Chapter 92: Monday, April 8, 2002 cont'd

"Every time I'm close to you, there's too much I can't say...and then I forget to tell you that I love you."

-Sarah Mclaughlin

Intimately familiar.

Those were the words McGonagall had used. Remus wracked his brain as he walked slowly through the corridors, paying little attention to the occasional student that wandered the halls. He made his way down toward the kitchens and spent ten minutes talking to the House Elves to procure some scraps from lunch and then made his way out to the grounds. His legs carried his absent mind toward the Black Lake and he found himself sitting under the tree the Marauders used to study beneath.

The water rippled as the Giant Squid moved about in the depths of the lake, a tentacle occasionally breaching the waves to flick up before sinking back beneath the murky veil. Remus took a large bite from the ham sandwich and let his mind wander.

Intimately familiar

She's close.

But, where?

Use your fucking senses, moron. Tap into it.

It's not that easy.

Isn't it? Shut up and feel it.

Remus sighed and stuffed the last of the sandwich into his mouth, swallowing before closing his eyes. He could feel the tug pulling through his back—a peculiar tingle as it radiated from his chest. Where could Professor McGonagall possibly mean? What places did she know of that would be intimately familiar to him? He let his head fall back and land against the tree, his hands coming up to rest against the back of his neck.

It had to be somewhere nearby, that much was obvious. He could feel her—and if the incessant pacing and agitation that rolled off Moony in waves was anything to go by—Moony could, too. There was the boathouse further up the shore of the Black Lake...he had been known to spend time there when he needed a moment to himself. But, he could hardly see why Hermione would be staying there. It was nothing more than a glorified pavilion, really. There was Hogsmeade Village, but when he was there not even two hours ago, the pull had been faint. There, but barely.

A horrifying image of slashed wallpaper and gouged floorboards slammed into the front of his mind and he nearly rejected the sandwich he had only just finished. The Shack was near and it was a location that he was—arguably—more intimate with than anywhere else outside of the castle walls. His head spun and the thought of Hermione staring in horror at the harrowing evidence of the destruction that he had brung upon himself once a month sat like lead in his gut.

Yet, the more he focused on the Shack, the stronger the pull of magic seemed to become.

Fuck.

I hate it there.

Me and you both.

Fuck.

Yeah, my sentiments, exactly.

Remus could nearly feel the ripple of magic approving the image of the Shack as it blossomed in his mind. The thought of her—beautiful and clever—in the place that held the worst of him made him sick. He could imagine the terrified look on her face when she realized what had been locked inside the walls of that horrible place. He wondered if she would feel the despair that he was sure still lingered within the very grain of the wooden floorboards.

Moony was growling in his head at the thought of returning there, but it seemed they finally came to the same conclusion—if he wanted to get her back, they would have to face it. For whatever reason, she had sought shelter in the very place he had prayed for death many times.

His knees felt unstable as he made his way towards the Whomping Willow. It felt like some strange universal retribution that he would be entering the Shack on what would have been the Full Moon, had he still been in 1982. The irony was not lost on Moony, either. Remus could feel the beast practically clawing through his mind, trying to escape the confined space as if he were in a cage. The moons had been rough since October. With nowhere safe to freely run and no one around to calm Moony down, Remus had woken up in blood more often than not.

He stared at the violently swinging tree, trying to figure out the best way to get to the knot on the trunk. That had always been Peter's job, and before him, Professor McGonagall. Remus bent over, grabbing a pebble from the ground, and levitated it toward the knot. The small rock knocked into it several times, but it didn't seem to have enough pressure. He blew out a flustered breath and glared at the tree, his hands on his hips.

The Village, you useless lump.

She's not in the village.

No, but you can access the shack from the backside of it. It's amazing, really, that you've made it this far in life with how absolutely fucking dense you are.

Remus' hands fell to his sides and he groaned. The bloody wolf was right.

You're an arse.

An intelligent arse.

But, an arse all the same.

His muscles in his legs burned as he climbed the steep hill on the backside of the Forbidden Forest. He could make out the roof of the shack through the thinning trees, puffs of smoke from the chimney created a hazy cloud above the battered building. With each step he took, Moony panted with anticipation and his stomach clenched with need. He could feel the bubbling in his chest—a bizarre amalgamation of excitement and dread.

He had been doing his best since that night to convince himself she had left against her will. The way the house had been—her journals left behind, her tea on the table, open books scattered about—it looked as if she had simply been whisked away. But, in his darkest and most inebriated moments, he had the thought that maybe she had wanted to go. Perhaps the promises she had given him were simply lip service to appease his constant whining.

Or, even worse, what if the curse hadn't been broken at all? What if he showed up and she was a Dementor, waiting to suck the happiness from him? He snorted at that—she'd more than likely starve, if that were the case.

