13.

But it was actually unintentional...

He really...most certainly had not meant to pry.

It was a dismal and rainy day, and Remus Lupin was secluded at Grimmauld Place...sulking. He had survived the effects of the "wolfsbane potion" itself...(after three days in the Hogwarts infirmary, under the care of a bewildered Madame Pomfrey, and a sour Severus Snape.) But even the knowledge that he had not transformed into a werewolf could not ease the pain of waking up to discover he was the color of an anaemic raspberry. Well, only his hair...

All of his hair.

None of it had survived un-tinted.

He had checked.

Even now, a week later...not all of it had lost it's magenta hue. Thank the gods he hadn't transformed,... that would most probably have been the worst humiliation of his life. Next to having to thank Professor Snape for the new potion. He didn't exactly believe he should offer thanks to some one who had turned him pink, and put him in a three day sleep...after a fit of painful laughter...but Pro. Dumbledore had insisted that there was more to the event, and that Remus would learn the entire truth after the potion was perfected. As for now, he just had to be civil to Snape...and to not, shall we say, turn tail and run, whenever he met someone who might know about his little adventure.

That is how he had come upon Hermione. He had been wandering aimlessly through the house, searching for something to occupy his hands and his time, but at the same time feeling too lazy to really do anything. He decided on a book, and wandered into the study.

There was Hermione.

There she was...surrounded by parchments and scrolls, her quill fallen from her hand, and her head resting on the desk. She was deeply asleep, and he wondered how long she had been in that position. The desk was very tall, and she was petite, so she had tucked one foot under her...under herself, and still she was only just at the right height to write. She looked very tiny..rather like a doll sitting at a pretend desk.

He tried to decide whether or not he should quietly walk away, or if he should try to wake her before she was permanently bent into that shape. He could just reach out, so easily...and touch her shoulder. He imagined his hand, long and pale, laying on her shoulder. She would be warm, he would be able to feel it even through the robes. He could feel it from where he was standing. His heightened awareness was buzzing as he allowed himself to feel her heat, and take in the fragrance of roses, and lavender...and chocolate.

Unconsciously he stepped forward...closer to her, taking a deep breath as her perfume clouded his senses. Walking around behind her chair, he reached over to take the quill from where she held it limply in her hand. When he did, he accidentally glanced down at what she was writing, just assuming it would be a report for the ministry.

It was his own name, written in bold letters that made him look twice. Not on a scroll, or in a letter...it was written on a creamy vellum, that could only be a...diary. He had not meant to pry, but when someone reads their own name, and when that name is surrounded by a confession of love...there is no resisting the quick scn with the eyes to take in as much as possible.

There it was, in Hermione's purple ink, on her diary page, and in her distinct tiny upright script. Her confession. She loved him!

Hermione Granger loved him? Yes..she did. It said so, right there. And the poetic verses around it did not bespeak of some juvenile fascination. They were heartfelt and hopeless in their agony.

Suddenly, the knowledge shot through him, sharp and electrifying, heating him from head to toe, and sending his heart on a mad rampage. He wanted to wake Hermione up and kiss her. Kiss her until she swooned.

Kiss her? Why?

Because he when he read her words, the reality of it was illuminated in his mind, and he confessed, in his mind that he loved her as well. Or at least he was certain that he could grow to love her...quite easily.

His hand was halfway to her shoulder before his logic came back to life, and he slapped himself mentally. If he woke her, then he would have to confess to reading the scrap of diary entry. No...he could not do that. It was an accident, but she might ever forgive him.

He walked slowly out of the study, backwards, watching her. He had to leave before he either woke her up, or became tempted by his outrageous curiosity, and read the rest of her diary.

He walked out to the kitchen, then outside to the garden, hoping the fresh air would dissipate the smell of lavender. He never noticed whether or not it did or did not, because he was completely preoccupied by the thought that he was loved. But he couldn't just blindly accept that, as good as it felt, because he wanted to hear it from her lips. Her full, pink lips. He wanted to hear it, and he wanted to look in her eyes when she said it.

The he was going to kiss her.

No...then he would remind her of all of the reasons why she should not love him.

Then he would kiss her. The scenario played out in his mind.

" Remus?" her voice behind him startled him, and he spun to face her . " Are you all right?"

" Yes...of course.." he tried to say, without stammering. Suddenly all of his bravery, and determination to kiss the truth out of her vanished. " Why do you ask?"

" You've been standing there staring at that tree for almost a half an hour. I thought you were stuck in one of Georges boglings."

" No...I was just...thinking."

" Anything interesting?" at least her voice didn't sound angry anymore.

" We, " he smiled." It is bloody fascinating to me."

" Anything that can be interrupted? Mrs. Weasly has invited us over to the burrow for dinner."

" It seems as though that has been happening an awful of lot, of late."

" Oh, I think she and Arthur are lonely now that all of the kids have moved out. They must miss having a whole house full. "

" They must. Anyone else going?"

" Well, Snape won't be there if that is what you are worried about. " she winked and he blushed. Damn. She knew about the pink. " Just Ginny, and maybe the Twins."

" What about Ron and Harry?"

" They had best not show up!" she said hotly.

" Why is that?"

" They infiltrated my flat and tampered with my food. They were trying to get me drunk...and accidentally got my mum instead."

He chuckled but caught himself at her look.

" It isn't funny. She was very sick, and couldn't get out of bed for three days.She is furious at me, she thinks I did it as a prank, my dad is befuddled, and Harry and Ron are playing dumb about the entire ordeal."

" How can you be certain they did it?"

" Oh, they warned me they were going to try something to that effect. "

A moment of silence ensued, with Hermione fuming at her friends, and Remus trying not to laugh at the thought of her mother lolling about in a drunken stupor.

He wondered if this were the right moment to attempt broach the subject of their feelings for each other.

" Hermione..." he began...

" Yes?"

" I ...oh, never mind. How about that dinner at the Burrow? " he grinned

" Oh, anytime you are ready..." she smiled back.

" Let's apparate into Molly's kitchen and giver her a fright."

" That is wicked. Let's go."

Coward, his mind taunted himself.

Yes but it was still daylight. You could never actually confess love before seven o'clock. There was still plenty of time. Yes, and if it didn't work tonight, there was always tomorrow. Or the next day.

But you are still a coward...