In the coming days they kept the fires burning, but the cabin was often very cold. Snow gilded the windowpanes daily as their perpetual winter waxed on, a blanket of white always covering the ground. Hermione wasn't yet used to the absolute quiet of their surroundings. She wasn't sure she ever would be.
One morning she came out of the bedroom rubbing her palms together, trying to warm her cold fingers, to find Sirius and Remus talking about their planned "full moon" test that evening. Sirius was plainly excited about the possibilities.
"I could change into a dog and stay with you, just like old times," he offered, glancing eagerly at Remus. In the suggestion Hermione thought she saw a glimmer of nostalgia, the desire to return to their younger years. Remus had told her once in passing that Sirius always thought fondly of Remus' werewolf transformations, because of the adventures they'd had together as a result. Sirius hadn't viewed lycanthropy the darker way that Remus had: a curse, a burden. Something to be cured.
Hermione regarded the two men quietly as Sirius waited for an answer. Remus, likely caught up in his own anxieties, seemed to miss the note of wistfulness in Sirius' voice.
"I don't do that anymore, Sirius," he said, not even looking up from his breakfast. "It's not safe."
Sirius' face fell; he sprawled into one of the wooden dining chairs, looking deflated. Hermione was struck with a familiar urge to fill the silence—funny, how certain old habits of hers carried over from one trio to another.
"Before this we were creating an enclosure outdoors," she said. "But I think it's gotten too cold for that now."
"I suppose there's the cellar, then," Sirius said tonelessly.
"There's a cellar?" Remus said in surprise.
Sirius rose languidly from his chair and guided them into the kitchen, where he pointed to the wood floor on the right side of the room, next to the wall. Now that Hermione knew where to look, the rectangular outline of a trapdoor revealed itself, complete with a small depression in one corner that would presumably allow someone to hook their finger and pull the door up. Sirius did this now, revealing a rope ladder that unfurled down into darkness.
"I think they meant for it to store potatoes or something," he said thoughtfully. "But werewolves should work too."
Remus caught Hermione's eye and they exchanged brief smile. She knew what he was hoping—if their shared suspicion was correct, he might not need the cellar again after tonight.
Hours later, Hermione led the way down that same ladder, shivering and second-guessing herself.
She hopped off the last rung and took stock of their surroundings: higher ceilings than she'd expected, almost cavernous in nature, and completely empty save a few stray burlap bags. She wondered if they were, indeed, filled with potatoes, as Sirius had suggested.
Remus dismounted the ladder behind her, brushing a bit of dirt off his shoulder. She turned to him nervously.
"It's cold down here, Remus, are you sure—"
"I'll be fine. It was colder when we were camping, honestly," he said, trying to make light of the situation.
Hermione had a sudden vision of the times she'd walked away from his enclosure while they were camping, dead leaves crackling under her feet, leaving him to change alone. The clarity of the memory unnerved her.
She scrabbled for her wand in her pocket, began to murmur the usual spells and enchantments, then paused and peeked at Remus from the corner of her eye.
"How are you feeling?" she asked him.
"Best I have in a long time, honestly." And in truth, he looked it.
"Would you…" she began, and stopped, hesitating. Remus looked back with that handsome, open face.
Before she knew it, his arms were wound around her waist. He kissed her forehead and pulled away to look at her.
"Yes, Hermione?"
"Would you like me to stay with you?" she asked.
He seemed to consider it a moment—she could tell from his expression, the delay in his response. But the part of Remus that cared about others more than himself won out, as always.
He gave her a slightly strained smile, meant to communicate that they should not acknowledge the silence that had preceded it.
"You know that's not safe, Hermione," he said softly, stroking her hair. "It's like I told Sirius. Even if we think there's a chance that I won't transform at all… best to be on my own this first time."
Hermione heaved a great sigh, knowing this was her cue to leave, and regretfully disentangled herself from Remus' arms. But as she stepped onto the ladder's bottom rung, she turned again to look at him. Even with his height, she thought in surprise, Remus looked so small in that moment. The only person in this big, empty space. The dim light that streamed through the trapdoor overhead illuminated his gray eyes, the curve of the lips she had kissed many times over.
He looked… peaceful, she thought. As if he accepted whatever was coming.
