He awoke before she did, his body stretched long over the bed, pressed limb-to-limb with hers, heat radiating off both of them despite the fact that their clothes were on the floor.
Noting that particular part of the situation, Remus Lupin blushed.
It had been hard— no, impossible— to find shame within the realm of the evening's heat, the need for contact. He refused to see it as anything more than that, at least on her part. She'd been in need, and he'd been there.
He wouldn't make it any more than that.
But before he removed his arms from around her body, before he slipped out of bed and into the robe she'd all but made for him, he pressed a kiss to her temple.
After all, she wouldn't know about that.
He'd made it into his clothes and nearly out the door when her voice stopped him.
"You didn't strike me as the type to sneak out in the morning. At the very least, I'd have pegged you for a note-on-the-pillow kind of guy."
It stung, but she'd be damned if she admitted it. It had been her way to leave, her way to sneak out in the middle of the night from the few encounters she'd allowed herself back in the states. In those days, it was either sneak out or be snuck away from.
But somewhere in the middle of things, perhaps even in the middle of a dark, dewy night with an injured wolf and an orange wand, things had gotten a great deal more complicated than taking what was needed and leaving before sunrise.
"You need your rest," he said lamely, trying not to feel guilty. He turned and looked at her and felt his heart bump hard in his chest.
What a fool I am, he thought. She was sitting up, sheet tucked under her arms, her hair tucked tight behind her ears. And she looked, he thought, none too pleased.
"Thanks for your concern, but I'll be the judge of what I need, Remus," Dea retorted, trying to keep the tone light, jesting. What matter was it to her if the man wanted to finish out the night in his own bed?
He stiffened at her comment. "Yes, Amadea, I'll imagine you will be." His voice was weary, and he fought the wave of pure, bilious jealousy that washed over him.
Envy directed at a man who wasn't even there to face it. It was, Remus thought, nearly farcical.
If jealousy was Remus's chosen poison for the moment, guilt was Dea's. How many other evenings had started exactly as the last one had? How many times had she reached out for contact because she felt she needed it? If the evening before had been just that-- a need easily remedied-- it wouldn't have been the first time. But it had been more than that, and the possibility that he had grounds to think otherwise shamed her.
How wrong, how terribly wrong, had it been to find joy when others, others they had sent out, were finding nothing but fear, and perhaps even death?
She had no time to contemplate it, for her face creased in obvious misery and he was back across the room in a few large strides, his hands on the sides of her face. It didn't matter what his thoughts were of the evening before, where he thought her heart rested on the matter, he couldn't leave her pained.
He couldn't pretend not to care, not when things were so touch-and-go. Pretenses had no place here.
"What was last night, Amadea?" he asked, brushing his thumbs over the tender skin below her eyes. He knew it was masochistic to ask, but he couldn't stop himself.
She smiled then, a slight quirk of the lips that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Can't really explain what I don't understand," she said, putting her hands over his and drawing them away from her face. "So when I learn trigonometry, I'll teach it to you."
His brow furrowed and she laughed, squeezing his hands. "Would it be fair for me to tell you what it was when I know?"
The door slammed downstairs, making them both jump, and he headed for the door once again. But he stopped with his hand on the knob, and spoke without turning. "I suppose that would be fair."
~~~
"We didn't feel like staying at Hogwarts." She sounded apologetic, and one of her shoes was steadily scraping the floorboards behind her. She kept her head down so her curly hair partly obscured her eyes, a position she rarely took.
If Remus had to guess, he would have said Hermione Granger was really and truly frightened.
Ron stood beside her, his face pale under his freckles, but he stayed close enough to her that they were nearly touching, each of them taking comfort from the familiarity of the other. The trio had been split, and Remus could clearly remember what it had been like when his own had started to break away—when James had died, that was bad enough, but Sirius and Peter had been taken, as well.
Remus sincerely hoped the trio would reunite, and soon.
"That's quite all right, Hermione." Remus conjured a couch for the two youths and, as an afterthought, called a few book from his own library upstairs. "The two of you can sit, relax. I'm sure Amadea won't mind making a room up for each of you once she's up and about." He started to talk toward the kitchen, then turned back. "Hungry?"
Ron, of course, nodded nearly frantically, and Remus left to fix them all breakfast.
"Hey… d'you notice that?" Ron asked, glad to have something else to think about, something other than his best friend.
Hermione looked up quickly, her eyes wide and skittish. "Hmm? What, Ron?"
"D'you notice how it is? Everyone left last night and left Lupin and the Yank upstairs, and now Lupin's cooking and she'll make us up a room? It's like a cozy little married couple."
"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione's brows drew together with the shocked half-whisper. "That's so presumptuous, it's disrespectful!"
"I was only sayin'," he said petulantly, rolling his eyes. But the thought was easily forgotten when he smelled the food cooking in the kitchen.
~~~
Though it was something she only cared to do rarely, Hermione was forced to admit that Ron was right.
There was at least some sort of vibe passing between the two permanent residents of the Black house, and Hermione you didn't have to be a full-fledged adult, much less a rocket scientist, to figure it out.
Breakfast was nearly completely silent, with token few efforts made at conversation. But that didn't change glances thrown across the table, messages that didn't need words.
When Remus wasn't looking at Dea, she was looking at him.
But when Hermione wasn't watching Dea watching Remus, she was watching Ron eat with a curiosity that bordered on oddity.
Someone's starting to realize the world's not all about chums and pals, Dea thought, but the small smile on her face slipped away when she looked down at the cup in front of her.
Sometime during the meal, he'd manage to conjure her a nearly perfect cappuccino.
Heaving a sigh, she briefly narrowed her eyes at Remus, then addressed Hermione directly. "You didn't happen to study any trigonometry at your Muggle school, did you, Hermione?"
And when the two women started talking about Muggle education, the two men watched them.
In the back of each of their minds lurked a different trio, not of lighthearted young people, but of heavy-hearted men with heavy burdens. Miles away, the trio drew closer and closer to their destinies.
~~~
"It has been too long since he has summoned us." The voice was nearly indistinct from the speaker's place in the corner of Lucius Malfoy's study, but the feeling was evident. The Death Eaters were not so accustomed to being so unfettered. Over time, the meetings with the Dark Lord had become addictive, something they felt they must do.
In truth, many of them had simply stopped thinking for themselves.
Lucius Malfoy was not one of those many.
"He has given us a task, ingrate. A task which we have not yet completed, and should it wait much longer, I am sure he will become displeased." At the thought of the Dark Lord's displeasure and certain retribution, Lucius let a shudder thrill through his spine.
The idea of pain was never a bad one, as long as it was someone else's, and in this case, he intended to insure that it was.
"What about Snape? Surely he will be able to get close to her if she is allied with Dumbledore." Another voice, more distinct, sharp like an insect's buzz, joined the informal meeting.
"That is a worry of mine," Malfoy admitted with an air of negligence. "One I have not yet addressed with our Dark Lord. I feel that our dear Potions Master will have soon outlived his usefulness. His position as a spy makes him unable to participate in any large action we take, and so we lose more and more willing warriors, loyal crusaders, to luck, to blind chance. He is a liability."
And, Malfoy thought, my place as most loyal, as longest-serving, is second only to him. Only a fool would not think of his own interests, even in a greater cause.
Lucius Malfoy's best interests meant destroying everyone in his way, but the Middlemarch spawn had to go first.
It was time to do serious hunting.