This chapter is fairly absurd (for a fic with giant trap-cauldrons and extra-planar amalgam creatures), as it's mostly centered on 3 otherwise intelligent people acting like morons.

Chapter Fourteen

Misconstrued

When the male occupants of the room had awoken the following morning, they'd all found Hermione sitting up in her bed. The witch was quite conscious, but seemed in a bit of a daze as she merely stared into her hands, watching her own fingers as she twisted and untwisted them in her lap. Bat was once more perched dutifully on her shoulder, and no one seemed able to encourage the creature to even temporarily leave her side.

She and James were each examined privately, and other than some bruises—which Hermione blushed about, for some reason, leaving Harry to guess was simply her feeling sheepish over not being able to recall the source of her injuries—and possible disorientation, they both had a clean bill of health. They could be taken home in just a short while. Though, the head Medi-witch had been rather insistent that, on account of their aforementioned possible disorientation, Miss Granger should not be left on her own.

Was their anyone with whom she could stay to keep an eye on her?

"Of course!" Harry's voice rang out without a second thought, and he missed the way James' eyes shot wide for a second there. "Hermione's always welcome to stay with us. Right, Dad?"

"Well, uh, ye—yes." James looked over at Remus, his expression pleading. Thankfully Harry was distracted as he took the still-dazed Hermione's hand in his, assisting her to stand from the bed.

Remus shrugged helplessly at his friend and then turned to watch. There was something rather tragic in observing the witch moving so mechanically. Like an animated doll as she clearly tried to sort something in her own head.

"I should—I should stay with you, too, then," Remus offered, again shrugging.

James looked horrified at the suggestion. First a disoriented Hermione—with whom he'd spent a lost half-day, during which neither of them seemed to have been in their right minds so who knew what the hell they might've said or done—and now the werewolf whom he'd just so happened to have drunkenly snogged under the same roof? Oh, this was bound to go poorly, he could feel it. It was little comfort that Remus seemed absolutely confused by his own words, obviously having stated the first notion to pop into his head that would be the sort of thing expected of a friend.

"What a splendid idea, Lupin," Severus said with a nod, hiding a smirk at the wild expressions going on behind the younger Potter's oblivious head with a completely sober expression that said of course he was being helpful! "It might be a bit much for the young man to manage an eye on both patients on his own."

The Medi-witch agreed heartily with the former professor's assertion. It only tickled him more that while Harry seemed content with this arrangement, Lupin and the older Potter both fixed him with death glares.

Bidding them all good day, Severus Snape excused himself from the situation with a smarmy grin that puzzled Harry.

No matter, Severus thought. They could thank him later. Once they stopped being stupid . . . which could take a while, he considered.

Hermione kept quiet as she found herself ushered into Grimmauld Place. She'd been so fixated on what she'd seen during her self-examination—on the mark she'd spied on James' throat that had undoubtedly been the work of her mouth—that by the time she really was aware of anything outside her own head, she heard Harry saying she could use Sirius' room.

Remus felt incredibly awkward as he sensed James' exasperated gaze on him. He desperately wanted to get out from beneath the tension he could already feel building for just a little while. "You, um, you know what? She really doesn't have any things here. I could pop over to her house and grab a few—"

"No, no," Harry said with a shake of his head while he climbed the stairs beside Hermione. "I know her house better, I should go. Just let me get her settled, first."

Both older wizards smiled wanly, nodding before Harry disappeared into the second level of the house.

James rolled his eyes as he pivoted to face the werewolf. "I should stay with you, too, then?" he rasped in what almost sounded like a near-hysterical whisper. "Just what we bloody needed, isn't it?"

Remus, for his part, looked both bewildered and mildly affronted at his friend's accusatory tone. "I don't know what you expected me to do about this other than make sure you don't do anything stupid!"

"You . . . ." James sputtered. Okay, so, perhaps Remus had a point. But still. "You could've offered to have taken her home with you instead."

Tipping his head to one side, Remus only held James' gaze in disbelieving silence for a few heartbeats. He'd kept up his usual veneer of serene calm while Hermione and James been trapped in the cauldron, but beneath that, werewolf had been positively beside himself not knowing what was happening or if they were in danger.

