Hello all! So, we're on the home stretch: only one more chapter after this one, and this is the major one.

Joots gets last chapter's super-quick reviewer award. You're not plain at all my dear and I feel special every time you review me even if it's to say 'why the bloody hell was that chapter so short?' Though I don't think you've said that.

Ed: Update Fairy strikes again! A nice long gem for you. You may bow and pontificate at your leisure.

Lil, good to see you. Hippiechick, thank you for reviewing (fun fact: I've only posted a chapter without a review from you one time!). Hand3, because you asked me about my other story I'll give you a bit of a rundown. Ruby, I'd love to join a community but there's probably not much point since I'm leaving for Egypt in a week. Yes, everyone, my writing days are at a temporary end…as of August 12th I will be in Egypt for nine months. I'll try to do some writing while I'm there, but don't hold me to it.

And the summary, as promised: So, I kinda got to thinking (as I was writing in Callah's occupation) Hermione would make a pretty good spy, right? I mean, she's smart, courageous, and has major saving the world potential. And that's what I wrote. I actually wrote it at the same time I wrote this story, but it's not at all related except for that bit. For the pairing: I chose to switch it over to Remus/Hermione, although I'm toying with the idea of posting the original at a later date. Like while I'm abroad and not writing anything new. As a thank you to everyone who's reviewed me or given me feedback on this as-yet-unnamed story, I'm posting the first chapter tonight, along with this monster. It's Snarky overload! (Hey Ed, it's like your entire top row of teeth fell out and you're getting ten bucks per tooth, right? Makes for a lumpy pillow, though, or so I would imagine.)

So, here is the longest chapter I've ever written. Check out my new story too if you're bored and have nothing better to do!

Aimes-Who-Has-Not-Yet-Packed-To-Leave-The-Country-For-A-Year

PS—I jumped through hoops to work in some action, Ruby. Enjoy.

Four days had passed in a blur for Hermione. She spent most of her time sleeping, or as she liked to call it, 'recuperating.' Her friends had visited, even Snape had stopped by, and Callah had been released from the infirmary. This was her last night staying with Remus. Callah had scoped out and leased a roomy villa in Italy and they were to leave together tomorrow. Dumbledore had provided a glowing letter of recommendation to the Institute for Archaeological Studies and they had welcomed Hermione with open arms and enviable remuneration. Life's just about set, then. Ah, fuck the bullshit. What's going to happen tonight? She tapped her fingers on her leg impatiently as she sat on a leather armchair in the den, staring out the windows at the densely wooded area behind the house. Should've slept longer. Wouldn't have had to sit here thinking.

It was eleven a.m. and Remus had left half an hour earlier to do some errands. Hermione had offered to accompany him but he'd simply smiled and declined, telling her to relax, watch a movie, drink some lemonade. He left and she began to stew. At first she tried to occupy her time, making Nicaraguan Iced Tea, reading a random paperback novel she'd found in the den, and generally puttering, but she'd quickly given up in favor of brooding. With a start she realized that if what she wanted to happen did happen she needed to be appropriately dressed. So she did the only thing she could: she flooed Ginny. Callah, she suspected, would look at her blankly if she mentioned clothes and makeup.

Ginny had long suspected the attraction and seemed unfazed when Hermione admitted it. Seems like the entire bloody planet knows. Why is that always the case? I mean, it's not like I go around with a picture of him pasted to my textbooks or anything. Sure, you could say people are perceptive, but let's face it, people are damned stupid. They never notice when you want them to shut up but they notice a very unlikely attraction between two people who are hardly ever seen together in public.

Ginny's response to Hermione's plea for a little help with her appearance was a calm interest, and she and Hermione retreated to the breakfast table to talk. Thank god this place is hooked up for floo.

"What, exactly, do you want to do with your appearance?" Ginny queried.

"I don't know. Look good, I guess," Hermione replied. I'm the brains, Gin. No one would ever encourage me to be a fashion designer.

"Well, what do you think is wrong with your appearance?"

"I don't know. That's why I called you," Hermione replied with gritted teeth.

