A/N: Throwing it back to being 13 years old (10 years ago. Ouch.) and going back to my roots of how I got into this whole lark by writing some Harry Potter fanfiction. This feels weird. Or maybe because my life has been so wrapped up in Eren's education that any mild departure leaves me with a feeling of culture shock and separation anxiety. I'll be honest, team; I don't really know what this is going to be. Will I keep writing it? Who knows. Will it take me x-amount of years to complete? Almost definitely. Do I feel unnatural writing HP fanfic again for the first time in years? Absolutely. Love to you all. Have some of whatever this is going to turn out to be.
Days at Hogwarts were so long.
Even since returning as a teacher, Hermione had forgotten quite how many hours there were in a day to fill.
She sits in her office now, a stack of marking in front of her, but her eyes are lingering vacantly out of the diamond paned windows to where the sun is setting over the hills.
Hermione sighs and tears her gaze away, looking at the scrolls instead. There were many things that magic could do, but unfortunately, reading and correcting students' essays was not one of them. Instead, she idly waves her wand in the direction of the kettle on the small cooking hob and it begins to whistle merrily.
Getting up, Hermione makes a mug of tea in a disengaged muscle memory rhythm. It's her first year teaching Transfiguration as McGonagall took the position of Head Mistress. The return to Hogwarts had felt bittersweet, and the decision had not been easy, but the distance was sorely needed. Ever since …
Hermione shakes memories out of her head which tug at her with a pain that is duller than it was a few months ago, but hurts nonetheless.
"Professor Granger?" A knock at the door.
Hermione turns round with a start, so wrapped up in her thoughts that she'd forgotten quite where she was.
"Ah," she says with a smile. "Professor Longbottom. Come in, the kettle's just boiled."
"Cheers Hermione," Neville smiles widely and bows his head slightly to avoid the door frame as he steps into her quarters and takes a seat on the chesterfield. "How are you settling in?"
"Better," Hermione smiles as she pulls another mug off the shelf and makes another cup of tea, bringing them both over to her desk. She sits in her plush armchair. "The first few weeks were long. But September always drags."
Neville laughs. "You're not wrong. And how are your classes now?"
Hermione reaches forward for her steaming mug, cradling it carefully in her hands and blowing steam off the top. "They're fine. The Second Years are a handful. They make me feel so old."
"I know," Neville sighs. "We're only ten years older than them and I feel like they look at me as if I'm from a different century."
"God," Hermione says. "Who knew you could feel so ancient in your early twenties. These are supposed to be the best years of our life and we're … in here."
"You make it sound like an Azkaban sentence."
Hermione doesn't answer. Sometimes she feels as if it is.
"It's not like we had normal childhoods though," Neville says quietly. "We grew up quicker than this lot."
Hermione nods sadly. "What I want to know is how the hell we used to kill time around here. The days feel like weeks. How did we manage for all of those years?"
Neville shrugs. "We broke rules and chased mass murderers."
"Point taken."
"Besides, we were so enamoured with the castle. Every day brought something new and magical." Neville sits back with a nostalgic smile. "I still feel that way though."
"I don't know how I feel," Hermione admits.
"You need to fall back in love with the place."
"I want to," Hermione says earnestly. "I don't know what's holding me back." They're both quite for a minute, sipping tea and enjoying the comfortable silence. "How did you do it?" Hermione asks quietly. "Come back here, I mean. And fall back in love with the castle."
Neville doesn't answer immediately but studies his oldest friend for a minute. Only 23 but she looks older. Tired. Worn. She's matured into an attractive woman and she holds herself with poise and control. The confidence which was precocious at 13 now feels much more natural a decade later.
After the war, Neville, Hermione and Ginny had returned to continue with their education. Even though Neville had stayed at the castle for his seventh year whilst Hermione was away with Harry and Ron, the disruption of the growing tensions and the eventual war had left him wanting to redo the year with a fresh start. Being in the same year had given Neville and Hermione time to bond and heal together throughout their N.E.W.T.s and their friendship had blossomed.