No. He had to believe she didn't want to leave him. He had to believe that she missed him at least a fraction of as much as he missed her. That maybe it felt like one of her lungs had been ripped from her body, too and like she hadn't been able to take a proper breath in six fucking months. He had to believe it. Because, if he was wrong and she had left because she didn't want to be there anymore—he wouldn't be able to handle it.

After all, accepting that someone was forced to leave you was much easier than accepting that they had taken your heart and then rejected it.

When he finally reached the top of the hill, he doubled over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. His chest was simmering now—magic dancing inside of the cavity that held his fast-beating heart. His magical center pulsated with urgency, begging to reach out and join with its other half. The breeze kicked up, rustling a few of the leaves on the ground and he caught the rich scent of lamb stew billowing from the shack.

Has it always had a kitchen?

He swallowed thickly and pushed forward. There wasn't much further to go and fuck if he didn't want to just dive in through a window and ransack the place until he found evidence of her. Panic began to settle in his gut with every passing second. The breeze pushed through the trees again and he stopped in his tracks as his nostrils flared around the sweet scent coming through.

Coconut and vanilla.

It's her.

The upturn of his lips felt almost foreign to Remus and he found himself sprinting for the door. There was a fence surrounding the back of the house, marking the end of the Hogwarts wards and meant to keep Moony from galavanting into the village. Remus took a running start and leapt over the fence, his robes catching on the barbed wire and his trousers splitting at the knee. He couldn't be arsed to care when he could hear movement coming from inside the Shack.

His mind raced, trying to figure out what to do as he approached the door and his fist connected with the rain swollen wood. Would he sweep her into a desperate kiss? Would he shag her right there in the doorway while he begged her not to leave again? Would he cry the thousands of 'I love yous' that went unspoken in the last six months?

He felt sick with nervousness—heart racing, palms sweating, stomach churning—and with every second that passed, he began to lose what little bravado he had gathered upon seeing the Shack in the first place. He was stupid—so incredibly stupid—to have come here. What if she had wanted to leave? Leaving while he was out on a mission would have been the best time to—

"Excuse me! Do you think you can just—"

Remus' fist stopped midair as the door swung open. A short, slightly plump woman with fiery hair and a fierce set gaze stared up at him, her wand grasped tightly in her hand. Her brown eyes flickered with confusion—widening and then narrowing—before she took a step back and pinned him to the threshold with a hard glare.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Molly?" Remus answered, bewildered.

It was definitely Molly Weasley—he would recognize that face anywhere but she was so much older now. He stumbled backward a few steps, taking in the sight of her. It had been bizarre to see McGonagall and to learn of Dumbledore's death. But, to see Molly Weasley of all people…

"Who are you?'

"You know who I am," Remus answered.

"You're dead," Molly stated, "You've been dead for years. So, how are you here? Who the hell are you?"

"Thought so," Remus mumbled, more to himself than anything. So, he had been right. He was dead in this timeline. "Where is she?"

"Who?"

"Hermione."

Molly steadied her footing, strengthening the grip on her wand which was now pointed squarely at his chest. "I am not afraid of you. I don't know who you are or what business you think you have here, but I will kill you if you don't turn around."

"You know exactly who I am," Remus pressed. "Does Charlie still like the chocolate biscuits best?"

He watched as her throat bobbed with a hard swallow, "How?"

"Where is she, Molly?"

Molly moved forward, pulling the main door closed behind her and crowding into Remus' space, the tip of her wand pushing hard into his chest. "You have no business being here, Remus. I don't know how or why but I—"

"You don't remember." It wasn't a question. He knew she had taken the memory modifying potion, just as Andromeda had, just as Snape had, just as every member of the Order or anyone else surrounding them had.

"It is you, isn't it?" Molly said, her stern tone softening, just a bit.

"For Harry's first birthday, you and Arthur brought all of the boys to James...to James and Lily's for a party. I wasn't there, but Hermione told me about it. Said you peeled the sprouts by hand because Arthur wouldn't let you do anything more laborious."

"I can't...I remember that day. I remember...it's fuzzy. I don't understand—"

"Please Molly, it's me. Remus Lupin, werewolf, erm—one fourth of the Marauders. I bake biscuits and cakes and—and I helped Arthur fix that old wireless, you remember? Please, Molly, please. I need to see her."

He could see her resolve beginning to waver, the grip on her wand slackening ever so slightly, her brows pinched in confusion. He would explain everything to her—but, not now. Now, he needed to see Hermione. His chest was tugging so hard, as if his heart would burst straight from the cavern that held it. He needed to be near her. To just look at her. He would explain everything to Molly after, but for now, he needed to be in this house.

"I'm sorry," Remus said.

