Remus spent hours at the table with Sirius that first night. Sirius had years of news to catch up on, after all. Of course, not all of it was good—in fact, most of it wasn't—but he was hungry for it regardless, having been cooped up in the cabin all this time without even a single Daily Prophet to parse.

"I would've even taken the Quibbler," he quipped at one point, prompting a chuckle from Remus.

Hermione valiantly remained in her chair for the first few hours, but eventually she found her limbs were growing tired and her eyelids heavy, while the two Marauders showed no signs of letting up. In fact, both seemed to only grow more animated as the night waned, as if drawing energy from each other.

Knowing her limits, Hermione finally bade them both goodnight and retired to the other bedroom. With a stark wave of relief she saw that the bed was enormous, king-sized at least—she thought of the tiny cot she'd recently been sharing with Remus and relished the comparison.

Mrs. Potter had been a simple but elegant decorator; the mattress was covered by a thick scarlet quilt, the windows draped in matching fabric and trimmed with gold fringe. With the curtains drawn, any source of natural light was blocked completely, making the room not unlike a womb.

Hermione couldn't explain it—the feeling wasn't entirely rational, especially considering how little they understood as of yet about the cabin's magic—but she felt safe here. In a way, being in this cabin made her feel closer to Harry than she had in years. A sudden wave of nostalgia passed through her; she promptly slipped off her pants and burrowed beneath the warm covers.

As she curled up in the center of the bed, Hermione began, as she so often did, to replay the evening's conversation in her mind. This was one of her more unfortunate habits, as she often ended up fixating on something she'd said that was wrong or silly or embarrassing, often staying up late into the night to consider in more detail what she could have said differently, the clever comeback she could have offered in response. Tonight, it seemed, was no exception.

The initial good feelings borne of the reunion with Sirius began to ebb away into strange sensations of anxiety and insecurity as she realized Remus had not once mentioned the nature of their relationship to his friend. Of course, in the last few days Hermione had not once imagined ever needing to explain their new strange new bond to anyone else, let alone the fact that they had begun to seek carnal comfort in each other. Would Remus tell his old friend? Or, now that they were no longer alone together in the woods, would he be embarrassed of her and their connection, and would he shrug her off, gloss over whatever it was they had?

Another question: Would he join her tonight?

Hermione wasn't sure how much time passed as she fought sleep, waiting to see when the light streaking from beneath the door would at last go out, hoping against hope that Remus' footsteps would lead to this door, this room. She hated to admit it to herself, even now, even at a time like this, but she cared what Sirius thought of her. In truth, she always had. But now, in particular, she was an adult; she wanted to be treated like one. She also wanted to believe that her bond with Remus was real—not some passing dalliance, not something he'd taken up simply because no one else was around.

I don't want to be someone's secret, she thought resolutely.

She wasn't sure how much time passed; it felt like it could've been days. She was so tired. But eventually the light under the door vanished, and she heard the distant sounds of the two men saying goodnight to each other.

She froze there under the blankets, holding her breath, waiting, waiting. She'd almost talked herself into getting up and approaching him herself when the door opened suddenly and Remus appeared, silhouetted in the doorway. A feeling of consummate relief passed through her.


Hermione wanted to say something to him, but was stalled, as always, by the sight of Remus in his six-foot glory: his broad shoulders, strong arms, the taut muscle connecting his neck and shoulders.

She assumed at first that he would want to sleep, and she was happy enough just to have him in the room with her. But it quickly became apparent that Remus had other plans.

He was somehow more animated than she'd ever seen him, practically vibrating with energy. He got into the bed beside her, sliding effortlessly between the covers, and reached for her immediately—as if they were magnets drawn together by some natural, timeless force, and everything she'd been thinking about, wondering, questioning, fell utterly from her mind.

His big, warm hands trailed across her bare arms, then slid over the fabric that covered her ribs, her midriff—it was one of his shirts that she was wearing, he seemed to notice then, acknowledging this with a smile—but then his hand moved further down, past her waist.

Her breath hitched. His fingers found the waistband of her underwear.

Remus lifted the band slowly, grazing the cool bare skin beneath with the tip of a finger. And then—

"Quiet," he said softly.