After his recent realizations about his behavior toward Hermione, and hers toward him . . . . After he and James had made those drunken confessions to each other, and that kiss . . . . He knew he was supposed to be making himself wait, he was supposed to be giving his healing heart more time before letting himself feel, but being around them was confusing the situation. Making him long for things that couldn't be. Not so soon. Possibly not ever.

His feelings were his problem, not James', and certainly not Hermione's. The entire mess made his chest ache, the tension it kicked off at the base of his skull only a close second in discomfort.

Rather than lashing out, however, Remus questioned that, his words slipping out hushed and quick through clenched teeth, "After your insinuations the other night, you really think that would be any better of an idea?"

James ground his teeth. "I hate you when you make sense."

This was absurd on the face of it and they both knew it. They were both looking for some way to vent their frustrations, both looking for someone to blame. Difficult feat, that, when there really was no one at fault.

Remus couldn't help himself at that understanding. His expression deadpan, he said, "You adore me when I make sense."

After a second, James' lips twitched. The werewolf loosed a snicker as James let his head fall back, laughing as he pressed his palms against his face.

Breathing deep, he set his head level and looked at his friend again, his arms falling to his sides. "I'm sorry, Moony. This entire thing is just . . . just . . . ."

"All right," Harry's voice interrupted his father's half-hearted attempt to describe the situation. The younger man came tromping down the staircase. "I'll be back quick—Hermione'll hate it for anyone to go through her things, so it'll be less painful for everyone involved if she knows it was me."

Both older wizards chuckled. Remus said, "Of course," while James forced an understanding grin.

And then Harry was gone.

The brightness drained from their expressions instantly. Remus shook his head, meeting James' gaze as the other man let the tension flood out of him, his shoulders drooping.

"This is ridiculous," the dark-haired wizard said with an exasperated sigh. "It was all . . . manageable before. How did it even get like this?"

Arching a brow, Remus unhelpfully pointed out, "Because you're completely aware you haven't the foggiest idea what happened in that bloody cauldron?"

"Fair," James conceded, his tone sour. "Doesn't explain you."

Remus glowered. "I had time to think."

James rolled his eyes as he breathed out the words, "Bloody hell."

"Exactly."

Leading the way to the parlor, James shook his head as he fell into one of the arm chairs. "Well, we'll just . . . have to stay down here. At least until Harry gets back."

"Right, sure. Of course," Remus said, perfectly aware how ill at ease they both still were.

"Remus? Can I speak with you a minute, please?"

Both men winced at Hermione's voice calling down from the second floor.

"Unless that happens."

"Okay. She doesn't remember whatever, either, and she doesn't know what you and I talked about or what happened, so . . . . We just play dumb." Remus nodded, his eyes wide as he realized how dumb that notion sounded.

One eye twitching a bit as it half-closed, James stared at his friend. "You know, before today I'd have said 'I don't think that's possible.' Now?" He gestured vaguely at the two of them.

Remus exhaled a low exasperated breath as he turned toward the staircase. "God, we're idiots."

Hermione . . . didn't want to have this conversation with Remus. She didn't actually want to have this conversation with anyone, but she did need to talk to someone and Remus was the only one aware there was 'something' between her and James, which only twisted her feelings up more, since Harry's clumsy hinting about seeing something between her and Remus—

She gripped her fingers into her hair and screamed behind closed lips. She had never been so confused.

But, she thought, relinquishing her hold on her mad locks and taking a deep breath, she did need to talk to someone, and before anything else, Remus was her friend. A friend whom she had recently begun to realize had the loveliest green eyes, was tall and lean, and walked with a bit of a swagger he didn't seem to notice himself . . . .

She collapsed forward on the bed, burying her face into the pillow as she let out a miserable groan. Bat, for its part, was content to stay curled on the cushion by the window. The little creature appeared fascinated with the sunlight on the walk outside. For a dreadful moment, Hermione distracted herself with wondering if Bat's creator had ever let Bat out during the day.

A knock at the door snapped her back into sitting upright. She realized he must've heard her wordless bellyaching as he'd made his way toward the room.

"Hermione? You okay in there?"