"Sorry? Why are you—argh! Hey! You can't just—"

Remus shoved his way past Molly and into the Shack, the door banging hard against the wall, leaving a hole behind from the lock. He looked around, his eyes scanning the room for a sign of her. It was completely different from what he remembered. Gone were the slashed curtains and gouged floorboards; the bloodstained wallpaper and the shredded furniture. It smelt not of mildew and copper, but lamb stew and pine and—

Vanilla and Coconut and Jasmine.

The scent of Hermione was so strong, his eyes nearly rolled in his head when his nostrils flared. Moony whined, drunk on the smell of her.

"You can't come in here!" Molly shouted, stepping in front of Remus again.

"Let me in!" Remus growled, "Molly, let me pass!"

"No! You can't just—"

"Mum?! Mum, are you okay?" A girl's voice called from upstairs.

Molly looked over her shoulder and Remus took the opportunity to shove forward, moving around her with swift steps, making his way to the hall. His knees wobbled and his stomach tied in knots, tightening so intensely he thought he may get sick. Molly's fingers wrapped around his elbow with surprising grip, pulling him back toward the foyer.

"I know she's here! I can feel it!" Remus said, trying to yank his elbow from Molly's hand. "Get off of me!"

He heard the thundering sound of feet on stairs. He turned around and nearly fell over, all of his breath knocked out of him.

"James? Lily?"

He began shaking his head. No, no that wasn't right. James and Lily were dead. He had been to their funeral, had thrown the first handful of soil onto the coffins that held them, had spent months drowning himself in Firewhisky and mourning them. And this James, well—he certainly looked like James, but he was different somehow. Shorter than James and—fuck, look at his eyes.

Lily's eyes stared back at him, the vicious emerald gaze unyielding next to—definitely not Lily. Her hair was far more orange and her face was...exactly like Molly's had once been. Remus realized she must be Molly's baby daughter.

Well, not a baby here, I suppose.

And, that meant the man currently holding him at wand point with a murderous look in his eye was "Harry?" Remus said, on the end of a breath that felt like it had been punched from his gut.

Harry's eyes narrowed even further behind circular frames, a large scar that looked like a lightning strike bisecting his left brow. Remus had the sick feeling that that scar was where Harry had been hit with the Killing Curse and his throat constricted again. He sucked in a quick breath that didn't quite fill the bottom of his lungs and staggered forward.

"Please," he begged, holding his hands up in surrender. "I just need to see her."

"Who?" James—no, not James. Harry—spat.

"Herm—

"Remus?"

The second her voice hit his ears and they began to ring. The entire room seemed to swim before him, every sound deafened as the blood thundered and rushed against his eardrums. He took a tentative step forward and watched as she moved from the stairs, her foot hitting the floor in a sure step.

He couldn't breathe.

He had dreamt of seeing her again more nights than he could count, had gone out of his way to numb himself from the pain of it. The memories, fantasies, of being near her had nearly fucking consumed him. And, Merlin, she was just as beautiful as ever. Thinner than he remembered, but he supposed, so was he. Her hair was just as wild as it had always been, a personality of its own as errant curls stuck out from the mass. Her eyes were still as comically large as he remembered, wide brown eyes—the exact same shade of his favourite chocolate from Honeydukes. Her lips looked slightly chapped and fuck he needed to feel them against his own to see if they actually were.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Moony chanted over and over in his head, staring at her, unable to move forward to close the gap between them.

"Remus?" Hermione called again, her voice a little steadier this time.

His name falling from her lips snapped him out of the trance he had been in and the worry about what he would feel upon seeing her fell away and was replaced with anger. Red-hot, terrible anger. He took another gulp of air and pushed passed Harry and—Jenny? Gemma? Geri? God, what had they named her?—and stared at Hermione.

"Remus, I-I don't understand. What are you—"

He pulled the stone from around his neck and held it up in his hand, showing it to her. "You left this behind when you left."

She stared at him, her mouth slightly open, "I didn't leave. I had to—"

"You promised," Remus whispered, knowing how pathetic he must sound. "You said you would stay and—"

"I was going to!" Hermione stepped forward again and gave a look to Harry that he must have understood because he grabbed the wrist of the redhead next to him and pulled her backward a step. "I swear to you, Remus. I did not leave you."

The fury he felt only moments ago began to turn and twist into some strange emotion he couldn't name. He wanted to collect her in his arms and kiss her until she was breathless, but he also wanted to scream and cry and kick the table. Betrayal. That's what he felt. It was the same gnarled emotion he felt every time he thought of Sirius. The same sinking to the pit of his stomach, the same dizzying sadness that made him seek the comfort in the bottom of a bottle.

"Remus?"

