Hermione started out into the lake, it had frozen over due to the biting December cold. She rubbed her hands together, trying to create enough friction to warm her cold hands. Her heavy jacket and scarf were pulled closely to her body, her cheeks and nose tinged pink. She traced circles in the fresh snow, looking up into the sky, watching the owls flying to and from Hogwarts, carrying cards and heavy Christmas packages.
She loved Christmas, it left her feeling loved and appreciated. She always got into a festive mood hearing Christmas songs, seeing Hogwarts all decorated, and thinking about the Christmas holidays that allowed her to spend time with family and friends.
She recalled last year when they had to spend Christmas at Grimmauld Place because of the incident with Mr. Weasley and the snake. Stuffing her hands deeper into her sleeves, Hermione idly wondered how Remus spent his Christmas. Who did he spend it with? He must have spent it with Sirius and the other Order members. Who would he spend it with now? Tonks was on a mission for the Order, trying to find information about Death Eaters, using her skills as a metamorphagus to blend in with them. It was very dangerous; if she were caught, she would be killed instantly. She had been persistent, though, and with Moody's training, Dumbledore had let her. Hermione had a feeling that this mission had originally been for Remus. She shivered slightly as a blast of cold air struck her face, chilling her ears and nose. It was selfish or her, but she was very happy that he had not gone.
Hermione remembered the urgent meeting called after Snape returned with information about Voldemort's plans to involve werewolves, along with dementors and giants in the war. She knew Remus and many others would never join willingly, but she also knew that Voldemort had his ways, and if he really wanted it, he would somehow make the werewolves his allies.
Dumbledore had suggested that Remus stay at Hogwarts by joining the staff again, this way he would be protected, and there was simply no way he could go on the mission. Hermione sat in the cold, shivering miserably. What if he had ended up going on the mission? She did not want to think about it.
She smiled warmly at some first years having a snowball fight in the far distance. Their laughter carried to her and she leaned her head back, remembering the times when she, Harry, Ron had snowball fights in the past. Her thoughts shifted rapidly, not being able to concentrate on those carefree memories. With the weight of the war and Harry, she felt overwhelmed. Suddenly Hermione felt old, weary and tired. How were they ever going to get through this? If they did, it seemed like such a long, impossible journey. Hermione did not feel like continuing anymore, and for one fleeting moment she wondered about how it would be to have never known any of this and have lived as a muggle. She smiled sadly at that thought. Without this world, she would have been nothing like she was now.
At least I would not have carried this burden…
Sighing, Hermione kicked the snow, watching it falling on the ice and melting slowly on the crystal lake. Hermione realized that many people shared her burden. She had no reason to complain when mostly everyone felt as she did. Being a muggle would just mean she would die without knowing why she died or what exactly was happening to the world. She would have lived life happily, without a thought or worry about her best friend dying or Voldemort rising, or her teacher being captured and tortured. He was her teacher.
She looked into the blurry trees as the sky darkened to a dark purple hue, and the sun's last rays mixed with the night's blanket of stars and the moon.
The world held too much prejudice. He might be older, he might be a werewolf, and he might be poor, but in the end, did any of it really matter? He was doing so much for so many people, people who hated and feared him, and did not realize or acknowledge his favors. He was helping to keep Voldemort at bay, risking his own life for the same people who spit on him and refused him job that he needed just to get by. She closed her eyes, letting the cold breeze brush her eyelashes. A clear image of Remus filled her mind. He was her golden statue, he was her holy bible, and he was the virtues and the sins. He was her god.
He stepped quietly into the library, knowing she would be there. It was dark, too dark for any reading. It always was. He counted to the eleventh bookcase, turning at the corner and taking his place in the protection of the shadows. He watched her; she was on the windowsill as always.
She was not exactly asleep, but he could see her head tilting into her arms, her eyelids drooping down, and then springing back up, trying to stay awake. He sighed softly, laying his head in his arms, simply watching her. The beams illuminated the side of her face and the rise of her cheekbone bathed in pure moonlight. Her eyes were warm and drowsy, her curls spilling around her, her lips full and soft. His heartbeat raced faster, his hands were tempted to reach forward, get closer, and call out her name. He waited for her to start singing; he knew she would. He was not sure if she even knew she sang in her sleep, much like sleepwalkers would journey out where their feet took them.
Her head finally dropped down, and he watched and waited. Hours went by until it was late into the night, though not yet morning. The tune began slipping from her throat, her head rising, her eyes still closed. The sound vibrated throughout the space, the walls and ceiling humming in tune with her. It was low and uncertain at first, soft and almost a whisper running through the air.
