Once I was through the door, that's when I think reality hit Remus. He stopped suddenly and stared at me.
"Hermione!" he cried. I faced him. "Wh-what're you doing here? Does your mum know you're here?" He looked about himself in bewilderment. "And look at this place! Dusty and dirty and not fit for company!"
I laughed softly. "This place is always dusty and dirty and not fit for company."
He glared at me jokingly. "Be that as it may, you could have at least told me you were coming. I could've attempted to tidy up the place." He slapped his hand against a tapestry that erupted into dust. "I could've at least made the place a bit less hazardous to one's health," he managed to choke out through his coughing.
He turned to me once more. "Besides, you haven't been writing to anyone. Not responding to either Ron or Harry's owls. We've been worried about you, especially due to--er, recent events. And here you are, on my doorstep or, rather, in my foyer, and you haven't told anybody anything--and, well, to say the least, I'm a bit confused."
Again, I laughed, this time with him following suit, and turned to look at him, sobering him instantly just with the sadness in my eyes. "Remus? Might we talk in the study about this?"
"Of course." And he led me there.
Once inside, when I was sure the door was closed and no unwelcome ears should hear me, I turned to face my former professor. Quicker than he could react, I had raced to him and held him to me, sobbing into his chest. Surprised, to say the least, he didn't do anything at first. Then, his compassionate side taking over, he wrapped his arms about me in a friendly embrace.
"Hermione, what's wrong?" His voice was kind and that only served to fuel my tears rather than slow them. Still, little by little, I managed to get my story out. Everything about my father's death and how it was me they wanted, then the part about my mother and her not understanding how I could do nothing, and her unfair punishments, and her refusal for me to have anything to do with my world, the wizarding world, and again how it all happened under a shroud of grief for my father I could not save.
And Remus, his kindness and caring coming through, comforted me. "Shhhh, Hermione, it's not your fault. You're a witch, yes, but not even the greatest witch or wizard would have been able to save your father after the Killing Curse. And if your mother could be so cruel as to tell you that it was your fault, then she's not worth it. If she can't understand how wonderful you truly are, then she doesn't deserve you."
I pulled myself from him, my tears drying and cracking as I gave him a shaky smile. His eyes were kind, as was his smile, but it had the feel of being forced and I could see in his face and anger that he wasn't willing to bear full force before me. Anger against my mother. And I think, if I hadn't been so young and he so old, I could've fallen in love with him that very moment. But, as it was, I was simply grateful and felt a swell of affection for this man who took my pain before his own.
"Here now," he began gruffly, suddenly embarrassed by the warm moment between us. "You are tired and it is best if you were in bed." He helped me up and led me through the dingy halls and stairwells of Grimmauld Place until at last we reached the room I had shared with Ginny in some seemingly long ago time.
I made to go in before suddenly turning around. "Good night, Remus," I said warmly and was very glad to hear him reply in the same tone. "Good night, Hermione."
The next day dawned bright and I woke feeling renewed and fresh. As I met with Remus in the kitchen for breakfast, I told him of my plans. "Today I'm going to Diagon Alley for my school things, I think. And maybe some owl treats for Flora. I won't be long, I promise."
He looked at me uncertainly. "Are you sure you should go alone? Especially with the war proceeding as it is, it's extremely dangerous. Besides, there's a book I am in need of."
I rolled my eyes and laughed. "No need to ask, Remus. But I'm not ready to leave just yet. I have to shower and change. Not to mention I should write a letter to Ron and Harry first, to tell them not to worry. I won't be a minute," I promised as I dashed back up the stairs.
Within the half hour Hermione was once again headed down the stairs, though now clothed in denim trousers and a purple and blue striped sweater beneath her robes. As I reached the bottom of the steps, I saw Remus below waiting for me.
We stepped outside into the dingy yard of Grimmauld Place and Remus stuck out his wand hand for the Knight Bus. Once we were safely seated, I turned to him with the hopes of speaking with him about something that had been plaguing me.
"Remus, you won't tell Mrs. Weasley about what I told you last night, will you?"
He turned to me with soft eyes. "Do you not want me to, Hermione?"
I stumbled. "Well, no. I mean, I'd love to have Mrs. Weasley know, I mean, she is like a mother to me anyway, you know. But if Ron and Harry were to find out, I don't know what would happen. They're already going to walk on eggshells around me because of dad; I don't want them to be even more uncertain and uncomfortable than they need to be. It'd be better just to keep things the way they are than to jeopardize them further."
"I understand, Hermione, but you must tell them eventually. They deserve to know."
I sighed. "I know, I know. I'll tell them when I'm ready. Besides, they don't need to know just yet, do they? There'll be plenty of time for that later."
He just shook his head at me. "Whatever you say, Hermione."
We spent the rest of the bus ride in silence, but once we reached Diagon Alley, we were friends once again. We spent the day looking at everything and nothing, buying far too many books and quills and having a lovely day. And as we were headed home on the Knight Bus at an ungodly hour of night, I felt we had reached an understanding between us. And as I watched him dozing and dropping his chin to his chest, I felt a kinship to him that I hadn't felt before. And as I looked at him, I knew we would be close for as long as we had need each other. Much in the way a daughter is close with her father.