"I'll charm the cellar door to open right at dawn," she promised, still hesitant to leave him. "The moment the sun hits the trapdoor."
Remus nodded, his smile coming easier now. She tried not to think again about how small he looked, or how dark it would be in the cellar once she closed the door.
"Go on, Hermione," he said.
She couldn't help it; she leapt from the ladder and ran to him again, kissing his lips, his face, his cheeks. She couldn't explain why this night felt different from the others; all she knew was that her heart was full to bursting with hope for him, a hope that he might experience a reprieve from the transformation that had haunted him since childhood. That he could find solace in their time here. Hermione knew, even as he attempted to mask the truth through his diplomatic responses, that he would be especially devastated if he once again took the form of a wolf tonight.
Remus took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead again, his soft lips just grazing her skin. He lingered there for an unusually indulgent moment, breathing her in—the scent of her hair, her skin. Undeniably human.
"Go on, love," he whispered. "I'll be all right."
Upstairs Hermione paced restlessly back and forth across the living room floor, thinking. Sirius reclined on the oversized maroon velvet couch, watching her with an amused expression on his face, but she barely noticed at him.
If Remus didn't change, it would irrefutably confirm that time was not passing for any of them within the cabin. But as they already knew, based on Sirius' experience, time would still pass on the outside regardless. Years had gone by for Remus and Hermione while Sirius remained here, not aging a day. How would they help the dwindling resistance if none of them could leave?
"He'll be fine, y'know," Sirius said, tucking his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.
Hermione ceased her pacing and considered his prone body. Ever since the night he visited her in dog form, he'd been kinder to her—less antagonistic—but this was the first time they'd been alone together since.
"He's done this before," Sirius added, smirking. He cracked one eye open and looked at Hermione, hovering above him. She blushed and took a step back.
"I dunno why we're cooping him up down there, honestly," he said, his gaze slipping away from hers as the earlier note of wistfulness returned. "We had some good times out on the Hogwarts grounds back in the day."
"Sirius," Hermione said disdainfully, trying to regain her sense of superiority. "Remus doesn't like being a werewolf. It's not at all the same as it is for you, in animagus form."
He opened his eyes all the way, looking a little irritated.
"Got it, Granger," he said, his previously easygoing tone now slightly more hostile. "No need to explain my old friend's feelings to me, thanks."
Hermione rolled her eyes and resumed her pacing, the ancient floor creaking beneath her feet as she moved. This went on for several minutes before Sirius sat up suddenly, swinging his legs back to the floor as he moved into a seated position.
"You're going to be like this all night, aren't you?" he asked her.
Hermione stopped again and looked at him. Sirius shook his head, grinning.
"Look, it's all right. I was just going to ask if you wanted to play a game or something, seeing as we're both going to be up all night waiting for him."
"A game?" Hermione repeated.
"Yes, Granger, a game," Sirius teased. "An activity one does for fun."
"I know what—" she began automatically, then stopped and gave him a withering look as his grin widened.
"No," she said haughtily. "We should read."
Sirius laughed. "How you survived Hogwarts without experiencing a complete mental breakdown is beyond me. No, Granger, we're going to play a game."
Something inside of Hermione uncoiled at his tone, the light command, the smile on his face.
Maybe it'd be all right to follow someone else's lead. Just for one night.
"Oh, all right," she said crossly, and Sirius leapt up from the couch.
"The good news is that James' parents were—unlike mine—big proponents of fun," he said, swinging a cabinet open and pulling out an overflowing basket. From her vantage point Hermione could already see Exploding Snap, wizard's chess, and a few decks of cards.
He walked back over, holding the basket, and cleared a space on the coffee table with his free arm. Hermione stood frozen in place on the other side of the table, looking at him uncertainly.
"Well?" Sirius persisted. "What else are you going to do?"
She opened her mouth, unsure how to respond. He grinned again, a little deviously this time.
"Merlin, Granger, you're not one of those miserably competitive people who never has any fun, are you—"
"Of course not," Hermione said hotly. As if to prove his point, she threw a cushion down in front of the table and sat on it pointedly, her eyebrows cocked.
"What d'ya think," Sirius said, his face turned down toward the basket as he reached in and pulled out a deck of cards. "Strip poker?"