Ginny laughed. "What I'm trying to say, Hermione, is you look good as it is. Let your hair run loose, the curls have eased up from bushy to riotous. Wear green, it complements the shades of brown in your skin, eyes, and hair. Be comfortable—you don't want to be worrying about how much the skirt is digging into you when you should be focusing on him. I'd suggest an emerald green skirt with a really light flare—nothing penciled, it's too business-y. A black shirt in whatever style pleases you, black sandals, maybe some lip gloss. You're a pretty girl, 'Mione, no worries there. You don't really need to go to extremes with makeovers; you'd end up looking good of course, but it's nothing you couldn't do on your own if you just pick colors that complement you and don't make the typical mistakes." She took a bite of one of the cookies Hermione had set out and sipped at her iced tea.

"Which are?" Hermione took deep breaths. You will not strangle her. You will not strangle her.

"Wearing incredibly elaborate lingerie, caking yourself with makeup, trying to go vampy seductress. It's not you, and he'll know it. Just go with the outfit I recommended, wear basic black underwear with some nice lacy embellishments, slap on some eyeliner and lip gloss, and remember that he wants you no matter what you look like. And he's seen you looking all kinds of terrible." Thanks for the reminder. This was ever so helpful.

"Christ, I had you come all the way here to do some Freudian psychoanalysis crap? 'Trust in your own beauty to shine through.' We really could've saved time by doing this over the network, you know. Or not doing it at all."

"Yes, but then I wouldn't have gotten your iced tea and cookies," Ginny replied placidly, rising and strolling to the fireplace in the living room. She turned for just a moment. "Mione?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe consider what you're actually worried about. It's not your looks." She turned back to the fireplace and grabbed some powder. "Good luck!" she said cheerfully, and was gone.

Hermione slouched back into the kitchen. She was halfway there when she reconsidered and headed for the master bedroom. Bath will do nicely. She filled the huge marble tub with water and sage bubble bath. Sage bubble bath? Okay, I admit that rose might be too girly, but what about lavender or ocean spray or one of those other nice manufactured unisex scents? Besides, isn't bubble bath girly by definition? Then again, at least he's got bubble bath. She eased herself into the water and sighed. Snape had bubble bath too. Or he made some for me. He is a potions master, after all, can't forget that. Smelled like…hell if I remember.

"What I'm really worried about," she mused aloud. Well it's sort of obvious, right? I mean, I haven't been with anyone since Dayrin, as much as I've thought about it, and before him…well it's been awhile to say the least. So I pretty much have no idea what I'm doing.

"Which I despise," she growled, slipping beneath the bubbles. In an ideal world, he'd realize how squeamish I am and he'd take the lead for me. Then again, he's probably as nervous as I am. Shit, I'm going pruny.

She drained the bath and took a quick shower, washing her hair and using a quick spell to rid herself of the fur on her legs. Damn, I'm starting to look like an ape. Of course who the hell thinks about shaving when they're lying in a hospital bed? Or charming away hair in this case. She zapped her underarms and stepped out of the steamy enclosure, wrapping a large towel around herself. For a moment, she contemplated herself in the slightly foggy mirror. Average height, average weight, curvier than some, less curvy than some, a study in browns. Curly brown hair, brown eyes with tan flecks that I could call gold to make myself feel better… tanned brown skin which would horrify my cancer-phobic mother were she alive to comment… all in all, I'm very... brown. And average. Which is not a bad thing. I don't look like some messed up Barbie doll or a cow or an Oompa Loompa or anything. I'm attractive in my own way. A very brown way. Scarred brown way.

The scars did not embarrass her and she did not think they affected her looks one way or another, really. They were memories burned onto skin—reminders of hell or testaments to strength, depending on who was looking. She herself thought of them as physical reminders of the plentiful life experience she had racked up. Hermione Granger was physically not even in her twenties. Spiritually, she'd passed one hundred. She toweled herself off and dried her hair. A quick tug of her hairbrush and she left it to run loose as Ginny had suggested. Her eyes had wandered to the Swiss Army watch her father had given her before she'd entered Hogwarts and she'd been shocked by how late it was: almost five o'clock. Remus must be back by now. Still, she did not rush. As though reading her mind, there was a knock on the door.

"Hermione? I'm making dinner, it'll be ready in an hour, okay?"

"Fantastic. Should I dress for dinner?"

"That would be nice," he replied. That would mean he's cooking something special. She heard his footsteps retreat and turned back to the mirror, taking a deep breath. Let's go then. She moisturized her entire body before picking up the underwear she'd transfigured while the bath was running. They were basic black and satin. The underwear was a simple string bikini cut and the bra was an equally simple demi-cup. Gazing into the mirror and pronouncing herself satisfied, she walked back out to the bedroom. She saw a bag next to her bed that she had not noticed when entering. Then again, I was a bit preoccupied.