"I felt like you at first," Neville admits with a smile. "The first week I was here I felt so out of my depth, even in the Herbology greenhouses. I thought I'd made a mistake. Even though we'd come back for our exams, us and Ginny, it still felt so wrong being here alone."
Hermione nods eagerly. "That's exactly how I feel!"
Neville smiles. "But I stuck it out. I love teaching and eventually Hogwarts felt like home again, and I stopped seeing it as a warzone."
Hermione swallows hard. "Sometimes I walk into the Great Hall and I see it as a wreck," she barely whispers. "And then I blink and it's back to normal. Being away for a few years seems to have made me worse."
"It's the distance in your imagination," Neville says calmly. "Your brain has just filled you with the bad memories since you've been gone. But we managed when we came back for seventh year, and we'll manage again now."
Hermione smiles resolutely. "Thank you," she says firmly. "I would really have struggled here without you."
"Any time," Neville reaches over and briefly squeezes her hand.
They finish their tea in a comfortable chatter about students and essays.
Neville stands. "Thanks for the tea. I'll see you for dinner?"
"I'll see you there!"
Neville leaves, closing the door behind him. Hermione is on her own again.
She thinks about their conversation. Neville is right: she needs to fall in love with the castle again. But how? Hermione sighs and runs her fingers through her hair, twisting it up and off her face, securing it with her wand.
Neville and Hermione catch up every now and again and it's good to have someone who understands what she went through and saw. The comfort they take in each other is something neither of them ever outwardly address, but are mutually thankful that it exists.
It's an hour until dinner. Hermione decides to stretch her legs and make an attempt at opening herself back up to Hogwarts. The marking can wait.
She stands decisively, and before she can talk herself out of it, heads out of her office in the tower and down the spiral stairs to the first floor corridor. The late September chill seems to have permeated through every crack in the castle and Hermione begins to regret not bringing her cloak as she wraps her arms around herself. Her skirt moves around her calves but at least her jumper is warm enough.
Down the corridor, Hermione passes through the doors to the Stone Bridge where a gaggle of first years are huddled together for warmth and quickly pass her by. She stands on the bridge and turns to look out over the castle, resting her forearms on the side.
Closing her eyes, Hermione feels the wind whipping her face and tries to concentrate on the feeling of living. Opening them again, she sighs. But Hermione hardens her resolve. There must be something positive. There's always something positive.
Continuing her way along the bridge brings Hermione to the Viaduct Entrance, and relying on her deep rooted knowledge of the castle, which proved slightly rusty in her first week, she makes her way eventually to the Great Hall and hovers a little outside before heading inside and seating herself at the top table in the empty chair between herself and Neville.
"Good evening, Hermione," McGonagall greets her warmly as she sits.
"Evening, Headmistress," Hermione smiles. "Hey Neville."
"Evening Hermione!"
"How are you?" McGonagall asks.
"I'm fine, thank you," Hermione replies as the students begin to file in with a ring of chatter and laughter. "I'm still trying to get my head around the castle."
McGonagall laughs. "It will come back to you. It's surprising how much you forget after even a few years away."
"It certainly is," Hermione agrees.
"I do have an announcement to make before dinner, but I'm waiting until he arrives. Never on time, that man," McGonagall frowns to herself.
"Who?"
Before she can answer, the Great Hall doors open again and Hermione can't work out whether to laugh or cry.
Making his way up the middle aisle is Remus Lupin, looking as tired and fed up as Hermione feels.
"Lupin?" She says to the Headmistress. "He's back?"
McGonagall smiles and stands to welcome him.
"Remus," she says. "So good to see you. How are you?"
"Always a pleasure, Minerva," he says as polite as ever. He doesn't even notice Hermione at first.
"May I reintroduce you to an old friend who came back to fill my position as Transfiguration professor?"
Finally, Remus' eyes fall to Hermione and they briefly widen. "Hermione?" He says incredulously before composing himself again. "So lovely to see you again."