Something in Hermione's stomach swooped in a way that felt vaguely familiar. She started and gave him a double take; Sirius' eyes danced with mirth, but he didn't say anything else. He held the deck out to her, raising his eyebrows.
"Wh—no," Hermione stammered. She pointed to the chessboard instead.
"Ah," he said cheerfully, grabbing the black pieces. "All right then. Prepare to meet your match, Granger."
Infuriatingly, he destroyed her.
Hermione was a logical thinker and thus a good, practical strategist when it came to wizard's chess, but Sirius had a certain impulsive flair that allowed for the spontaneous, genuinely wild moves that tipped the game in his favor. This, of course, drove Hermione mad. Sirius, in turn, found her reactions to be a source of boundless amusement. They were well matched in the end.
A few hours later, Sirius called check—Hermione's next move inevitably leading to checkmate—but Hermione, feeling sleep-deprived and unusually petulant, refused to make that pointless move that would only briefly prolong Sirius' claim of her king.
For the last hour they'd both been sitting with their backs leaned up against the couch, their legs stretched out in front of them under the coffee table. Since completing his turn, Sirius had been waiting for several minutes in silence, but apparently seemed to think it unlikely that Hermione would make her final move. Shaking his head with a slight, soft smile, he tipped his head back onto the couch and closed his eyes.
Hermione was still convinced that there was some way to save her king and turn the game around in her favor. She leaned forward and considered each of her remaining pieces—a scant few. As the minutes ticked on, though, it seemed increasingly more likely that Sirius had, in fact, beaten her.
"We could call it a draw," he offered conspiratorially, his eyes still closed, that smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"But it wasn't a draw," Hermione finally admitted with a sigh. He had beaten her, fair and square.
Sirius opened his eyes and leaned forward.
"No, but we could tell Remus it was."
Hermione shot a look over at him; his eyes were dancing with mirth again.
Grudgingly, she said, "I suppose it's good for everyone to lose once in a while."
Sirius winked.
Hermione pulled her knees into her chest and looked around the cabin in the ensuing silence. It was properly dark outside now, the furniture casting gentle shadows across the dark wood floors.
She rested her cheek on her knees and peeked over at Sirius, who had closed his eyes again. She traced the contours of his face and body with her gaze. In the soft firelight he looked, for once, completely relaxed, his palms facing up on the floor on either side of him. Somehow he seemed younger than he was.
"Sirius," she said, almost in a whisper, unsure of where the sentence was going even as she started it, "Did you ever have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?"
As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she realized it was probably an invasive question—one he had no obligation to answer. But Sirius began to speak before she could backtrack.
"A few of each," he said, his eyes still closed. "I could make someone gloriously happy for, say, a month. But then, after that… dunno. S'pose I was a bit selfish."
"You were just a child though, really," she offered. "I don't think that's unusual."
"You're not wrong," Sirius said. "And dementors aren't particularly interested in romance, so I didn't have many options as an adult in Azkaban, unfortunately."
Hermione laughed but felt a little sad for him, sobered by the fact that he felt he had to make jokes about what was arguably the lowest point of his life—presumably for her benefit. She kept watching as the firelight moved across his face, feeling badly now for how short she'd been with him in the past. She couldn't even guess at the number of days the man sitting before her had spent alone.
She turned her head and looked back toward the kitchen, where she could just make out the outline of the trapdoor. She thought again of Remus, down in the cellar by himself.
"It's been quiet," she began. "Do you think—"
"Hermione," Sirius interrupted gently. "Whatever happens, he'll be all right. We'll all be all right. The three of us. I know it."
He opened his eyes then and looked at her, offering a soft, small, sad smile, something haunted behind his eyes.
And, driven by an impulse she couldn't quite explain, Hermione plucked her king from the board and pressed it into Sirius' open palm.
Hermione woke with a start.
She was lying on the couch with her legs in Sirius' lap; Sirius had somehow managed to fall asleep sitting upright, his head tipped onto the back of the couch. He was snoring softly, his hands resting on Hermione's calves.
She realized what had woken her as she blinked back to consciousness—Remus was kneeling in front of her, rubbing her arm. The light touch made her skin tingle.