She picked it up and saw a note from Ginny pinned to it.

Mione—

Why waste time transfiguring clothes when you've got friends to do it for you?

Ginny

Hermione smiled and pulled out an emerald green knee-length skirt that flared at the hips. The material felt like pure silk. She pulled it on quickly, noting how well it fit. Next out of the bag came a black clingy shirt that hugged her body. It was a tank top with scraps of material hanging from the shoulders and a deeply v-cut neck. Hermione reminded herself to bake Ginny more cookies as she picked up the bag to put it in the closet. The weight revealed that she had not emptied the bag completely. She shook it out and a pair of simple black slip-on sandals and a pair of dangling silver earrings with green stones fell out. A quick check in the bathroom mirror confirmed that she looked good. Add the eyeliner and a touch of lip gloss and we're done! She glanced at her watch and noted that fifty minutes had passed. With a smile she proceeded to the kitchen. You look great, Mya. Go get 'em, tiger.

"Hey," she greeted Remus. His back was to her but she noticed he had changed into loose khakis and a silver-grey shirt. He turned and she saw that the shirt caught his eyes and made them look radiant. Ouch. Don't know if I could date someone that dresses better than me. Of course you're not dating. You're going to Italy. Tomorrow. And the clothes won't stay on him that long, right?

"You look nice," he said sweetly, fingering her hair.

"You look pretty good too, if you couldn't tell from the way I was staring," she replied wryly. Can't let it get too serious now, can I?

"Dinner's almost ready. Want some wine?"

"I'd love some, thank you." He pulled out a glass and poured for her. "White merlot? Didn't even know it existed," she said curiously. She sipped at it. "Wow, that's really good."

"I'm glad you like it," Remus said with a grin. "What did you do today?"

"Oh, read a bit, took a bath, you know." Had a full mental break.

"Good, I'm glad you relaxed." He checked something in the oven. "Dinner's ready, go have a seat, I'll serve."

"Are you sure you don't want help?" she offered. He shooed her out of the kitchen. Guess not.

She sat at the table, which, she noticed, had been set with the good china. Oh yeah, only the good stuff for me.

Remus entered with salad and served her and himself before sitting.

"Thank you," Hermione said with a smile. Way to jump start the conversation. Me, nervous? Whatever do you mean? She sipped at her wine nervously. Okay, maybe a little.

Hermione dug into the salad, not meeting his eyes.

"Do you like Michael Crichton?" Hermione started at the question. He was watching her with gentle amusement in his eyes.

"Come again?"

"Crichton. The novel you were reading," he reminded her, gesturing at the paperback where it rested on the kitchen counter.

"Oh. Well, yes, usually. Some work is better than others. Same as any author. In his case, I'd have to say I'm particularly fond of 'Timeline' and 'Congo.'"

"I was too. Is that the particular genre of Muggle literature you tend toward?"

Suddenly, she relaxed. Books she could discuss without a problem.

"I tend toward everything. I enjoy mysteries, thrillers, random fiction literature, nonfiction, whatever. I read Stephen King and Salman Rushdie and everything in between."

"I've always been a fan of Rushdie," he encouraged. "My favorite book is 'The Ground Beneath Her Feet.'"

"Mine too!" she looked at him incredulously. "Everyone says his best work was 'Satanic Verses' or 'Midnight's Children' but I loved 'Ground Beneath Her Feet.' Something about the language and the way the characters were so…real."

"I liked the thought of a flawed narrator. I mean, he's telling a love story about the man everyone envied and the woman he himself was in love with."

The conversation continued in that general direction till they were finished with their salads. He rose and picked up their plates with one hand, gently forcing her back into her chair with his free hand when she tried to help. Something smells damn good.

A plate of beef filets, sautéed mushrooms, and duchess potatoes was placed in front of her.

"Wow," she said, impressed. Very eloquent, Mya. "It looks delicious, Remus. You really didn't have to go to all this trouble. Thank you."

"I wanted to do this for you," he admonished. "Stop thanking me, you sound like a broken record." Hermione made a face at him and dug into the food. The conversation and the wine flowed.

Later:

"I'm a Wagenseil person," Hermione shrugged. "His arrangements were more inspired, in my opinion."

"You can't deny the genius behind Handel's Concertos. He was one of the few major composers to write directly for the instrument," Remus argued.