"You too, Remus," Hermione says. "It's been a while."
"Hello to you as well, Neville," Remus shakes his hand.
"Good to have you with us, Remus," Neville smiles. "What a reunion year we seem to be having!"
"It's really nice to see you, Hermione," Remus says. "Maybe after dinner you could come to my office for a catch up? If you'd like, that is."
Hermione smiles. "That would be great."
Remus opens his mouth to reply but McGonagall has stood to call for silence. Instead, he gives them a final smile and moves to take an empty seat at the end of the long table.
"Good evening, Hogwarts!" She says, the room falling silent. "Don't worry, I'll let you get on with your dinner, but first I would like to introduce you to our newest addition: Professor Remus Lupin who will be filling in the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. I know you've been having a temporary teacher since term began, but Professor Lupin is here to stay and I hope you will make him feel very welcome."
There's a ring of applause and Remus stands briefly to acknowledge his introduction before sitting back down.
"Now without further ado," McGonagall claps her hands once and food appears. The First Years still gasp with appreciation. "Enjoy!" She sits back down and the hub of conversation quickly picks up again.
"Did you know he was coming back?" Hermione asks Neville.
"Not a clue," he replies. "It'll be good to have him back, though. Best DADA teacher we ever had."
"Not that it's much of a competition," Hermione mutters as she helps herself to a jacket potato and some salad.
Looking over, she sees Remus chatting to the Care of Magical Creatures professor. It's so strange to see him again. He catches her eye and she quickly looks away again, blushing in embarrassment.
Dinner passes in the usual affair with Hermione chatting to McGonagall and Neville. But in the corner of her eye she can't stop being hyper aware of Remus. There's even a few moments where she swears he's looking at her.
Once the students have dribbled out, the staff begin to leave and Hermione finds herself feeling nervous when she sees that Remus has hung back.
"Hey," she says coming to stand in front of him.
"Hello," he smiles. "If you want to come to my office at around 9? It's not fit for company at the moment. I only arrived a few hours ago. You're more than welcome to join us, Neville?"
"I'm afraid I've got to get back to the greenhouses," Neville says. "I have very little faith that the adolescent Mandrakes haven't been causing a commotion in my absence."
Remus laughs.
"9 o'clock is fine with me," Hermione says. "I'll see you then."
"See you later."
Hermione and Neville leave the Great Hall and she turns to him. "Are you sure you don't want to come?" She asks, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. "I feel awkward going on my own."
Neville looks apologetic. "Sorry, Mione," he says. "I wasn't kidding about the Mandrakes. It'll be nice to catch up!"
"Yeah," Hermione says. "I suppose."
"Anyway – I'm heading to the greenhouses now. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Of course. Have a good night, Neville."
"You too!"
She waves at him as he leaves through the front doors before turning to make her own way back to her office to do some marking before going to see Remus.
How long had it been since they spoke, she wonders to herself now. It must have been four years? Nearly five? After the Great War when she went back to Hogwarts, Remus had disappeared to grieve the death of Tonks on his own. Everyone became slightly more insular after the war, focusing on rebuilding the community and their own families.
Life had gone on, but nothing had truly been the same.
Hermione enters the warmth of her office and sits at her desk. There's about an hour to kill and with some food and fresh air inside her, Hermione finds the task of marking to not be as arduous as it had been earlier in the day and busies herself in essays.
Just before 9 o'clock, Hermione finds herself with a pit of unease twisting in the pit of her belly. Remus marks a painful part of her life in a way that Neville doesn't. Neville was part of her healing process, but Remus … wasn't.
It's only one floor up to the Defence Against the Dark Arts office and once she enters the classroom, Hermione swallows hard. Images flash in her mind as she makes her way up the stone steps and knocks tentatively on the door.
"Come in," Remus calls.
With a deep breath, Hermione enters.
"Wow," she says as she walks in. "This is … exactly the same as it was ten years ago."
The small office is back to its old décor of tanks, books, and candles which softly illuminate the room now.
