Fixation

fix· a· tion | \ fik-ˈsā-shən

: an obsessive or unhealthy preoccupation or attachment

Hermione watched as plumes of cigarette smoke curled in the air, twisting into spirals that collected dust in the streams of light as they faded away. She wrinkled up her nose in distaste, the harsh smell mixing poorly with the antiseptic scent of the open jar of murtlap essence in her hand.

"That's a terrible habit, you know," Hermione said, giving a pointed look to the stick of tobacco hanging from between Remus' lips. She dipped her fingers into the thick ointment and nudged his shoulder, urging him to shift.

"I've been through many moons without help. You don't need to be here," he replied, taking another long drag.

"If I'm going to help you—"

"I didn't ask for your help."

Hermione's hand paused against his mottled skin, "All the more reason you need it."

He huffed out a breath that may have been an attempt at a laugh and finished his cigarette, flicking the ashes into a tray that was balanced on his lap.

Hermione kept quiet as she continued to apply the tincture to the post-moon wounds that lined his back and shoulders. Strips of flesh that were gouged out by the wolf's claws were slowly knitting themselves back together with the help of a few potions, the ointment, and Remus' own lycanthropic brand of healing. Her eyes roamed his back while she dabbed the murtlap on a particularly deep gash. He was far leaner than he should be. Hermione suspected malnutrition was the culprit and made the mental note to pick up something other than beans and bread to stock in his cabinets.

Remus' shoulders and back were lined with a myriad of scars. A map of every transformation he'd endured in his forty-three years of life. She wondered how many of those years were held hostage by the moon. Judging by some of the silver lines that ran the length of his spine, she suspected it was most of them.

He leaned forward, grabbing the small, gold box he kept his cigarettes in. He plucked another from where they were lined neatly and put it between his lips. He produced a small flame at the tips of his fingers and lit the end, taking a long drag before settling back in his hunched position to allow Hermione to continue healing him.

"You just did wandless magic," Hermione mentioned, wiping her hands on a tea towel and capping the jar of murtlap.

Remus stood from the sagging sofa and shrugged back into his t-shirt. "Most of my day to day magic is wandless," he waved a hand toward the bin in the corner, vanishing its contents to prove his point.

"That takes an incredible amount of skill, you know," Hermione said, trying not to sound as impressed as she felt.

He blew a stream of smoke over his shoulder, "It's a lot less impressive when people find out it's because you're a werewolf."

"Your lycanthropy grants you the ability to use wandless magic as easily as you do with a wand?" She asked, curious.

Hermione had done her fair share of research regarding werewolves in her third year. The moment she realized that Remus was suffering from the affliction, she had been driven to collect as much knowledge as she could on the topic. He was, afterall, her favourite professor. However, the books in the library at Hogwarts left little to be desired in the realm of interesting things about lycanthropy. Instead, their main focus was how to avoid a werewolf at all cost and how to successfully report a sighting of one to the Ministry. The unfairness of the treatment of people who had been affected by the disease had made her angry then and even more enraged now.

"It's the only blessing in a lifetime of damnation," Remus muttered, pulling a chair out from the table and looking over a stack of newspapers that had piled up in the last two days.

Hermione frowned and followed him into the kitchen, sitting in the chair across from him. She reached over to the stack and grabbed a bundle off the top.

"Do you have any other abilities that are strengthened by it?" Hermione questioned, opening up the first page of the previous day's local Muggle paper.

Remus looked up from the article he was scanning, regarding Hermione with some suspicion before he looked back down and continued to follow the lines of print. After several minutes, and finishing his cigarette, he finally answered her.

"Heightened senses," he murmured, without looking up.

Hermione paused in her reading, "I remember reading that werewolves had significantly increased hearing and sense of smell."

"Taste and eyesight, as well," he confirmed. "Touch—but only just before the moon rises."

"That's beneficial," she observed.

"It can be," Remus agreed.

Days faded into weeks and Hermione ascertained that Remus was a creature of habit.

Upon waking around sunrise, he drank two cups of black tea with honey and smoked three cigarettes before eating one piece of toast. He then showered, dressed, and left the cabin for precisely one hour and fifteen minutes. During which he went walking through the nearby village, collecting newspapers and scraps of information from morning commuters and Muggle news programs that played on the television in the tiny cafe.

The rest of his day was spent mostly in the cabin, smoking far too many cigarettes and eating not nearly enough. He moved from the table to the sofa and spent long periods of time staring at the wall where he had made connections to Death Eater activity from the array of clippings that were stuck to the peeling paint.

He muttered quietly to the walls; denigrating, vicious, terrible things about himself. It was concerning how little respect he held for himself—how much self hatred he harbored. Hermione often tried to find a way to ask him to speak differently about himself before she'd snap her mouth shut and remind herself that she was invading his space. He had made it clear that he did not need her help and she was sure he didn't want it. But, he allowed her to come back each day. So, she tread carefully and filed the things she was learning about her ex-professor away for later contemplation.