"Yes, and he's recognized for his contributions. Wagenseil captured a different side of the music, though. I mean let's face it: Handel's stuff was the same old music rewritten and repackaged for the harp. Wagenseil's stuff was a complete break from that," Hermione countered.

"How do you know so much about harp orchestral pieces, anyways?" Remus asked curiously, setting a strawberry zabaglione before her.

"My mum was obsessed with harpistry. What about you?"

"I took lessons when I was a kid," he admitted sheepishly. Hermione's eyes widened.

"Really? That's amazing! I'll have to get you drunk and convince you to play for me," she teased.

"For you, I don't think I'd have to be drunk," he replied, popping a strawberry in her mouth as he went back to his seat. "You'd just have to kiss me," he mumbled almost inaudibly. Bet he thought I didn't hear that.

"Let's test that hypothesis," she whispered and the atmosphere shifted noticeably. He was watching her, waiting, silent. So much for him making this easy for me.

Hermione stood and moved around the table to stand in front of him. He'd pushed his chair away from the table and was leaning back to look up at her. With a gentle smile she leaned down and kissed him, lowering herself to straddle him. Remus' arms went around her settling on her waist as she gripped his face with cool hands. Perfect.

He pulled back and began to kiss along her neck as her hands dropped to her shoulders. I've waited bloody long enough for this. He lingered on the pulse on her throat, tasting her heartbeat, reveling in the feel of her. Remus broke away long enough to whisper in her ear.

"Hermione, are you sure you want this?"

"Yes," she replied breathlessly. Bloody hell, what do you want, a damned invitation? I would be happy to give you one. Later.

"Then maybe we should move this to the bedroom." He stood effortlessly and Hermione was reminded of the power beneath his surface. Werewolf. Most civilized man I know, and he's a werewolf. She began nibbling on his neck as he carried her and her legs wrapped around his waist. She felt his heartbeat quicken and he gave a low growl deep in his throat. I spend a lot of time with my legs wrapped around his waist. Actually, no, I don't spend nearly enough time with my legs wrapped around his waist.

He set her down on the bed and drank in the sight of her as she gazed up at him. What's that expression? Feast for a starving man? I suspect that I'm the feast. Slowly, tentatively, he ran a hand down her side and slipped it under her shirt. Hermione lifted her arms accommodatingly and he tugged it up and off her. His breath hitched as he saw the black satin.

"You're beautiful," he murmured. Hermione blushed and didn't reply. "What's this?" he teased. "I thought you were completely confident in yourself."

"If by myself you mean my brain, yes. Everyone's got their hang-ups," she replied.

Remus pulled her to her feet and slid the skirt down her hips. "Maybe so, but I don't think you have anything to worry about." His hands skimmed her body. "Beautiful," he said again, almost to himself.

"Why are you still clothed?"

"So curious, always the questions. I'm still clothed because I was otherwise occupied with unclothing you, sweetness."

"I'm an equal opportunity nudist. You're going to have to lose some layers, mate." She'd shifted to kneel on the bed, facing him where he stood. Her hands were already unbuttoning his shirt. She pulled it off him and splayed her hands on his chest. Wow. Damn, you're getting exponentially less creative with your inner dialogue, Mya. When you're done shagging him silly, you should consider that. Expand your vocabulary. Introduce some fun words. Snausages. Papoose. Oh, holy fuck! Remus had leaned down to suck on the base of her neck as he reached around to unhook her bra. Okay, hot man now, personal critique later. Hermione slipped her fingers into his belt, unclasping it quickly and opening his pants. She slid them down his legs, leaving him clad only in boxers. Which makes us even since I now have only my panties on.

Remus pulled back, tracing one of her whip scars down her back and around her torso.

"Bellatrix's whip," she breathed. "Wrapped all the way around me." He bent to lick along its path. Hermione gasped and arched toward him. He continued with his slow exploration of her body.

"Remus," she whispered. He has scars too. Hermione touched a thin white line on his side.

"Other werewolves don't always play fair," he said huskily. Her wandering hands found scar tissue on his back. Most of his other scars were barely noticeable. Hermione looked up at him curiously.

"The original bite. Nearly killed me."

"Glad it didn't. Wouldn't be able to have my wicked way with you if it had." She hooked her fingers in his boxers and tugged, leaving him exposed. Hermione kissed down his chest, tasting his stomach, darting her tongue in his navel. Remus groaned and gripped her shoulders convulsively.

