A/N: Welcome! A few initial notes on this story-

1. This story keeps some aspects of DH but changes others, mainly in relation to Remus Lupin. More will be revealed, but in essence, him and Tonks do not get married/have a kid, and they both survived the Battle of Hogwarts (along with Fred Weasley because I like joy).

2. The rating is M for now. There will be eventual smut, so we'll see if that changes down the line.

3. Spoiler alert: there is a **sloooow burn** teacher-student relationship. This occurs when the student is of age. Just thought I'd add that disclaimer.

She still woke up in a cold sweat some nights.

It had been weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts - since Harry had died and come back to life, since Voldemort had been defeated and not had the same resurrective luxury, since they'd all collapsed back at the Burrow to sleep for what felt like days. In fact, she realized that once they'd made it back safely she hadn't even left the other bed in Ginny's room for at least 36 hours, save a couple trips to the loo. The previous 24 hours had been absolutely mental, starting with the Gringotts break-in and simply not ending until the war was over. They were all bone-tired. They had a right to be. But, unfortunately, this particular heavy, drowning sleep was the last Hermione had enjoyed before the nightmares began.

In the blackness of slumber she would see bodies splayed out around her. Some were bloody. Some had simply crumpled where they'd stood, victims of the Killing Curse. She could feel the dread of knowing Harry was gone, the sheer certainty that it was all over - Voldemort had triumphed. There would be no escape.

In her dreams, victory was still far out of reach.

It was another of these nightmares that had jolted her awake this night. She couldn't tell if it was incredibly late or incredibly early. Her throat was dry, her nightgown pasted with sweat against her heaving chest. She reached up two fingers to one cheek and felt wetness there - she had been crying in her sleep. Hermione glanced over to the other bed, wondering if Ginny was struggling too as she had been, but if Gin was she didn't show it. The pretty redhead laid on her side with one hand tucked under her head and a small smile on her face. Perhaps that was the sleep of someone whose love had risen Christlike from the grave. Hermione wished she could rest with that same sort of assurance. And why couldn't she? Harry was her best friend, after all. Why was she still experiencing these terrors, even though they'd won?

As she crept downstairs on the creaky stairwell, she pondered this. It almost made her feel guilty, like she didn't appreciate enough Harry's sacrifice and the magic and love that had somehow brought him back. She certainly hadn't told anyone yet about the nightmares - not Harry, not Ron, not Ginny. She couldn't explain it, but she felt ashamed. What right did she have of being traumatized when they'd won?

Hermione filled a glass of water in the kitchen and quietly made her way outside. She hadn't been thinking of exactly what she wanted to do once she'd started awake, but it was inevitable where she'd end up. At the far edge of the orchard behind the Weasleys' home there was a small ledge overlooking more of the farmland in Ottery St Catchpole, including what was perhaps a very small lake or a very large pond. She had discovered the ledge during her last stay at the Burrow, and it had become her favorite place to retreat to when the hustle and bustle of the busy home became too much for her - after all, she was the only child of Muggles; she didn't grow up used to all the magical madness all the time. She still wasn't quite used to it. The ledge was her place, her solitude. And so she padded her way barefoot through the soft grass, a bright half-moon lighting her way. Though she was alone, there was no fear as there was in the dreams.

Until, of course, she saw a shape sitting on the ledge. Her ledge.

Hermione squinted in the moonlight, stopping dead in her tracks before proceeding any further. The familiar flipping, nauseous feeling hit her stomach; the fear she'd lived with as familiarly as an old pet during their camping in the Forest of Dean. Someone was here that shouldn't be here, and that someone might be intending to harm them.

She stood motionless for several minutes, staring at the shadowy silhouette, until a small cloud carried over to her on the evening breeze. She breathed. It wasn't a cloud - it was smoke. Cigarette smoke, actually. It wasn't something she often smelled outside of the Muggle world, and it quirked her nose a moment before she fully placed it. She swallowed. Who would have a leisurely smoke before attacking a house full of people? This was, of course, where her mind drifted to before anything else; despite their victory, there were still Death Eaters out there. Maybe one had come to try and finish the job.

She shifted on her feet and inwardly groaned when a small twig snapped beneath her bare toes. Maybe they didn't hear? But no, the shape definitely did. She could see it sit up straight, and maybe even turn to look at her. It was her that would've been fully lit by the half-moon now, and so the shape must've been getting a good look at her while itself remaining in shadow. She breathed hard and slid her hand to her waist, where her wand lay in her nightgown pocket.

She never went anywhere without her wand. Not even for a walk outside.

"Hermione?" inquired a low, gravelly voice. She pulled back. Who is this? It wasn't Harry or Ron, and the voice was older than any of the Weasley boys. She fought to identify it. "It's...it's me. Remus."

Oh.