It had been three weeks since she had followed him back to his cabin. After spending far too many days witnessing Remus go without a proper meal, she showed up with a sack full of fresh vegetables and meat and filled his refrigerator and cabinets while he was out on his morning walk. She had taken to coming to the cabin daily, sometimes for only an hour or so, sometimes for the entirety of the day. Regardless of how standoffish Remus still seemed toward her, she gathered that he at least tolerated—maybe even enjoyed—the quiet presence of someone else existing in the same space as him.

She was bent at the waist, tucking the perishables into the refrigerator when she felt the grip of a hand on the back of her neck. Her body went rigid, her heart rate escalating as fingernails bit into the skin below her hairline.

"What are you doing?" Remus' voice was low and angry. His hand tightened.

Hermione blew out a slow, controlled breath. The carrots she had purchased still gripped tightly in her hand. "Putting away the groceries."

With a firm tug, he yanked her backward. The carrots toppled from her hand, rolling around on the floor as she stumbled backward and fell on her arse. She inhaled sharply, the impact causing a ripple of pain to radiate from her tailbone. She stared at him, bewildered.

The body that had seemed far too lean only weeks prior now felt hulking as he stood over her. His chest rose and fell with enraged breath, his eyes trained on her.

"What are you doing?" He asked, again.

"I-I just...all you eat is beans and—and toast! I just thought—"

"I do not need a caretaker!" Remus shouted.

"I wasn't—"

"I don't want you here! Haven't you figured it out? You have spent enough time obsessing over my every move—can you not see that I am better left alone? You—"

Hermione shoved up to her feet and narrowed her eyes at him. "Better left alone?" she laughed, "You're withering away in a mouldy, boarded up cottage in the middle of nowhere! You have no right to speak about obsession to me! Look at your fucking walls, Remus!"

Hermione motioned toward the wall, frantically waving her arm around at it before speeding across the room to grab a stack of newspaper from the table and throwing it at his feet.

"Don't talk to me about obsession! It means far less when it's the pot calling the kettle black! If you wanted me gone so badly, why have you allowed me to stay? You clearly know how to be ruthless when it suits you. Why not just wipe my memory of the entire encounter and send me on my way?"

"I don't resort to altering memories to protect people from me."

Hermione recoiled, her hands hanging limply at her sides, bottom lip pulled between her teeth to stop another shock of breath from escaping. Remus seemed ignorant to the way his words cut her, the hurt they brought with them. He crowded into her space, forcing her back against the wall.

"Your insistence of invading my home is tolerated only because you know too much. You've always known too much. Since you were a girl, you've been digging your nails into my life, trying to unearth things I've longed to keep buried."

His eyes flickered, his breath hot across her face as he seethed. The muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth, breathing furiously through his nose.

"And still," he continued, his hands wrapping around her shoulders to keep her pressed against the wall. "You haven't figured out when to leave well enough alone."

Against her better judgement, Hermione's hand moved up toward his face. The pressure on her shoulder lessened and she pressed her fingers to his jaw, gripping it tightly. Forcing him to bring his eyes to her level, to stop using the several inches of height to his advantage. She felt his jaw tighten beneath her fingers; watched as his body stiffened. His shoulders went rigid, back taut, face hardened.

"You have spent your entire life martyring yourself for a cause that didn't care about you," she spoke slowly. Annunciating every word clearly. "And now? You fancy yourself a vigilante for the same cause. I will never apologize," at this, her fingers tightened infinitesimally against his jaw. "For trying to find the answers to why."

She stared at him, meeting his heated glare with an inferno of her own. Somewhere in the back of her mind, bells rang loudly again, warning her to leave. Reminding her how close to the moon it was; how dangerous she knew he could be.

Hermione counted three slow breaths as his eyes raked her face before he surged forward and crashed his lips against hers.

The kiss was demanding and forceful. The stubble on his jaw rubbed against her skin and something inside of her snapped. She closed her eyes, her hand slackening against his jaw to move to the back of his neck, tugging at the grey peppered strands that curled there. Remus' tongue swiped against her bottom lip and she let her lips part, granting her the ability to taste him deeper. His teeth scraped against hers, hungry and fierce, as she wound her other arm around him, her hand splayed between his shoulders.

Just as abruptly as his mouth found hers, he pulled away, panting. Stumbling backward, his eyes wide with shock. He began pulling his fingers through his hair, tugging at it to stand on end as he turned around and crossed the room.

Hermione stayed against the wall, slumping slightly as she tried to catch breath between her kiss-bitten lips. She touched them, still wet from his tongue, still warm from the fire of it.

"Get out," he whispered.

"Remus—"

"GET OUT!" He bounded across the room and grabbed the front of her shirt, shoving her through the door before slamming it shut. She heard the locks click into place and began to walk down the dirt path that led past the trees and apparated home.

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a/n: I hope you liked it. Let me know? See you next sunday 3

xo