Remus laughs. "I'm a creature of habit," he says. "Take a seat. Would you like a drink? I have tea, or Firewhiskey."
"Oh Merlin," Hermione groans appreciatively and sits in the sofa. "I'd love some Firewhiskey."
"I'm glad we're in agreement," Remus says, reaching into one of his cupboards for two bottles. He uncaps them and hands one to Hermione, taking a seat in the armchair opposite her.
"Thank you," she says.
"Cheers," he extends his bottle towards her and Hermione meets his sentiment, clinking the neck of her bottle with his.
"Cheers," she says.
They drink and there's a brief silence. Hermione looks at him properly. The lines in his face are etched deeper than they were a few years back, and his hair is more prominently grey around the temples. Remus always looked prematurely old, but at least now his age was more representative of that.
"I didn't know you were here," Remus says suddenly. "Don't get me wrong, it's a nice surprise but –"
"I'm just as surprised to be here as you are to find me," Hermione says. "And Neville is back, as you saw. He's our Herbology teacher now."
"Yes I had heard he was back. He has been for a few years now hasn't he?"
"Two, I think," Hermione takes another drink. "He's been great since I joined. I don't think I'd have managed to stay."
"So …" Remus clears his throat. "Why did you take the position?"
Hermione doesn't answer immediately and drops her eyes to her Firewhiskey bottle, fiddling with the label. "You didn't hear what happened?" When she flicks her eyes up, Remus' blank expression tells her that he didn't. She takes a preparatory breath. "We – Ron and I – got engaged. And then …" Another sigh. Apparently it's still an exhausting topic. "And then I guess we just … weren't."
Remus looks confused. "What do you mean?"
Hermione shrugs and gives a tight, sad smile. "We grew apart? We grew up? Everyone assumed for so long that we would be together and one day we woke up and looked at each other and I don't think either of us knew why we were together. I think a lot of it was meeting outside expectations, and Mrs Weasley was so happy when we got engaged. But we were linked by shared experience and trauma. We were comfort to each other. But we weren't in love." Hermione takes a shaky breath. Remus doesn't interrupt her. "So we broke up. And it hurt. And I needed space from everyone. The pity was … too much." Hermione shakes her head. "And I didn't want to put everyone in an awkward position between Ron and I, so I removed myself and here I am."
"Hermione –" Remus starts gently but she shakes her head fiercely, taking another drink. He understands. She doesn't want to hear another 'I'm sorry'. Remus knows how she feels.
"Sorry," Hermione forces a laugh and runs a hand through her hair. "I didn't meant to ramble on like that. It's fine. I'm fine."
Remus gives her a smile. "I'm sure you are. And has there been any news on …?"
Hermione takes a mouthful of Firewhiskey, using the action to buy her some time. "No," she says. "I haven't heard anything from Ron since the summer. And it's a good thing. I think."
"You'll come out of this," Remus says. "Both of you."
Hermione sighs. "It's Harry I feel sorry for," she says. "It's like he's our child and he's stuck in the middle of two divorced parents."
"I can't believe he didn't tell me any of this," Remus says.
"It's not like I've seen you since the war ended," Hermione muses. "I suppose he just didn't think it was relevant to you."
Remus looks awkward. "I'm sorry I … left."
"You did what I did, right?" Hermione says. "You removed yourself from a situation to make it easier for everyone else."
"Ever perceptive," Remus says gently. "I'm glad some things never change. Another?" He indicates to both of their empty Firewhiskey bottles.
"Please. So what about you?" Hermione asks, watching Remus stand and cross the room to his cupboard. "What made you return?"
"I missed teaching," Remus tells her as he hands her a second bottle. "And I wanted to come somewhere familiar and safe. Somewhere that felt like home. Does that make sense?"
Hermione smiles sadly. "That's the thing, Remus," she says softly, and in the candlelight her eyes looks a little more glassy. "Hogwarts doesn't feel like any of those things to me anymore."