Strange melodies were spilling out of her mouth, blending with the vibrations that filled the room. The pace began picking up, and it was causing every molecule in his body to vibrate along with the beat. Every sub-atomic particle became energy again, instead of one solid object, humming and slapping as if playing the drums. Remus could feel the pressure pushing against his body as she sang louder and faster, her ethereal voice calling out to the beast within him. His hair standing on edge, and he relished in the shivers it sent coursing through his blood. The strong beat of his heart thudded in rhythm to her song. He felt like losing control. Time seemed to stand still as she held the last quivering note, her voice ringing with passion, her mysterious tune feeding the hunger in his soul. The second passed and it all died down, leaving his aching body yearning for more.
He wiped the sweat off his brow, getting up on his shaky legs, his trembling hands reaching out to steady himself. Panting he rested his forehead against the wood shelf. The wood was warm. It seemed as if every object in the room had danced to and joined Hermione's desperate cries. The atoms were still stringing themselves together, forcing the material to connect again. He turned his head slightly to look at her. She was asleep again. It was as if this mysterious ritual had never even occurred.
Sometimes he felt that she was calling out to him. He blamed her; he resented her for being so cruel. It was almost as if she was purposely calling out to the monster residing within him, the one he had so carefully locked away deep within his body. She was trying to unlock its rattling cage, knowing there was a monster within; she taunted it with a key of silver. Sometimes he could hear it preparing for battle, hear it beating on his chest, hear it growl and bite before retreating into its prison. It was giving him a warning and Remus knew it. The beast was like a volcano promising to erupt and destroy. Remus clenched his jaw, forcing the beast inside as he watched Hermione's breasts rise and fall with her rhythmic breathing.
His eyes softened as he ran his gaze along the bridge of her nose, the innocent pout of her lips. She was asleep, she would never know. Slowly, and carefully, his body contorted with concentration and restraint, he allowed the beast to run its trembling fingers along the curve of her breast. His veins flooded with desire, the blood his heart was pumping throughout his body was the venom of temptation. Her eyes flickered as she moaned softly in her deep slumber. Snatching his hands away from her sleeping form, he tried to still the racing of his heart. He chained the monster tightly; making sure the cage locked before gazing at her one last time. Then he retreated away from her untainted world.
Hermione awoke again in the early hours of the morning, stretching. She breathed in the lingering aroma of sandalwood, a soft knowing smile immediately touching her lips. She shook her hair out, breathing in deeply, the first few rays of sun touching and warming her body. Closing her eyes and leaning her head back, she lazily traced her finger down the curve of her breasts. Her body felt revived, the world around her seemed to be bursting with new delicious flavors. The moment seemed timeless. The rays of sun continued to warm her body, also flooding the room with heat and light. It was filling her heart with desire and lust, with hopes and promises.
Hermione grabbed onto her flying scarf for the fifth time, grumbling at it as it tried to unwind it self from around her neck. Laughing, Ron caught it and tugged on it, running ahead if her, scarf still in hand, forcing her to run along with him.
"Ron! Ron, stop it!" Hermione yelled, chasing him along the edge of the Shrieking Shack.
Harry and Ginny, already inside the shack, turned around to look at the two of them running in the snow, both after a scarf. Laughing they turned back around to resume whatever they had been talking about before Hermione and Ron had rudely interrupted.
"Hermione, what boy gave you this scarf?" Ron yelled over their laughter. Their footprints were scrambled because of their ridiculous attempt to chase each other at the same time. Eventually Ron tugged her scarf a little too hard, making Hermione stumble against him, bringing them both down into the piles of snow. Breathless with laughter, her red cheeks and nose warm, Hermione immediately frowned at what Ron had questioned. Hermione shifted off Ron and laid down beside him, both of them staring up into the vast, blue skies.
"What do you mean 'Who gave this to me'?" Hermione finally answered.
Ron turned his head to the right to look at his friend. "I meant who gave that scarf to you? I've never seen it before, that's all," Ron shrugged, looking back up at the sky.
Hermione shifted to face him, her weight supported by the elbow. Brushing the snow off her face, she grinned at Ron's uneasiness with dealing with such topics.
"My parents gave me this scarf for my birthday, I just never got to use it until now," she replied, her grin growing wider as Ron quickly turned to look at her again, his face scrunched up in apology, hoping she wouldn't blow up at him again for bringing up the subject. Laughing, Hermione sprang up, shaking her hair out and replacing the scarf around her neck. Nothing would make her angry or sad today, she had decided so earlier that morning. She deserved this, and so did her friends. She reached out a hand to Ron, who was still in the snow.
"I like this side of you, Hermione! You should be more like this," Ron nodded decidedly.
