentatively started to plan. It was selfish, and probably completely fucking nutters, but he hadn't been able to breathe right since she had gone.

With a mouthful of lies disguised as promises, Remus had weaseled the details of how the time stone worked from Andromeda.

He promised he would leave the first turn, he would not do the ritual to stay. Afterall, it would award him a month with her. But, he knew if it came down to it, he would stay as long as he had to, as long as it took to convince Hermione to return with him—timeline be damned.

Because, what did he have to lose?

He had nothing left, and the idea that Hermione being with him—that the sliver of happiness he had in his otherwise miserable existence—would completely upend things? Well, that seemed insane. She had already been here for so long before, so what difference would it really make? Maybe he was being petulant.

Pathetic, more like.

He sighed. You want me to find her, don't you?

Yes, but my god, do you have to be so fucking depressing?

Excuse me for not reacting how you think is appropriate.

Wanker.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to fight off the irritation simmering beneath his skin. His patience was nearly nonexistent nowadays, but the tiny amount he'd been able to muster was rapidly wearing thin. The months of sleep deprivation and terrible full moons were compounding, eating away at his sanity. It was the pinprick of light seeping into his dark thoughts—that he might actually be able to see Hermione again—that was creating the interesting mix of volatile, battling emotions that swirled through his being on a daily basis.

Six days, he reminded himself. In six days, he could do the ritual and be with her. For the first time in months, he felt something akin to a heartbeat in his chest again. Like he wasn't completely empty and his mouth wasn't full of ashes.

Remus twisted his fingers together, standing in front of the heavy wooden door. He felt nervous as he stared at the weathered brick that made up his childhood home. He took in a slow breath and rapped his knuckles against the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he listened to his father move about within.

"Remus?"

"Hi, Dad."

"Are you—is everything okay?"

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, yeah. Of course," Lyall stepped to the side, letting Remus into the house before closing the door behind him. "Tea?"

"I'm okay for now."

Remus stood awkwardly in the center of the living room, unsure how to talk to his father. Their relationship had always been a bit strained at best and, without his mum around to help move conversation along, he found that his father was more stoic than he had ever been before. His dad took in a deep breath and tapped the tops of his thighs in an awkward gesture.

"Right then, tea. I'll just—"

"Dad, it's fine you don't...can we just...talk?"

Lyall took a long, appraising look at Remus before nodding and lowering himself into the chair across from the sofa. Remus sat down as well, folding his hands in his lap.

"I'm going to go find Hermione," Remus said.

A confused look crossed Lyall's features and he shook his head. "Who?"

Of course his father would have been given the potion. How did Remus not realize the last time he was here? He had been so consumed by his grief, his father must not have asked many questions—just assuming it was about the death of his friends. And partially, that was true, Remus supposed.

"You don't remember her." It was not a question.

"I'm sorry, son."

"It's okay," Remus sighed, scrubbing a trembling hand down his face. "Dad, I—if things were different...if you had the chance t-to see mum again...would you do it?"

"Where's this coming from?"

He pulled his eyes from the floor and looked into his father's face. He had never been a relaxed man, Lyall Lupin. Growing up, he'd always been a bit surly and anxious. Remus could remember how his mum would rub his father's shoulders after a particularly stressful day at work and sing songs to him in Welsh. He had always seemed tense around Remus, and it was Hermione who helped to break that tension in a matter of minutes.

Sitting here now, staring into the face of the man who raised him, Remus understood. The Lupin men were not built to love naturally. But, to be shown it, given it in careful packaging to handle as delicately as they could. It was why Remus had been so hesitant to open up, why he struggled to let people get near him. The lycanthropy was part of it, of course, being a Dark Creature tended to scare off most of the population. But, he had always wanted what James and Lily had. What his mother and father had…

He just had to be given it in the right way.

"Would you?" Remus pressed.

His father sighed and scrubbed his face with his hand. "I would give the rest of my life to spend another five minutes with her."

"I'm leaving," Remus stated, sure in his decision. "I have to find her."

"This Hermione?"

He nodded, "I-I don't want to ask, but I don't have a lot of options and...Dad, I have to find her."

"What do you need?"

"Money," Remus muttered, feeling miserable that he needed to ask. "Not much, whatever you can spare. I'll find a way to pay you back and I'm sorry but I—"

"I've got a hundred galleons in my room, an emergency fund, just in case, you know. Your mum insisted on it, all those years selling muggle insurance," Lyall gave a half-hearted smile, a faraway look in his eye. "She'd say 'you never know what can happen, Lyall. The shingles might get blown off in a bad storm, or the oven could quit working'," he chuckled, "Nevermind, that I'm a wizard and can fix those things."

Remus smiled, the memory of his mum fussing over how much of a fire hazard cauldrons were sprang to mind.

"You can have it, cariad, I won't be needing it for anything, now."

"I don't need that much," Remus insisted. "I don't want to clean you out."

Lyall waved a hand, dismissing his son's worry. "I'll be fine. I still have money coming in from the Ministry. I can make do."

"Thank you."

Lyall nodded, "Tell me about her, would you?"

That caught Remus off guard—his father was hardly a sentimental man.

"What do you want to know?"

"Y cyfan."

Remus smiled, even after thirty years with his mum, his father's Welsh was a butchered parody of the language. But, he understood. All of it.

So, he told him everything.

He told him about how she had fallen into his life, randomly walking into a late night Order Meeting, standing shyly behind Dumbledore. He told him about her wild hair and bright eyes and the smattering of freckles across her nose. He told him how clever, thoughtful, and fucking brilliant she was—is. About the days spent lounging around the house, eating biscuits and sipping milky tea or espresso with chocolate added to it. About her amazing ability to absorb knowledge and turn it into something tangible, how determined and fearless she could be in the eye of a storm. How soft and compassionate she could be on a random Tuesday afternoon.

He talked about Hermione until the empty chasm of his chest felt heavy and full with emotion, and then he talked some more.

And Lyall spoke, too.

For the first time, since his mother had passed away, his Dad told him stories about her. He recanted the time they met, how he knew instantly that Hope was the one, that she was everything good and right in his world. He talked about their wedding day, and how terrified he was that she'd smarten up and realize that she was much too perfect for him. He told Remus about the day she found out she was pregnant, and how they both cried tears of joy and fear.

It was therapeutic, Remus thought, to talk about them. To put them out in the open and pretend like they didn't disappear from their lives. He was glad to see his dad laugh, to smile as he spoke about Hope, instead of falling quiet when her name was brought up. In a strange way, Remus wished he would have had the willpower to have this conversation a month ago, when he could barely pull himself off the couch for fear of succumbing to the weight of his anguish.

Before he left, he promised his father he would write more often, and thanked him for the heavy sack of Galleons he placed in Remus' palm.

"Do right by her," Lyall said, a stern look on his face. And, Remus didn't have to ask who he meant, he knew Lyall meant Hope.

As Remus said his goodbyes, he wondered if his mum would still approve. If she would have encouraged him to move time and space—quite literally—to satiate the ache in his chest.

He knew she would.

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a/n: Hey Everyone! Thanks for reading, as always, I love you so so much! I just wanted to let you know (and if you're on my FB group, you know already) life has been absolutely kicking my ass lately. So, I'm going to be changing updates from 3x a week to 2x a week. Updates will now be on Saturdays and Wednesdays.

I feel bad. You guys have all been so supportive and wonderful, and I hate to change it up on you. But, I have to. So, for the foreseeable future, we'll be on the Saturday/Wednesday update schedule. Thank you for being amazing and understanding. 3

xoxo

Mimi