Remus thinks it might be the saddest thing he's ever heard.
"Neville says I need to fall in love with the castle again," Hermione continues. "But I don't really know where to begin."
Remus nods sympathetically. "I suppose it's hard when so much has changed. But try to see Hogwarts through the eyes of your First Years. Because I can guarantee, you'll realise the enchantment of this old place again. The Hermione Granger I taught all those years ago never stopped seeing the wonder in things."
Hermione looks down and can't help the small smile. "You're right," she says. "It'll come back to me. I think I just need a little help."
Remus reaches over and places his hand gently on top of hers. "I'm here," he says.
She lifts her eyes up to him. "Thank you."
Clearing his throat, Remus removes his hand and takes another drink. "It really is good to see you again, Hermione. You look so much … older." Hermione laughs. Properly. Remus goes red. "Shit, I'm sorry – I didn't mean – I just meant you –"
"No, don't worry, I know what you mean," Hermione says, still laughing a little. Remus notices how pretty she is when she laughs. "You look older, too."
"At this point, Hermione, I think the word is just 'old'," Remus says good humouredly.
"The war didn't age me well," Hermione says. "I think I look far older than I am. I certainly feel older than I am."
"That'll be the kids," Remus says. "I swear they're getting younger."
Hermione laughs again and the years of worry and stress seem to fall off her. "They are! Were we that bad when you taught us?"
"Times were different then," Remus says thoughtfully. "And you've always been wise beyond your years."
"I think they call that being precocious."
"Maybe at 13, yes," Remus' eyes twinkle. "But now you're just … mature."
"I'm 23 now," Hermione says, her mouth turned down in disgust. "But I swear, my Second Years are hellbent on making me feel as old as Professor Binns."
"Hermione, I turned 40 last year. And that one hurt," Remus shakes his head, pretending to look wounded. "Trust me; you're still young."
"As are you, Remus," Hermione says. "Here's to youth." They clink their bottles together again with a companionable laugh.
The atmosphere is relaxed and they've sunk back into comfortable positions on the sofa. Despite having been seated with a straight back and legs crossed at the ankles, Hermione now sits with her legs curled beneath her, her elbow resting on the back of the worn leather chesterfield.
"This is so strange," Remus says. "Sitting here with you, both of us teaching at Hogwarts, with Firewhiskey in hand." He shakes his head.
"It's nice," Hermione says. "I like it."
"So do I."
"Y'know," Hermione looks thoughtful. "I wasn't sure how I felt when I saw you walk through those Great Hall doors. I didn't know if it was going to be painful, or uncomfortable … but it's not."
"I must admit I thought the same," he says. "But this feels … natural. I suppose we always did get along well."
The candles burn as bright as they did several hours ago, and it's warm in the office. There's a lull in conversation, and they drink in a comfortable silence until the clock bells ring loudly and Hermione jumps slightly.
"Midnight," she says and finishes her Firewhiskey, the warming sensation gearing her up for the cold walk back to her quarters. "This has been lovely, Remus. It's so good to see you again."
"You, too."
They both stand and Remus steps forward to hug her but Hermione jerks back. He looks briefly stunned.
"Shit," she says, looking mortified. "I'm so sorry – natural reaction – I haven't been touch –" she slams her mouth shut, cheeks burning.
Remus steps back to give her space. "I completely understand."
Hermione swallows hard before decidedly closing the gap and hugging him. Remus is taken aback for only a second before wrapping his arms securely around her.
Hermione sighs. It's the first time she's felt comforted in months.
They step back and her cheeks are flushed.
"Thank you. For this. It's been great," she says, trying to avoid eye contact.
"Anytime. Would you like me to walk you back?"
"No – thank you."
Remus smiles. "Goodnight, Hermione."
"Goodnight, Remus."
She smiles and turns, heading out of the small warm office and back into the draughty castle. She can still feel the phantom pressure of his arms around her. In that moment, she felt cared for and safe. Just for a few seconds.
How she has missed it.
