THERE IS A CONTENT WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. Please scroll to the ending author's notes for a more specific explanation of the warning if needed.
Chapter 3
Resistance
re· sis· tance | \ ri-ˈzi-stən(t)s
: the refusal to accept or comply with something; the attempt to prevent something by action or argument.
The valley was just as silent as it had been the month before. Only the soft pitter-patter of rain falling through the leaves of trees to break through the maddening quiet. Hermione had been sitting in the lower hanging branches of the large oak tree since sundown in hopes that if Remus came at a different time tonight, she would still be there to witness it. It was now nearly three forty in the morning and she was beginning to get nervous.
"Homenum Revelio," Hermione whispered, waiting to see if the iridescent sphere would point her in the right direction. It hovered in front of her chest before dissolving into the dark nothingness surrounding her.
Her head fell back against the bark, braids catching on the small twigs. She would wait another hour. By then, sunrise would be looming and he wouldn't be coming in the light of day. She wondered if he chose the hour for a specific reason—something that tied him to the time. Bound by watching the hands of a clock tick against the rage that simmered beneath the surface of his skin.
Three forty three.
Crack.
A facsimile.
She watched from above as Remus' eyes scanned the surrounding area briefly before his attention was turned back to the large, blubbering man at his feet. The man begged for his life, snot dripping from his nose and spit flying from his mouth as he promised riches and his silence. He pleaded for mercy.
Remus had no mercy to give.
A flash of green, a thud, a murmured transfiguration spell.
Hermione leapt from the branch, boots slamming down hard on the wet earth. Remus stared at her. Cloth bag clutched in his right hand, Cypress wand held tightly in his left aimed at her chest.
"I wondered if you'd return," he said, conversationally.
"I could say the same."
Remus smirked and brought his fingers up to snap; an unnecessary taunt. But as he stepped left and began to turn and apparate away, Hermione lunged forward, wrapping her fingers around the mottled skin of his wrist. Her fingernails bit into his skin as she tightened her grip. Locked on. No intentions of loosening her hold as he twisted from the forest in a swirl of brown, orange, and blue patchwork.
Her knees absorbed the majority of the impact when her boots hit hard wood. Remus roughly shoved her away. She stumbled backward, knocking a hip hard against the counter. He turned to face her with a snarl, ignoring the small hiss that came from between her teeth from the collision.
"You could have been splinched!" Remus spat.
"I've been trying to locate you for over a year, and you were going to disappear. Again."
"You stupid girl!" He snarled, storming toward a table and slamming the bag onto its surface. The wood shuddered against the force of it, groaning loudly in protest. "Has it not occurred to you that I don't want to be found? Do you think that I want a fucking reporter knowing my whereabouts? That I want a journalist who can't keep her fucking nose where it belongs inside my home?"
Hermione stayed rooted to the spot, her eyes drifting around the small, dank kitchen. The room smelled of rotting wood and the dilapidated counters were littered with copies of The Daily Prophet, stale crusts of breadand empty cans of beans. Article clippings were scattered about in every direction her eyes wandered. Sightings of Death Eaters on the headlines; pictures of Harry receiving different accolades; obituaries of loved ones…
She turned, gaze following Remus as he charged across the small space and delivered a swift kick to a rickety side table, sending it toppling over. The mug that had been sitting upon it careened into a wall, shattering and leaving a trail of old, milky tea dripping down the peeled paint.
"Fuck!" he shouted, twisting his hands into his hair and spinning around to glare at her, his chest rapidly rising and falling—his eyes wild.
"I'm sorry, Remus," Hermione murmured, slowly cataloguing the state of the small, filthy cabin.
Every window had been boarded over, only leaving space for a few tiny slivers of the dusty orange light of dawn to illuminate the cracks in the floor. Every wall was covered with more clippings from The Prophet, as well as articles from The Quibbler, and a few that Hermione recognized from Muggle newspapers. Lines of shimmering red snaked between pages, connecting them in a web of Death Eater sightings and clues to where the Dark wizards could be residing.