She pushed up onto her elbows, blearily recalling the events of last night, what they'd been waiting for.
"Remus!" she exclaimed. "How did it—what happened—?"
He spread his hands, as if to say "Here I am," and the soft smile on his face widened.
"I stayed down there all night, Hermione," he said. "And nothing happened. I stayed myself. I didn't change."
"Oh, Remus," she said, momentarily at a loss for words. She could only imagine the joy he must be feeling. To have retained control over his mind and body for the first time in his adult life.
She made to get up, but he shook his head, applying a gentle pressure to her arm.
"No, it's all right. I want to make you two breakfast." He laughed delightedly. "I actually got some sleep last night! I don't remember the last time I felt this well rested."
He tucked a stray curl behind Hermione's ear, then kissed her lips so quickly she barely had time to respond. She watched him stand and stretch. He smiled down at the two of them for a second, then ambled easily to the kitchen. She followed him with her gaze, and when she turned back she saw that Sirius' eyes were now open, his expression fogged with sleep.
Her legs were still in his lap. She didn't move them, and he didn't push them off.
For a moment they just looked at each other.
"Good morning," Hermione said softly.
"I hope he scrambles the eggs," Sirius said.
His stomach growled, and they both laughed.
After an elaborate and delicious breakfast—which did indeed feature scrambled eggs, to Sirius' delight—the three of them agreed that a short nap might be in order, at least for Hermione and Sirius, whose chess match had taken up most of the night. But it became clear, when Remus and Hermione retired to the bedroom together, that Remus first had other plans for her.
Hermione had just shimmied out of her pants when she turned to see him leaning against the closed door, watching her undress, grinning uncontrollably.
"I feel whole again, Hermione," Remus whispered. "For the first time since I can remember, I feel whole."
He crossed the room in half a second and pressed her into the wall, kissing that soft place where her jaw met her neck. Hermione gasped—not just with the surprise of his touch itself, but at how quickly her body was responding.
She could feel his smile as he trailed his kisses over to her mouth, pleased as always by the noises she made. He pressed himself against her as she lifted her legs up to twine around him, and all she could think about was the way he was rubbing against her—gently at first, but with building intensity between her legs. His cock was already hard through the thin layers of fabric that separated them.
He gripped her thighs and rocked himself back and forth against her; she could feel herself getting wet as the pressure built against her clit, even through the fabric of his pants and her underwear. Their shared desire was undeniable; they moaned together. His breath was heavy and hot in her ear.
He stepped back and she moved to the bed instinctually; he stripped off his shirt and pants before joining her. Immediately she pushed him down and straddled him, eagerly beginning to slide back and forth across the thick length of his cock. She loved teasing him with each gliding motion as he came close, time and time again, to slipping inside of her. The tip of his cock grazed her clit over and over.
Remus could hardly stand it; he was panting for her now. She grinned down at him and gave herself over to the sensation completely, moving faster, wondering if she was about to come before he'd even gone inside of her. It had happened like this before—after all, she could control every delicious movement between their bodies when she was the one on top.
But tonight Remus was in charge.
He reached up and flipped her over suddenly; Hermione toppled forward softly onto the pillows, and then he was behind her, spreading her legs apart. They both moaned again as his cock slipped in with ease.
Quickly he began to pump in and out of her, groaning with each thrust, for once making no effort to quiet himself. He ran his fingers along her spine and she moaned; he leaned forward, pumping harder. She could feel the heat radiating off his chest as he fucked her. She pressed back against his body, willing him deeper.
He reached around then and began to rub her clit, whispering, "Tell me when you're ready to come, love."
She clenched around him instinctively at the mere sound of his voice, which she had always loved—quick, low, earnest. He soon found the perfect rhythm; the combination of his fingers on her clit and his cock moving inside of her was almost more than she could bear.
It wasn't long before she found herself gasping, crying out, "Now, now!"
They came together, Remus pumping hard, Hermione letting out a last, shuddering moan.
He collapsed on top of her, spent, and after another moment pulled out of her, rolling over to her right.
She turned onto her side and brushed his damp hair back from his forehead, following the rise and fall of his chest as their heart rates began to normalize.
Remus took her hand and kissed each of her fingertips, one by one, his gaze never wavering from hers.