She felt his warm hands in between her legs, sinking lower and lower until his strong, thick middle and ring fingers found her clit.

"Mmm," Remus murmured, feeling her. She could feel his grin against her cheek as she fought a moan.

"Already so wet for me," he marveled softly in her ear, barely a whisper. He rubbed the whole length of his fingers across her clit, her opening, teasing her.

"What a good girl our Hermione is, waiting in here for me to come to her."

He knew. He knew everything about her, somehow—knew that every drop of praise was something she sucked up hungrily, that it stroked some elemental need deep inside of her. That all she wanted to hear was how good she was, how well she'd done.

She couldn't help it—she whimpered.

But when she made the noise he suddenly ceased that pleasurable rhythm of his hand, the magic he was working with his fingers. She opened her eyes, ready to protest.

"I told you to be quiet, darling," he murmured into her hair, hovering his fingers just high enough above her clit that she could feel the tips grazing that most sensitive part of her.

"Remember?"

Hermione pressed her lips together and nodded silently, moving her whole body desperately toward his fingers again, her eyes rolling back into her head from the sheer pleasure when Remus allowed her clit renewed contact.

She pushed herself deeper into the soft mattress, the fluffy pillows—an absolute luxury after the cot in the tent, truly—and focused every cell of her body on the pressure that was building inside of her, emanating from those magic fingers, his firm and gentle hands.

Remus had not once looked away from her, clearly taking great pleasure from the shifting expressions on her face even as she struggled with increasing difficulty to contain her moans. She knew he was aroused not just from intensity of his gaze, but the throbbing of his cock as it pulsed against her thigh.

Knowing how much he wanted her in that moment somehow turned her on even more.

"Mmm, Remus. Oh—" she whispered, her breath speeding up, "I'm—"

"Already?" he breathed softly, picking up the pace of his fingers as they moved in tight, delicious circles against her clit.

"What a good girl you are, Hermione. That's just what I want, love. Come for me."

He covered her mouth with his other hand as she came, hard, just like he'd asked her to. It took everything in her not to cry out as the orgasm passed through her. She took his fingers into her mouth and sucked hard as she rode each wave of pleasure to completion, her muscles pulsing all over, her whole body shaking.

As she panted, still riding the aftershocks, Remus immediately straddled her. He moved his hands to his fly with calm, quick urgency, pulling his pants and boxers down just enough to let his cock spring free, and then—as if he wanted her so much he could not be bothered to properly remove her underwear, or his own clothes—he pulled the crotch of her underwear to the side and entered her in one swift motion, never breaking eye contact.

It was all she could do not to scream as he filled her completely, resting inside of her for a moment to allow her to adjust to his full girth before beginning to push—slowly, deliciously—in and out.

She marveled again at how big he was. She couldn't help feeling lucky—lucky to be here with him in this strange new place.

And now she wanted to make him feel as good as he had her.

Looking straight into his eyes, smiling devilishly, Hermione wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, driving him even deeper inside of her—right up to the hilt. She could tell it was taking everything in him, too, not to moan aloud. Like a game they were playing together.

At the moment that he was as deep inside of her as he could ever be, she leaned up and kissed that soft, sensitive stretch of skin just beneath his earlobe that she knew would drive him wild, because there were no secrets between them, and he was hers.

Hers.

Remus came almost immediately, as Hermione knew he would. A soft, incandescent groan finally escaped him as he thrust inside of her that last time, his entire body rippling with the force of his own orgasm as his arms gave out and he collapsed on top of her.

She pulled his depleted body closer. He rested his head beside hers on the pillow, his cock still gently pulsing inside of her, and she ran her fingers through his hair, kissing the damp skin of his forehead.

Whatever happened next wouldn't change the connection they had. Hermione would see to that.


When Hermione awoke Remus was already gone.

She rolled over sleepily, getting her bearings. Vaguely she began to remember that he had mentioned waking early to bundle up, go out and walk again for a while to get a sense of what sort of enchantments might surround them. Figure out, if he could, what they might be dealing with.

Hermione laid back against the pillows, gazing up at the blank ceiling above the bed, her brow furrowed. If they were trapped here, what did that mean? And how was it that Sirius was still alive?

Nothing made sense—well, yet.

