Disclaimer: All the characters belong to J.K. Rowling, the plot is my own creation.
Chapter One: Heavy Things Won't Fly
Remus' gaze was not caught on the wavy currents of grey-blue clouds hanging low in the sunless sky above, although soothing the sight was to war-tired eyes. He imagined it was the perfect epitome of how they felt then, standing in the very belly of gloom with a dreary, sopping blanket thrown over their heads, blocking out the brilliant rays of a burning sun somewhere beyond. He gripped the damp wood of the balustrade in an impatient, anxious manner. It was beginning to get cold. Faint droplets of chilling rain began to land on his hare hands and face, adding onto the coupling list of things creeping under what he once thought was his fairly thick skin.
Remus did not consider himself an impatient man. Things did not just "get to" him as they did with other people. He never had his feelings take control, or allow them to. Perhaps every man had his breaking point, though. Perhaps his would be everything adding up to this single moment.
She had contacted him, merely wanting the company of a familiar face. There were so few of those left, he knew. The war had taken away most of those she knew and loved. It had been the same for him all those years ago at the end of the first war. Remus chose to avoid familiar faces. They brought back more familiar faces, ones intangible and far away. He'd had enough of being tormented by memories and familiar faces, but he couldn't turn her down when she asked if they could meet up. There was a quiet desperation in her voice, saying she might break if he said no. Sure, he might've sealed his own doom by saying yes, but he could deal with himself breaking. He didn't think he could deal with hers.
The yes had led him here, to this unknown Muggle town on the brink of the ocean, to this large pier reaching out sixty or seventy feet into the freezing winter waters of the Atlantic Ocean. They had been standing here a long time, sparsely talking, too often drowning in the quietness they perpetuated themselves. It was normal enough, Remus thought, wanting a familiar presence nearby. She had no one close left since the Second War. He was the closest one still alive, and they had never really been good friends. The had been pupil, teacher. Nothing more.
Yet there was an itching awkwardness beneath the formality. Remus had sensed it. He didn't know what it was, which somewhat added to the frustration. It made him uneasy. He felt that anything he said could be the possible trigger of a breakdown or some other exuberant emotional reaction from her, and how would he manage with either one of those, if they came? Remus was not prone to emotional reactions, and eh was not exactly skilled with handling them. If there was ever a true stoic who existed in the world, it was him.
He allowed his eyes to look at her, regard her features meticulously. Her dark eyes, the deepest brown against the pale blue sky. The pink tinge on her cheeks against the smooth, ivory color of her skin. Even in the mild winter wind she wore her hair down. The thick, slightly frizzing locks of russet curls, hanging halfway between her shoulders and elbow, swayed with the wind. Being the man that he was, Remus could not deny her feminine appeal, which was another thing that added to his edginess. His thoughts were profanation; she was his student once. He had never allowed himself relationships of that nature with anyone as it was. Remus was a werewolf, after all, knowing far too well the inevitable sad end of them all. But so many years of never knowing deep intimacy eventually ate away at a man until he came to the point where there was no barrier holding him back anymore.
Remus gripped the balustrade a little bit tighter.
"Professor ..." Hermione said carefully, and he wondered then if there was perhaps anything within her power of articulating which would be the trigger of his own cessation of control. "...how do you do it?
He felt his muscles tense slightly, throat suddenly dry. Remus glanced away, but did not sound at all deterred when he spoke.
"How do I do what?"
He words were laced so finely with the perfect ease and indifference he was practically infamous for. Remus felt somewhat disgusted with himself, though. Did he not know when to stop lying?
"How," Hermione whispered almost inaudibly, her voice trembling, "do you handle the razor-sharp shards of a broken world?"
Poetry at a time like this. Well, it was a time that appeared to call for poetry, and he couldn't deny that it shook im immensely. The so-called "razor-sharp shards" struck him as she spoke those fateful words, cutting his unsuspecting and wary skin. Remus stilled his outer self to complete immobility, refusing to show the affliction her words had elicited within him. It had been like that for as long as he could remember; burying everything under the surface from the prying eyes of others. Why change now when it had become instinct to hide? He had accomplished hiding for son long, living in the background, out of people's worries and concerns. Worries and concerns tended to bring people together. Remus had always tried to do the exact opposite: push people away. You couldn't very well push people away if they were fretting over you constantly. It was simple enough logic.
He had to suppress a barking laugh, though. Remus didn't handle any of them, actually. He just ... hid them. He was good at hiding things. Too good, perhaps.
"Do people ever really handle anything?" he asked Hermione, turning toward her once more. She stood like a wavering tower against the blowing wind, the strong resolve she was once so well known for all but gone from her now weary bones. Remus thought that if the wind's strength picked up even just a little bit right then, she would've toppled to her ruin.