A mischievous smile playing on her face, Hermione stole Ron's gloves away as he extended his hand to reach her. Loud laughter and cursing followed them as Hermione ran away from him at top speed toward Harry and Ginny, Ron struggling to get up out of the snow to retrieve his stolen glove.
Sliding her finger past the novels stacked up on the shelves, Hermione paid close attention, trying to find one particular title. She could hear Harry, Ron's and Ginny's impatient groaning about spending too much time in the book store, along with exited comments about something new in the Quidditch store around the corner. Hermione sighed as she finished another shelf with no luck. Hopes of finding this muggle novel began seeming less likely. She gestured for the three to go ahead without her, knowing they'd eventually drag her out by physical means if they didn't get to that Quidditch store soon.
Ginny was already out the door, with Harry and Ron struggling to fit through the small doorframe at the same time.
"We'll see you at Three Broomsticks in an hour, Hermione!" Harry called out before he left the bookstore to join the two Weasleys.
Hermione resumed her search on another bookshelf. There were not a whole lot of shelves dedicated to muggle literature. Sighing, Hermione put her full attention into finding the novel, intent on buying it.
After almost half an hour of going through the shelves she found it. One lone copy was sitting in the corner, nestled between Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet and the wooden shelf. Grinning at her success, she picked up the copy and took it to the counter. While handing the book to the bored woman behind the counter, a stack of bookmarks caught her eye. One of the bookmarks showed a forest, and in the sky above it sat a golden sun in the middle of a bright blue canvas sky. As you watched, the ripe golden sun began setting into the dusky red horizon and a gibbous moon and twinkling stars appeared in the dark night sky. Hermione stared at the transformation, feeling enchanted by it. Picking up the black metal bookmark, she placed it atop the counter, paying for it as well.
Hermione found herself early, or maybe the other three were late. She sighed and got her book out; she would not be surprised if they were more than a couple of minutes late. Ordering a butterbeer for herself and getting comfortable in the corner seat by the large window, she began reading the novel.
She was almost a quarter through the three hundred paged novel before Harry, Ron and Ginny arrived, bustling in, chattering about their new possessions and purchased Christmas presents. Apologizing, they all seated themselves around her, ordering more butterbeers. She put her book away, wanting to enjoy the rest of Christmas Eve with her friends.
Remus pushed his hands deep into his black trench coat's pockets, trying to shrug the lightly falling snow off his hair. Hogsmeade looked extremely cozy with Christmas trees, lights and mistletoe hung in every shop. The thick snow was covering the narrow cobbled brick streets. It brought back many Hogwarts memories of Sirius, James, Peter, and Lily. She had always been happiest during Christmas. She had loved seeing all the decorations and the warmth the cozy bookshops gave, or having hot butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. In his mind, he could clearly see an image of a grinning Lily, snow in her vibrant red hair, her bright green eyes glowing with joy, and a brightly striped scarf that clashed horribly with her hair wrapped around her neck, given to her by James as a gift.
Shaking his head, he let his hair fall into his eyes, blurring the bright lights that were suddenly glaring at him, which had moments ago been so inviting. He could make out the Three Broomsticks sign on his right, and he put his palm on the door, looking into the windows, wanting to escape from the glaring lights in the dimly lit pub. What he saw through the windows made him stop.
He stood in the street, his hand still outstretched towards the door, looking at Hermione's joyous face as she teased Harry and a brightly blushing Ginny about something, sipping her butterbeer at intervals. She had her coat folded neatly on the back of her chair, revealing her bright red sweater and striped scarf wound loosely around her shoulders. Her grinning face lit her bright eyes as she leaned back in her chair, content, as Ron and Harry conversed animatedly, their hands waving about in the air. Ginny smiled at Harry softly while striking up a light conversation with Hermione. The two young women were gesturing at the two ridiculous men beside them lovingly, laughing behind their hands.
Remus stood outside their world, separated by the glass, and time. It began snowing heavily, thick white snow floating merrily to the ground in Christmas spirit. He didn't belong there, he had already had his chance, and he had missed it fifteen years ago. He was fifteen years too late, and he didn't want to make Hermione miss her chance and regret it, as he did, when the chance died.
"Excuse me, Mister," a voice came from behind him. Remus quickly withdrew his hand from the door, murmuring an apology. Abruptly he turned back, his tall form retreating towards the castle.
Remus sighed deeply, seating himself in front of the fire, gulping down his glass of firewhiskey. The bottle had been opened just tonight, in celebration, and it was already almost empty.
"This-this is-s all for you," Remus muttered, raising his glass shakily in toast to some invisible spirit seated in the seemingly empty and worn armchair across from him. He grinned lopsidedly, his words slurring as he muttered nonsense words to the empty room long late into the night before finally, the glass slipping from his grip, he fell asleep in his chair, alone in the early Christmas morning.