She scrunched the quilt up to her chin and smiled in spite of herself. Certainly the answer lay in one of her books, right now, waiting for her. Thinking of this always brought her comfort: the fact that an explanation did exist, she just hadn't found it yet.

At that moment she heard the distant sound of the front door opening, someone stamping his feet on the welcome mat—Remus, presumably. She thought to get up and greet him, but had barely moved before she heard the sound of Sirius' voice.

"Oi, coffee's ready, mate," he called.

There was the clinking of a mug, the sound of a fresh cup being poured. Hermione stayed put.

"Best news in days," came Remus' distant response, though muffled—he must be wearing a scarf.

There were sounds of more shuffling—likely the removal of additional outer garments—and then Remus' steps moving through the cabin, the kitchen, into where it sounded like Sirius was: the dining room. Hermione imagined they were sitting at the oak table together, just outside the bedroom.

There was some creaking and rustling, as if they were taking their seats at the small dining table, then she heard them each take long, slow sips.

"Well, you were right," Remus said after a moment's silence. "I must've walked ten miles this morning. Kept thinking I'd gotten somewhere. And then, just as I had the thought, I'd come up on the house again—same as yesterday. Absolutely maddening. Never seen anything like it."

"Afraid I can't offer a good explanation either," came Sirius' response. "It wasn't like this the summer James and I stayed here. I've been wondering… if something might've happened after James died."

There was a hollow thunk, like Sirius had set his mug down on the tabletop.

"All I know is that it's got something to do with the house," Sirius continued. "Old magic."

There was a silence between the two men for a moment as they considered this, then Remus spoke again.

"I was afraid, at first, while I was walking, that this was all a trap. Something evil," he said. "But I kept walking, and I thought some more. And… it's a kind of protection, isn't it? The people who are kept here are safe, and the rest of the world is on the outside."

"Dunno… safe places can be a trap in their own right," Sirius muttered.

Hermione wondered if he was thinking of Grimmauld Place.

"But anyway," Sirius continued, "The magic's got to run its course eventually, right? Maybe something will change, now that the two of you are here."

"Maybe there's something we're supposed to do," Remus mused. "Or… something you're supposed to do. And that's why the veil didn't work on you."

"Guess we bloody well have the time to figure it out," Sirius laughed, and Remus joined him.

The two went quiet again, continuing to sip their coffee. Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed and was about to stand up when she heard Sirius speak again, more haltingly this time.

"Remus, mate, you know I have to ask—"

"What is it?"

"I—I heard you," Sirius said. Hermione couldn't get a read on his tone. "After you went into her bedroom last night."

There was silence. Hermione desperately tried to imagine the expression on Remus' face, what thoughts might be flitting through his mind. He had always been such a private person.

Then, to her surprise, she heard Remus laugh.

"I could never keep anything from you," he said softly, though not regretfully. "I can't explain it, Sirius. She's one of the smartest people I've ever met. It just… happened. Not long after the Weasley boy left. She was so..." He paused. "Lonely. We both were."

What would Sirius say? Hermione held her breath, her feet still dangling off the side of the bed. She heard one of them take another long, slow sip.

"Which Weasley?" Sirius asked finally.

So they wouldn't be talking about her after all.

Remus took his cue and responded. "Ah, the youngest boy. Ron."

Sirius made a noise in his throat. "Hmm. Probably not his fault, in the end. Not everyone's cut out for… this." She pictured him waving his hands around. "War."

She heard him set the mug down, his tone growing wistful when he spoke again.

"Anyway. You really don't know…"

"What—where Harry is?" Remus finished. "No, Sirius. I'm sorry. It's like I said. He just vanished a few years ago, but it seems to have been of his own accord. We don't think he's dead—not by the Death Eaters' hands, in any case. They would've said something. Rubbed it in our faces. But no. We haven't a clue where he's gone."

"Well, wherever he is, whatever he's doing, I'm sure it's something important," Sirius said firmly. "Probably got to do with those hor-whatsits you were telling me about. I'm sure he'll come back when it's time, and not a moment sooner. We'll be ready when he does."

And then, just when she thought the conversation had ended, that now might be the time for her to finally feign awakening, Sirius laughed gently and said, "Hermione Granger. Huh."