Manhunt

\ ˈman-ˌhənt \

: an organized and usually intensive hunt for a person and

especially for one charged with crime

Two weeks passed without much notice. Remus still had his routine; wake up, one piece of toast, two cups of tea, three cigarettes, shower, and stalk around the village. He had, surprisingly, began to include Hermione in his day to day activities. Instead of throwing her out or blatantly ignoring her, he talked to her. He told her things he looked for in his careful dissection of Muggle newspapers. He listened to her ideas and absorbed her knowledge from the outside like a dry sponge. Soaking up every bit of information like he'd peel apart and crumble if he didn't.

He was letting her in. Bit by bit, column of smeared ink by column, he was opening up. He spoke in a more familiar tone to her now. Softer. Kinder. Much like the Remus she remembered from years ago. Except, there was still a rough edge to his voice, a bite to his words. And, although he spoke more than he had in the past few months to her, he was still unwilling to divulge his remaining secret. Shutting down every time she asked: Who is the last target?

She had to get creative, if she wanted to find out for sure. And while Hermione had always valued logic and fact over the creative use of them, she would get her answer.

"Why three forty three?" Hermione asked, as she ladled lamb stew into a bowl and handed it to him. "Why that precise time?"

Remus accepted the bowl, muttering a thanks before burying himself in new issues of The Quibbler at the table while he ate. "What?"

"The time," Hermione expanded. "You always take them at the same time. Why?"

"No reason."

Hermione tutted, taking the seat closest to him and waving her spoon at him. "You've done everything deliberately up to this point. You can't tell me the timing is random. If it were, it wouldn't be on the dot every single month."

"Guess you'll have to just worry about figuring that bit out for yourself, I suppose."

"It's bold of you to assume I don't already have a theory."

"Well, I was in Gryffindor. Bold and daring and all that," Remus mumbled, turning a page as he took another bite. "And I assume that if you had a theory you wouldn't be asking me."

"I think something major in your life happened at that time," Hermione pressed.

"Well spotted, Hermione."

Hermione rolled her eyes, tearing a chunk of bread off the loaf on the table to dunk into the stew. "Every victim—"

"—terrorist."

"Terrorist," Hermione corrected, "that you've taken has had a significant impact on you. You aren't just killing them to kill them. Even the place you take them has significance."

"Does it?" Remus chuckled, finally looking up at her with some amusement.

"It's the forest where your father met your mother."

Remus narrowed his eyes, his back straightening. "How did you figure that out?"

Hermione shrugged, swallowing down a bite. "I work at the Ministry, Remus. And, people like me. I can find out what I need to."

Remus sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "Go on, then."

"Three forty three in the morning is the reported time of a werewolf attack on a young child in the late summer of nineteen sixty five in Caerphilly, Wales in the Copi Gwynthi forest. A forest that was right at the edge of a property owned by Lyall and Hope Lupin, at the time," Hermione took another bite of stew and patted her lips with the napkin laid over her lap.

"Now, I don't know exactly when you got infected but judging by the age of some of your scars and the fact that I know you were already well acquainted with your lycanthropy by the time you started Hogwarts, I can only assume this young child was you."

Remus was looking at her like he wanted to hex her six ways to Sunday and that was all the confirmation she needed to know that she was right. The tendon along his jaw jumped as he worked his clenched teeth, gold eyes narrowed at her. The tips of his fingers turned white from how hard he was holding onto his biceps.

"This leads me to believe your ending target is who started it all for you," she continued, unphased by the obvious contempt Remus showed. "Fenrir Greyback."

Remus stood abruptly from the table, the chair toppling backward and hitting the floor with a clatter. Hermione pushed her bowl away, neatly folding her napkin and set it beside her glass. Remus began pacing the room.

He paced when he was agitated, that much Hermione knew for sure. It seemed like if he didn't run a rut into the uneven floorboards he'd fall through the ground with the weight of his thoughts. He tugged at his hair, his nostrils flaring.

"You're too fucking smart for your own good," he growled.

Hermione clasped her hands loosely in front of her, tilting her head to one side. "I beg to differ."

Remus barked out an angry puff of mirthless laughter, "Of course, you do."

Hermione took an exasperated breath, blowing it out through her nose. "I'm as smart and clever as I need to be. If you would have just told me the answers to my questions, I wouldn't have had to figure it out on my own. Unfortunately for you, I'm rather familiar with digging up information that has been withheld."

Remus halted, pivoting swiftly to look at her in disbelief. "I've asked you more than once not to get involved."

"No," Hermione drew out the 'o'. "You've told me you don't want me to get involved. There's a difference. I didn't ask your permission, Remus. I want answers and whether or not you give them to me, I will get them."

Remus stalked closer. With his shoulders set back, his chest seemed broader than usual. His tongue ran along his teeth, eyes flitting across her face. "You think you're so fucking clever."

"I am. You just said so, yourself."

"You're a gnat that refuses to be swatted away."

Hermione smirked, "I like to think of myself as more of a doxy. A bit of a nuisance but with the right motivation can take somebody down without blinking."

Remus bared his teeth, some sort of dangerous smile pulling his lips apart. Hermione was pushing him and she knew it. "Are you going to take me down?"

"Are you going to give me a reason to?"