Climbing to her feet, she carefully smoothed her hands over her rumpled clothes before answering. "I'm fine, Remus. You can . . . wait. James isn't out there with you, is he?"

"No, he's downstairs."

With a nod, she crossed the room to open the door. And there Remus stood, in all his tall, lanky glory, staring at her with those stupid lovely green eyes.

Sooner than she could stop herself, she slammed the door in his face.

"Um, Hermione?"

Her shoulder slumping, she pulled the door open again. "Sorry," she said with a wince as she backpedaled, allowing him space to enter the room. "It's just been a very odd few days."

"Odd few months is more like it," the werewolf amended for her as he shut the door behind himself. Facing the witch, he tried for a blank, but understanding expression, truly not knowing what to expect. "You, um, you wanted to speak to me about something?"

She was already starting to pace the floor, ringing her hands before her as she shook her head. "Um, yes. I just . . . I needed to talk to someone and it's not exactly the sort of thing I can tell Harry, so . . . ."

When she allowed her voice to trail off lamely like that, Remus' brows drew upward. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he watched her frantic looping of the room.

She didn't look at him. She couldn't. She knew there would be that familiar compassion in his eyes that always made everything so comfortable and easy, and nothing about this should be comfortable or easy.

But then, he prompted her with the simple echoing of the word, "So?"

And she looked over at him. Stilling, mid-step, the entire thing came tumbling from her lips. She unconsciously edged closer to him as she spoke. The conversation with James when he fell into the cauldron, the strain she could feel between them, the last thing she remembered before waking up in the hospital, and finally—

"A love bite?" he repeated, wide-eyed.

Her features pinched into a hard cringe as she nodded.

"And you're sure it wasn't—?"

"Positive."

"And you don't remember—?"

"Anything," she said with a hopeless sigh. For a moment she nearly settled on the bed beside him, just an innocent perching on the edge, but with all these new confused feelings, she thought it perhaps better she didn't occupy a bed with one of the men over whom she was currently so confused!

God, she was giving herself a headache.

Before he could ask another question, she tacked on hopelessly, "And it gets worse."

Remus blinked rapidly a few times, those green eyes wide as he pressed a hand to his cheek. "I'm not sure I see how it could."

Hermione gave into a nervous laugh. She could see the immediate change in his expression at the sound. He suddenly appeared very, very worried.

Swallowing hard, she tried to collect herself. She tired to get the words to form. But, staring into his face, so open and concerned for her—for her and James, both—she simply acted, whatever tension existed now between the two of them forgotten for a moment as she turned her head away and yanked down the collar of her shirt.

"Oh." The word popped out of Remus' mouth as he found himself staring at a love bit between her breasts.

Hermione darted a glance down her front, assuring herself she wasn't accidentally flashing him her boobs. There was some relief to note she was only exposing her sternum, the lines of her breasts' curves just barely visible at the edges of the bunched fabric.

She didn't miss, however, the way he forced a gulp down his throat. He couldn't seem to look away.

It felt like her entire body warmed, every inch of her skin completely aware of the weight of his gaze on her.

Giving herself a small, subtle shake, she said, "And it's . . . not the only one."

At that, Remus managed to get a hold of himself. Oh, this entire situation had his mind drifting to things it shouldn't. Had him wanting and wondering and picturing. She was standing so close. Just within reach. If he lifted his hand, he'd be able to brush that needlepoint bloom of red with the tips of his fingers.

Oh, he thought he understood now. The full moon was tomorrow. His animal instincts were kicking in. Raging at him. Trying to build up to an absolute fervor at being in close quarters with not one, but two people he felt drawn to.

Tearing his eyes from the mark at last to meet her gaze, he asked with raised brows, "It's not?"

A blush in her cheeks, she started, "No! There's more that go down—"

"I'm back!" Harry opened the door thoughtlessly, a haphazardly stuffed duffle dangling from his free hand. "I know you'll hate me, but I brought you some . . . ."

The young man's voice trailed off as he took in the scene. His best friend standing before the werewolf—the one she'd just days ago said nothing was happening with—her shirt tugged down and a very obvious blotchy spot of red between her breasts.

And they were both staring back at him like two people definitely caught doing something wrong.