The voice was low and unfamiliar, yet somehow he still knew it. The same inflection on the "e" he had been so used to hearing, but a scratchiness to the tone that was new. Remus turned his head and saw Harry approaching him, wand now tucked away safely somewhere, hands out before him as if he were approaching a wild animal. Remus snorted at that, well, he isn't wrong.

"Remus Lupin?"

"Harry," Remus said.

"Are you kidding me right now?"

Remus looked away from Harry, back toward the stairs, and felt himself recoil at the unmistakable white-blond hair of a Malfoy.

"You fell for Lupin? That's who you've been moping around for the last six months about? Merlin, Granger, I knew you were desperate for a lay but I—"

"Draco!" the mini-Molly snapped. "Shut up!"

"I have no idea what's going on," Harry began.

"No surprise there, Potter," Draco said.

Harry shot the man an annoyed look before continuing, "But, I think maybe we should all sit down and talk."

"Not much to talk about, is there?" Draco drawled. "He's got the bloody amulet in his hand. Clearly, he figured out how to use it so that he could come here and convince Granger to go back with him—which, by the way, is ridiculous." Draco stared at Remus with a scowl, his arms folded over his chest. "If you don't mind, I'll be taking back my family heirloom."

Draco took three long strides and moved to pull the amulet from Remus' fingers. Remus nearly snarled at him as he raised his arm up high above the blond's head.

"Oh, very mature. I've Avaded for less, you know."

"Jesus Malfoy, will you shut up?" Harry groaned.

"Remus, I did not leave you behind." Hermione's voice cut over the two that were now squabbling quietly at one another in the corner.

He searched her face, looking for any sign of dishonesty. A crinkle of the forehead or a twitch of her eye, anything to allude to the conclusion he had convinced himself of—that she hated him and had left him behind on purpose. That all the self-deprecating thoughts in the last six months that drove him to tears and screaming at the top of his lungs weren't all for naught. That maybe she had finally gotten her head on straight and realized what he was and the life she was condemned to by being marked his, and fled.

But, all he saw was gut-wrenching, heart-stopping honesty. A fervent look in her eye that screamed 'please believe me, I didn't leave you' and a slight tremble in her chin as she watched him work through it. She knew what he thought—she always did.

Move, you bloody moron!

I can't.

You are absolutely fucking useless. You're here, we are here. Go to her.

I don't know what to do. Moony, what do I—

"Moony, I didn't leave you."

Remus knew in that moment that Hermione was not addressing him. She did not use the nickname the same way James, Peter, and Sirius had. She never called him—Remus—Moony. She was addressing the wolf.

He could feel it, the way Moony came to the front of his mind. And, he knew she could see it when his eyes flashed and the brief change of expression stole his face. She could always tell when Moony was closer to the surface than Remus usually preferred for him to be.

"I wanted to stay," Hermione said. "I swear on my life—on James and Lily's lives, I wanted to stay."

With an unsteady step, Remus shuffled forward. He could feel eyes on him, knew that more people had entered the room in the time that he had been fighting in his own head and trying to sort out what Hermione was saying. She didn't leave. At least, not willingly. She didn't up and leave him behind without anyone. She didn't plan to annihilate his remaining sanity by disappearing from his life.

"You wanted to stay," he murmured, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth.

"Yes. More than anything, I wanted to stay."

"I'm really fucking angry," he admitted, taking another step forward.

"I know."

"I have a lot of questions."

"I'm sure you do and I'll answer every one of them."

"You will?"

She nodded, her hair bouncing around her head and his heart surged into his throat at the sight of it.

Touch her.

He closed the remaining space between them with one long, sure-footed stride and cradled her face in his hands. Her skin against his palms made him dizzy and he couldn't breathe and he suddenly became extremely aware that the only way to leak oxygen to his brain was by pressing his lips to hers and letting her breathe life back into him.

And fuck, she breathed life back into him.

Her lips melted into his, soft and warm. She tasted the same as she always had, which was oddly comforting. He had expected her to be different somehow. It had been only six months since she had left—no, disappeared—but it felt like an eternity. He didn't know how he had even gotten this far without her, how he managed to wake up every day and continue to breathe when his lungs had been so empty of her breath.

Her tongue touched his and he felt his knees go weak, his back aching from bending over to kiss her but he ignored the twinge in his shoulders. It hurt all the time, anyway, and he wasn't going to stop kissing her just because his ragged body decided it ached again. He felt her hands slink into his hair, her fingers curling around the waves on the back of his neck, and he nearly sobbed.

Someone behind them cleared their throat and he felt Hermione smile against his lips. She slowly pulled away, pressing a small peck to his lips before turning to face the room. Her hand fell from his neck and wrapped around his wrist and for a brief moment he felt grounded, here, whole again.

It was too much.

.

.

a/n: fucking finally amirite?

xoxo