"Sometimes," she said, her gaze faltering from the sky, connecting with his own.
Remus studied her for a moment. Hermione was still a very young girl. She hadn't learned near as much as he expected she would have after all those years beside ... Harry. Remus swallowed uneasily. Even the was hard to think about. It was a year ago, but it still remained a fresh wound upon his flesh. He looked out to the ocean, the same indifferent expression on his face.
"People never handle thing, Hermione," Remus told her, speaking with an even voice that belittled the passionate emotion behind his words. "They just harbor them until their docks are full." He paused shortly, noting the soggy texture of the balustrade's wood beneath his fingers. "And some people have very large docks."
She was quiet momentarily. "Are you one of those people, Professor Lupin?"
His eyes drifted downward to the water below. There was something in the way she called him Professor…some sort of holy reverence lodged deeply within the title. Was she expecting to learn something from him now? Was she trying to strip him of his inhibitions, bowing at his feet with the sort of concern aimed at catching him off his guard, ridding him of his shield, exposing the deepest caverns inside of his hell to her? Was she that eager for knowledge that she would break him to acquire it?
Well, she was hanging at the edge of her own threads. Anything was possible, Remus reasoned. Even from Hermione Granger.
He looked up at her, matching the intensity of her stare with one of his own, and said the most personally honest thing yet since they had reunited after almost a year of separation: "Maybe."
Hermione glanced down, biting her bottom lip, and nodded delicately. Unsanctioned thoughts crept underneath the almost impenetrable doorway to his mind, but Remus shook them away as best as he could. Yet he couldn't help but feel as though another ship was pulling into his already dangerously overflowing harbor, searching desperately for an empty dock, finding none.
"I'm tired," Hermione suddenly said, wrapping her arms around her middle, bunching up her coat.
This statement felt like an enormous relief for Remus. He knew he had to get out of her company, or something he might regret would happen. He casually pushed himself off the balustrade, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his long jacket.
"I could walk you to—"
"No," Hermione said firmly, shaking her head. She lifted her eyes to his. A sudden fear pierced Remus deep within, freezing his nerves. He recognized that look on her face: the needy look of a lost soul, looking for comfort, protection, companionship of some sort. He had seen the look so often in the mirror, how could he not?
"I…" Hermione trailed off. "I'd rather not go home. There's no one else there. Could I…" she paused again, looking up at Remus pleadingly, desperately, "…could I stay with you?"
There were the five words destined to damn him to hell.
He had to say no, but how could he? He couldn't. It was…too cruel, too unfair on her part. Hermione didn't deserve that kind of treatment, that kind of neglect from someone she trusted and admired. One person had already suffered too long from such things before – wasn't that enough?
But he would be taking a risk with this. This was a young, impressionable woman, Remus reminded himself. That is, if his mind would stop calculating her under 'child'. The task was admittedly hard; the days in which he taught, Hermione kept coming back fresh and new, as if they had occurred only yesterday. How old was she then? Thirteen, was it? Yes, that was correct. She was only eighteen now. His brain didn't seem to find much of a difference there. One didn't change much in five years, he thought. Or at least he never did.
However, in rival with his logic, Remus' instincts kicked in. He felt a somewhat paternal protection regarding the young girl standing before him take over. She asked for nothing he couldn't offer. He owed her this at least: whatever comfort he could give. Hermione deserved that. He did, too, once. But fate didn't deal out his cards accordingly; chance ruled all things in this happenstance-like universe. Remus now had the chance to give someone something he never had. There were benefits in such an act. There always were.
A short-lived return to happiness, he deemed, could be one of them.
His mind finally decided the risk was worth that.
"Of course," he said. "I think I could use the company myself."
He watched as a refreshing flood of relief washed over Hermione. She exhaled deeply, glanced down, a reassured smile on her face. Hermione looked back up. "Thank you," she said.
"No problem," he answered, a soft smile on his lips.
Another lie, Remus thought bitterly.
- - - - -
The journey to his house didn't take too long. It was a small flat, not much on the eyes, quite plain and under-furnished. Warm brown seemed to be the dominant color. Remus noted this with a bit of fresh incredulity. Hermione would blend in effortlessly with her new surroundings. He shook his head, having chagrined himself, shrugged off his jacket, and hung it by the door.
"Make yourself at home," he said, trying to sound as welcoming as possible, not tired and wary. He watched as Hermione's gaze roved carefully over everything in sight, taking in the Muggle items as well as the magical ones. She eventually approached the sofa and sat down, not bothering to take off her coat.
"Would you like some coffee or tea?" Remus asked her. She looked pretty chilled. Pretty being the key word. Remus discreetly bit the inside of his lip, mentally reproaching himself for the intruding human thoughts his were having. They were not helping him.