One surface remained clear of the chaos in the rest of the den he had created. The fireplace mantle held a single photo in an elaborate bronze frame, more vibrant and joyful than any of those that surrounded it. Tonks' hair billowed around her elbows in bubblegum waves and her smile split her face in two as she laughed. The photo shifted and replayed and she saw Remus' face drop in shock as Tonks' mouth moved, saying words Hermione couldn't hear. Remus' face lit up with a nod from Tonks and she began laughing again before it replayed.
Hermione studied it for several long moments, taking in the ecstatic expression on Tonks' face. She could hear as Remus paced across the floor behind her, muttering incoherently to himself. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Tonks' lips curl around a phrase, trying to decipher what the witch had said when the photo was taken. Finally, she made out the words. Her eyes grew wide as she inhaled sharply.
"Remus?" Hermione whispered, swallowing thickly. She inched forward, picking the frame up from the mantle and stared down at it, her heart sinking further. "When was this photo taken?"
"What?" He snapped, caught off guard—as if he'd already forgotten she was even there. He spun on his heel and in three quick strides his fingers gripped the top of the frame, yanking it from her hands. "It doesn't matter."
"No, I think...I think it does."
"I said it doesn't matter," Remus growled, setting the picture back in it's dedicated spot delicately. "It's none of your business."
"She was pregnant," Hermione said softly. "I had no idea. I'm so sor—"
"I don't want your apologies. I want you to leave."
"That's why you're hunting them all down," Hermione pressed on, ignoring the threat in his voice and stepping nearer to him. "She was pregnant at the battle, wasn't she?"
"Go. Away. Hermione," Remus' voice was low and dangerous. His eyes bore into her with a venom she had never seen before. He hated her, at this moment.
Hermione could remember being told that in order to cast an unforgivable, you had to mean it. She had never successfully cast one. There had only been one person she thought she may be able to successfully Crucio or Avada if she had to and she had been killed by Molly Weasley at the battle.
Decades of fighting for his life. Years of being used as a tool for the war. Hermione was certain Remus meant every killing curse he'd administered—every crucio that slipped past his lips. And right now, with the way his eyes burned through her skin, she was certain that if he wanted to kill her, he could. A flash of green, a thud on the floor, and she'd be gone. Just like the others.
Despite the alarms sounding loudly in her head—or perhaps, in spite of them— begging her to listen to him and apparate away and never look back, she moved toward him.
"No," she said, simply.
"No?"
"No."
The same sinister, wolfish grin she had seen before spread across his face and he moved faster than she had been prepared for. Apoplectic from her disobedience, he shoved her against the wall, the tip of his wand digging painfully into the side of her throat.
She willed her stampeding heart to slow, tilting her chin up—in defiance or stupidity, she wasn't sure. His hand came up, fingers pressing into the skin just below her jaw. His eyes stayed locked on hers, unblinking.
"That's why you're hunting them down," Hermione's voice remained strong, despite the strain against her windpipe. "She was pregnant when they killed her."
Remus' fingers twitched, tightening slightly around her throat before he pulled it back, slamming his fist into the wall only inches from her head. Hermione flinched, the hair on her arms and back of her neck standing at attention.
"They took everything from me!" He shouted, dropping his wand from her pulsepoint and spinning around, pacing away from her to pull his hair on it's ends.
"They took everything! For fucking decades, they took everything!" He shouted. Hermione had never heard his voice so loud, so aggressive. "My friends, my job, my family, my wife," his voice broke and he sucked in a deep breath. "My—my son."
Hermione felt her chin wobble as she watched Remus fall to his knees, his hands sliding from his hair to cover his face. She took slow, tentative steps towards him, lowering herself to him. He was so broken. The strong, confident mentor she remembered had crumbled before her, leaving behind a shattered shell of a man who had been left behind by a war he'd given everything to.
Carefully, she reached forward to wrap her thin fingers around his scarred wrists and pulled Remus' hands from his face.
With her jaw set but her heart still thundering against her ribs she met his eyes and whispered, "Who's left?"
.
.
a/n: CW: This chapter has a brief mention of child/pregnancy death and loss. Please take care of yourself.
Sorry it's a bit short and a day late. My schedule for work changed and it got me all confused. So updates will now come on SUNDAY instead!
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