She approached the shape, one hand in her pocket and the other still grasping her water glass. As she neared, the clouds shifted, and she saw that it was indeed her old professor, Remus Lupin, sitting on the ledge - her ledge - with a cigarette in one hand. He wore dark trousers, a buttoned-up shirt, and a vest pulled loosely over it. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up to his elbows, showing his forearms, which were criss-crossed with old scars and newer wounds under soft, light hair. She sighed, relieved. "I thought you were a Death Eater."

She could barely see Lupin raise an eyebrow in the half-dark. "Did you now?"

"Old habits die hard." At this, he chuckled quietly.

"I thought you were a ghost, at first," Lupin replied.

Hermione was taken aback. "A...what?"

"You can't blame me, standing in the moonlight in a white dress, alone in an orchard. It's rather spectral of you."

She couldn't help herself; she cracked a smile. "It's a nightgown. It being night and all." She could sense him pulling back slightly, but she stood her ground. It wasn't like the the thing was translucent or literally at all sexy. She wore it to breakfast, for Merlin's sake. So, instead of letting him retreat, she walked toward him, a finger still brushing the hilt of her wand. "What were your group of friends called in your school days?"

Lupin shook his head, smiling. "You are always so careful, Hermione. Which really is for the best. The Marauders, it was; and it was really just us that called ourselves that."

She was satisfied by this correct answer and pulled her hand away from her wand at last, taking a sip of cool water. Once she had reached him, she gestured to the patch of grass beside him. "May I sit?"

He tilted his head, somewhat surprised, but swept a hand in the air next to him, beckoning her to join. She rested her water glass on a large flat rock about a foot away and sat cross-legged on the ledge. She could see the reflection of the chunk of bright moon rippling in the small lake below. They sat for a couple minutes like this, quietly looking down over the land below, when Lupin seemed to suddenly remember he was holding the smoldering cigarette. He flushed and tossed it over the side of the hill. "Talk about 'old habits'."

"Those are awful for you," Hermione responded automatically, then chewed a lip at her impertinence with the older man.

"Don't I know it." Lupin scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck and sighed. She looked over at him and was momentarily taken aback, as always, by how young this man actually was in the grand scheme of things. He was only in his late thirties now; Harry's parents had been killed when they were all only 21, and Sirius had been carted off to Azkaban shortly after. Lupin had lived most of his adult life alone, without friends, as they were either dead, thought to be dead, or assumed to be the killer. It must've been a dark time, and that - along with his long nights in the clutches of the wolf - had aged him more than he should've been. He had crinkles at the corners of his eyes and his sandy brown hair was shot through with grey, especially at the temples and in his close-cropped beard. A large scar carved his tired but handsome face into two halves. One half remained in shadow, and it reminded her of the dark side of the moon tonight.

Several more minutes passed between them, but they weren't uncomfortable - rather, it was unexpectedly nice to spend the quietude with similarly introspective company. She hadn't brought Harry or Ron out here, had wanted to keep the space to herself...so she was surprised to find that once she realized it was Lupin on the ledge, it no longer felt like an invasion.

And, so, she was comfortable enough to speak. "Have you been having trouble sleeping? Since the Battle?"

Lupin leaned back on his hands, still gazing out over the rolling hills below. "Sleeping? No. I've been exhausted, to be honest. But that's not to say there haven't been..." He swallowed. "The sleep itself isn't exactly pleasant."

"I was worried I was the only one," confessed Hermione, relieved. He glanced over at her, thoughtfully.

"Nightmares?" he enquired. She nodded, pulling her knees close to her chest. "No, you're not the only one. I doubt both of us are alone in this, either."

"We won..."

"We won painfully. We won with loss." Her mind drifted to the lifeless forms at her feet on the floor of Hogwarts. Her parents staring at her blankly after she'd wiped their memories. Harry, laying limply across Hagrid's shaking arms. "There's nothing shameful about having to process that."

"It feels like there is."

Lupin laid a gentle hand on her arm. Her skin immediately pricked up into goosebumps at the touch; his fingers strong and warm and slightly rough. Hermione swallowed hard, remembering her schoolgirl crush on the attractive yet scarred man when he taught her in her third year. He was still so, so handsome...and, sadly, now even more scarred.

She was, too.

"You have a wonderful support system, Hermione. You have your friends, who have gone through much the same as you. You may feel that Harry has dealt with too much to bring this to him, but I think you'll find that you'll be able to give each other great comfort in your struggles with what has and hasn't happened. And...well...I hope you know I'm always here too, if you need to talk. I could hardly judge." Lupin pulled his hand away, and Hermione felt her heart jolt forward at the absence of his touch. What IS this? she thought to herself, bewildered. She felt such a connection to the man despite never spending more than a short while in his presence. But from him, she got the impression that he understood, and not only that, but he truly cared.

"Thank you," she replied, simply. He smiled, and nodded.

They both returned to looking at the lake below, and sat quietly in each others' company until the first shafts of sunlight broke across the dawn.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to share any thoughts. Chapter title comes from the song "In Our Bedroom After the War", by Stars. I think most if not all chapters going forward will utilize song titles/lyrics in their naming.