Hermione glanced up, smiling softly. "No," she said, "I'm alright."
Remus only nodded.
She looked away, but his gaze remained on her. He noticed her nervousness, the way her fingers played with the strings of her coat, how she gently bit her bottom lip. Remus could almost smell the fear in her.
What was wrong?
But he broke his gaze and went into the kitchen to fix himself a cup of coffee. As he gathered a mug and the other supplies, wanting to do it the Muggle way, Remus wondered about the possible reasons for the way she was acting. Did she have a problem with her aunt? Hermione had been living with her father's – late father, he reminded himself – sister, as he had learned earlier. She didn't say anything about a fight or a disagreement, but it was a possibility. Was she afraid to go home? Wait…she said it was empty before they left the pier? What did that mean?
"Professor?"
Remus, startled by the interruption, turned to see Hermione standing in the doorway of the kitchen. The light from the living room outlined her darkened frame with a golden glow, and he realized for the first time that he hadn't even turned on the kitchen light. Remus briefly panicked, wondering what she was thinking, then made for the switch and flicked it on. The kitchen flooded with artificial light, and he glanced over at Hermione. She was looking up at the light fixture on the ceiling.
"Very Muggle," she mused softly. Her eyes drifted down to his.
Remus shrugged a bit awkwardly. "I like having both," he replied.
Hermione nodded, then continued to gaze about. He was surprised when she didn't ask anything about his leaving the light off. Truth be told, he often didn't bother when his eyesight was so exceptional anyway. In an odd way, he somewhat embraced the darkness, being so close to it, after all.
Remus quietly cleared his throat, walking back over to the coffee pot. He frowned, realizing he'd have wait awhile for it to be ready. Wanting to speed up the process, he took out his wand, pointed it at the pot, and muttered a spell under his breath. The coffee pot hissed twenty-five minutes before it was supposed to, and Remus went immediately to pouring himself a cup. He knew it would be terribly hot, but quickly drank some anyway, grimacing at the burn it caused his mouth.
Remus turned around, expecting to see Hermione still in the doorway, but instead found her right behind him. He almost dropped the cup in alarm.
Remus could not believe how on edge his nerves were. And this coffee would not help him, he mused grimly. "Hermione--"
"You," she said pointedly, pulling out her wand, "should--" aiming at the coffee cup in his hands, "--not--" murmuring a spell quietly beneath her breath, "--drink--" lowering her wand, "--hot coffee--" glancing up into his eyes, "--fresh off the burner."
He was about to say something when she reached out and took the cup from his hands. Hermione broke eye contact briefly to turn it around in her hold, then glanced back up as she raised it to her lips and sipped gingerly at its contents. Remus merely stared at her, raised his eyebrows, but inside he was reeling.
She was close. Too close. He smelled a hundred different things in the air between them: tension, vanilla, need, warmth, fear, coffee, desire…flowers. Yes, that was flowers. Was she deliberately doing this? Well, of course, she was deliberately doing this, but was she consciously aware of its effects? Remus wanted to think so, but the better half of his mind had to doubt it. Hermione would never…
Would she?
The cup left her mouth. Without lowering her eyes, she carefully licked her lips. It was done in an innocent enough fashion, but it ignited something not so innocent in Remus. He looked away uncomfortably, sidling his way out from between the counter and Hermione, desperate for breathing room. This was not going well for him. He needed to clear his head, not stand so close to her…
"Professor," Hermione said hurriedly, and he heard her footsteps behind him, "your coffee--"
He shook his head, continuing his way into the living room. "I'm fine. You can have it, Hermione."
Remus wasn't trying to be rude, but he really couldn't risk taking that cup from her. When her footsteps stopped suddenly, though, his curiosity had gotten the best of him. Remus turned around. He was surprised to see her standing in the middle of the kitchen, her gaze caught somewhere on the floor at her feet, a look of utter dejection on her face as her muscles contracted and shook.
"Hermione?" Remus asked worriedly, sensing the warning in the air. "Hermione, are you alright?"
His instincts kicked in, and before he knew it he was running towards her. The cup shattered against the tiles; the muscles in her legs gave out. Remus caught Hermione before she sank entirely to the floor. She lay limp in his hold, her body convulsing with sobs. She fell into him, burying her face against his shirt, crying in almost utter silence. Remus wrapped his arms around her securely, stroked a gentle hand through her hair. Hermione sobbed even harder.
The scent of her hair overwhelmed his sensitive nose, and he found himself unwillingly drawn towards it, nuzzling the soft curls. Vanilla stirred the more primal of animal instincts within, and Remus was losing himself.
He had thought of better reasons than this.
