Under Rug Swept
2.
Meals are hardest at Order headquarters.
I can't help watching you and the way you sip at your drink, or the way your little hands tear up pieces of bread to dunk into your soup. I spend the entire meal stealing glances at you between mouthfuls, hoping you'll ask me to pass the potatoes. Afterwards you go into the parlour to sit by the fire with your friends, each carrying a big mug of hot chocolate.
We used to do that together, you and I.
You leave me no room now. We can still be friends, you told me, but now you see the hurt and longing in my eyes and you avoid me. We'll still do things – we'll work together, you told me, but I saw you, the night you spoke to Albus on the quiet. I can only assume you begged him not to assign us to work together.
I suppose you think I cannot maintain a strictly professional relationship with you. I do like to think that, at Hogwarts, we had a time for work and a time for play. I would not treat you as anything more than my student and my assistant while in class. It would not be until all the students had left, the door closed behind them, that I would push you against my desk and kiss you and inch my fingers under your shirt.
Ginny found us like that, one day. I still maintain that she left her Defence book behind on purpose.
"Excuse me, Professor, is Hermi – oh. Er… so sorry. I'm interrupting something."
You tugged your blouse straight, cheeks red. "No, Ginny, it's fine. What's the matter? I have your book here, you forgot it."
"Yes," Ginny said, staring at me. I rubbed my forehead to hide my face, sure the whole of Gryffindor house would know of my relationship by dinnertime. Bedtime would see the entire school notified. A late night meeting over tea and biscuits with Albus would have to be allowed for.
"I just wanted to see if you were coming along to get ready for dinner." She went on. You sprang to life, jumping to get your bag, and scrambled to her side.
"I'm coming. See you tomorrow… Professor." You said, and I stuttered out what miserably didn't sound a thing like 'yes, goodnight'.
As you left I heard Ginny whisper, "Lupin? 'Mione, he's so old!"
"He's not old to me." You replied defiantly, and later that night you came to my rooms to assure me Ginny wouldn't tell a soul.
You kissed away my concerns that night, but now, I wonder when yours began.