With a quick glance upward, she took the tip of him in her mouth and sucked gently. His answering moan encouraged her and she took him in as far as she could and began to suck on him, using her tongue to tease him. Her hands continued to wander, squeezing his ass, caressing his testicles. His breathing quickened as she pressed on his most sensitive areas and he came, gasping her name. She swallowed his come, waiting patiently till he was finished. How did that get me so turned on? Hermione felt almost as though she'd come as well, but any questions were swept away as he pulled her into a fiery kiss.

He slid two fingers into her and began to stroke her, slowly. Hermione whimpered, pressing her body against him. When, exactly, did my undies come off? Hell if I care. Remus dipped his head to suck on her breasts, rolling the nipples in his mouth before pulling back and blowing gently on them. He found himself enjoying the sounds of pleasure she made and he let his mouth travel her body, finding more spots that made her squeak with pleasure.

His mouth wandered ever lower and he gently pushed her back on the bed, kneeling in front of it. He kissed her inner thighs and licked his way to her centre. Hermione let out a ragged cry as his mouth came into contact with her heated flesh. His tongue began to trace patterns on her clit and his fingers continued to explore her recesses. He sucked hard on her clit and she arched her back off the bed.

"Remus," she cried out as she came, the orgasm rushing over her. Remus felt sparks run through him as he lifted his head and began kissing his way up her body.

He kissed her passionately, capturing her wrists above her head and positioning himself above her, trying to give her time to prepare, skimming his free hand down her body.

Hermione froze. No. Not now. This is not happening. You are finally getting action from the man you fancy and you're going mental. She desperately tried to talk herself down but her entire body clenched, remembering her wrists bound above her head and Dayrin Lestrange pressing her into the wall as he skimmed his hand down her side. He is not Dayrin Lestrange, he's Remus Lupin and he's wonderful. The scars on her back began to ache and she saw the look in Dayrin's eyes as he thrust into her, slamming her against the stone wall.

Remus had gone still above her and was looking down at her with concern. Hermione's eyes were squeezed shut and she'd begun trembling. It clicked for him and he released her hands instantly and rolled off to the side, pulling her into his arms.

"Shh, Hermione, it's okay. We don't have to do this if you're not ready. It's okay sweetheart. I'm not going to hurt you, I'd never hurt you." He tightened his arms around her protectively.

"I'm sorry, Remus," she whispered into his chest. So much for not backing out at the last second.His throat caught at her words.

"Never apologize," he said fiercely. "I shouldn't have let it go this far, sweetness, I should have known. It's been less than a year since he hurt you, I should have realized it was too soon."

"Not your fault," she mumbled. "I was more or less throwing myself at you. I just…I…"

"I know, sweetness." His hands stroked her back soothingly and he dropped light kisses on the top of her head. "Don't be sorry. We enjoyed ourselves and we hit our limit." He pulled the covers over them.

"Thank you," she murmured. "Are you going to leave me tonight?" What the hell possessed you to ask that? Are you a cheap romance novel heroine?

"No, sweetness, I'm not going to leave you. I'm going to sleep right here with your beautiful body in my arms and I'm going to wake up that way too. There is nowhere in the universe I'd rather be." Maybe you are a cheap romance novel heroine. Not a bad place to be though.

Still sated from her earlier orgasm and exhausted from the panicked fear of the flashback, Hermione began to drift. "You're amazing," she sighed. "I got pretty lucky to snag someone like you." I love you. But Callah and Severus were right: they said I needed to experience life on my own…this proves it. I've got to move past this little roadblock if we're ever to have the relationship I want us to have. And we will have it. Just not yet. With that thought, she fell asleep.

"Sleep, sweetness," he rumbled mildly, fingering her curly hair. Their naked bodies pressed together and though the desire was there, it was overpowered by a need to take care of her, to protect her. He pulled her closer and breathed in the citrus smell of her hair, mixing with the sage of the bubble bath and the lavender of her lotion. All brought together by the particular scent of her, a scent most would not notice but that his heightened senses could identify in a crowded room.

This was best, he decided. If they'd kept going he would not have been able to let her go come morning. And she had to go, that much was sure. She was not truly recovered from what had happened to her. She deserved time to discover herself. Not that it would stop him from writing with excessive frequency. He was ready to let her go because he loved her but he clung to her for the same reason. He let himself sleep, content with the woman in his arms and the knowledge that one day (hopefully one day soon) he would see her again. And when he did he had every intention of never letting her go.