But better reasons had left him, as the questions and the purpose behind them had as well. She was tattered and torn, broken and bruised, and he could make that better, he could. If only for a little while…
Remus raised her head with a hand under her chin. Hermione's deep brown eyes glistened brightly, her nose was pink, as well as her eyes, and her cheeks were stained with streams of salty tears. There were no nagging voices, no devil or angel on his shoulders, nothing and no one to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life. And he almost did. He almost kissed her, almost defiled her, almost besmirched what innocence she had left after everything she had been through.
And he never would have forgiven himself for it.
"I'm tired of feeling death, Remus," Hermione whispered, he warm, small body pressed up against the length of his, and in a brief moment his mind registered how she hadn't called him Professor this time. It was odd, but not odd enough to snap him out of his sudden stupor.
"I…I understand, Hermione…" Of course he did. Remus J. Lupin of all people could understand that.
"I…" Hermione blinked hard, fresh tears falling from underneath black lashes, "I want to feel life again…"
Then it happened.
She kissed him.
His first reaction was to push her away, but like pliable wood he bent, submitting to the onslaught of senses begging to be awakened. Fire. He felt fire. Hot fire in his mouth; hot fire in his chest; hot fire in his hands. He would burn in it. Her gentle tongue touched his ever so slightly, and Remus' nerves rattled at the contact. His knees almost gave way beneath him. It had been too long, far too long…
He suddenly kissed back with equal fervor, but then something a little stronger. Remus bumped her into the counter. He hadn't known he was pushing her. Her fingers were in his hair; combing, tugging. She was still a young lady, and he was more than a grown man – so why in the world was he the one moaning?
Her lips left his mouth, and Remus almost begged them back until he felt the warm wetness of her tongue inside his ear. His eyes fluttered closed, and he shuddered. He bloody shuddered.
It wasn't until he felt her hands working on his belt buckle that Remus snapped back to reality.
He pushed her away, resulting more in pushing himself away considering she was the one against the counter. It wasn't rough, but it had enough force to get the point clearly across. Remus had let it get too far. His heart was beating way too fast; his nerves were trembling from a mixture of excitement and disbelief and anger. Shame reddened his face as he looked down and fixed his belt, but Hermione just stared at him, confused. Not angry. Confused.
"Wh--what's wrong?" she asked quietly, her voice unsteady, broken.
"That," Remus said pointedly, looking back up, "shouldn't have happened."
She looked as though a new rush of tears would overwhelm her. "Wh--why not?"
He stared at her irately. But the irritation was directed at himself, not her. Yet she didn't know that. "I am nineteen years older that you, Hermione. It just isn't right."
A furious scowl overtook her trembling features. "I am a grown women. I can make my own choices and--"
"And I'm a grown man," Remus bit back. "So can I."
The anger suddenly disappeared, and Hermione gripped her arms, the stricken lost puppy look overcoming her face once again. "You're not my professor anymore. There's nothing wrong with it--"
"EVERYTHING'S WRONG WITH IT!" Remus roared, surprising even himself with the ferocity of his voice. He had to hide from her; she was getting in. She wasn't allowed in; he didn't have room for this. He couldn't handle this. She used to be his student, for Merlin's sake! She was half his age! He was a werewolf! Didn't she get that? Didn't she understand? It was wrong. It was so wrong, wrong, wrong--
Hermione looked in the fits of a brewing rage herself. "Everything that happens in this godforsaken world is wrong!" she shouted. "Harry dying! Ron dying! Dumbledore dying! Sirius dying!" she emphasized , causing Remus to flinch from the harshness the name did not deserve to be said in. "Every goddamn thing in this world is wrong and they still happen! They happen and they happen and they just won't stop--"
She fell to her knees on the tiles. Hermione retracted into a secure ball against the counter, wrapping her arms around her legs. She wept and wept, and Remus could only stare. He couldn't run to help her; he knew what would happen if he did.
"That's why they need to stop, Hermione."
As if he had said the magic words, she slowly sobered up. Stilling her sobs, she shakily got to her feet. Hermione turned to look at him for a long moment, and Remus wondered what she was letting herself see in him. She couldn't possibly need him. No, she didn't. Hermione was strong and independent. Hermione would find her way through this. She didn't need false comfort or temporary physical highs to drag her away from reality. She was better than that. She was so much better than that.
"You're right," she said, wiping her tear-stricken cheeks with her sleeve. "They need to stop."
Her eyes left his, and she walked towards him, one careful step at a time. Remus' breath hitched, but she passed right on by without looking at him. Relieved, he turned around, watching her head for the door. She picked up her coat from the couch, casting a weary glance at him. Hermione appeared to fight with words within. Finally, "Thank you…Professor."
Remus closed his eyes, hearing the door shut with a soft click behind her.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed it, and I will be posting chapter 2 asap! Please read and review!