The easy rise and fall of his chest was so close now she could feel it against her own. His hand slid into the back of her hair, fingers tightening around the curls at her scalp. He gave a firm pull, forcing her head to tilt back.

"You're maddening."

"Maybe you were already mad."

He huffed a laugh before crashing his lips down to hers, instantly delving into her mouth with his tongue. Tobacco and tea and the remnant taste of lamb stew coated her mouth, her tongue, her teeth. He nipped at her bottom lip, pulling it hard enough to force a gasp from her throat. Her arms wound around his middle, pulling him closer to her. She could feel the raised skin of scar tissue beneath his cotton shirt. Her hands roamed over the plane of his back, pressing along his spine and kneading into his shoulders. Grappling to hang on to any part of him.

Remus pressed hot, open mouthed kisses along her jaw, her neck, her collar. His tongue trailed in the hollow of her throat, teeth scraping against the skin there. Hermione brought her hands around to his chest, sliding them down to land on the buckle of his jeans.

This is how it had been over the past fortnight. Hot and heady. Needy and demanding. Intense. Rough. So many other things Hermione hadn't experienced with any partner before. Remus and Hermione did not make love. It was not tender and slow. There weren't sweet nothings whispered in her ears.

There were prayers.

Praises given to Gods long forgotten. Hymns sung to deities that she knew Remus didn't believe in. Bruised knees from worshipping at the altar of Remus' body. They had both been through hell but when they fucked, it was heaven.

Hermione arched into Remus, pressing her breasts against him as she let him pull her head further back, exposing the column of her throat. She fumbled with the buckle on his belt, feeling goosebumps raise across her flesh as he bit at her pulse point. Sucking a bruise into the skin that she would have to charm away before work in the morning.

She dragged her nails along his hips, slowly bringing them to the space beneath his navel where a trail of brown hair led south. She pushed her hand beneath the waistband of his pants, wrapping her fingers around his cock to pull him from the cotton and denim confines. Hermione sank to her knees, wetting her lips and pressing a sloppy kiss to the head. Remus' chest hitched as he growled a low "fuuuck".

There was something about this that she couldn't get enough of. Remus, who was desperate to gain control of the terrors of his life, unravelled beneath her. His hands in her hair, filthy words on his lips, guttural groans from his throat. She bobbed her head forward a few times before swallowing down his length, taking him to the back of her throat. Her mouth stretched wide, saliva dripping past her lips as she hollowed her cheeks and rolled her tongue. The velvet weight of him firm and heavy on her tongue, twitching with every movement. Remus' hips bucked forward and Hermione relaxed her throat, breathing through her nose as he pushed for more. As much as she could give. And she would give it to him, as long as he wanted to take it.

He pulled back, slipping out of her mouth. Hermione took in a deep breath and wiped the spit on her chin with the back of her hand. Remus knelt to the floor, pushing Hermione onto her back and shoving at her jeans, slipping them past her hips. She kicked them off, letting her knees fall open as he slotted himself between her thighs, his fingers running over her clit.

"Remus," Hermione breathed. Begged. "Stop teasing me."

He dove down to steal a kiss. Wet and dirty. His lips and tongue pushing against her mouth, tasting himself. Finally, he lined himself up, pressing the head of his cock to her entrance. They both groaned and writhed as he sheathed himself, pressing as deeply as he could go. Hermione brought her legs up to wrap around his waist, her hands buried in his hair as he began to pound into her, thrusting hard and fast.

When she came undone, Hermione shouted. A long string of incoherent nonsense as her vision went white and her breath caught in her chest. Her heels slipped, digging hard into Remus' arse to keep him in place as she clamped down around him. He followed her over the edge not long after, slumping forward to press his forehead against her chest.

They laid bare from the waist down on the cool, wood floor for a while. Panting to collect their breath.

"You can't just put my cock in your mouth every time I get pissed off at you," Remus grumbled.

Hermione laughed, running her nails gently up and down his back. "If I did, I don't think it would ever be out of my mouth, to be honest."

Remus barked out a laugh at that, "You really are maddening, you know that, don't you?"

Hermione hummed, "All part of my charm, don't you think?"

Harry looked like shit.

He clearly hadn't shaved in at least three days. There were purple bags beneath his eyes and he was practically shaking from all the coffee he'd been drinking. Hermione could smell it on his breath.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, tentatively. She decided not to point out the state of his office this time around but was still pleased to see him look up and give a sheepish smile before clearing some of the mess away with his wand. "When's the last time you went home?"

"Uh...what day is it?" Harry asked, tossing his glasses onto the desk and pressing the heel of his palm to his eyes.

"Thursday."

"It was rhetorical," Harry muttered. "What's up?"

"You need to call off the search," Hermione stated, matter-of-factly.

Harry pulled his hands back down, squinting at her before shoving his glasses back onto his nose. "What?"

"The search for…" Hermione flicked her wand to the door, casting a silent muffling charm and a locking spell. "Remus. Call it off."

"I can't do that, Hermione."

Hermione huffed, "Why not? You're the head on the case, aren't you? Call it off."

Harry sighed. "Two Ministry officials have been mailed to my office in a burlap sack, I can't ignore that. The Wizengamot can't ignore that."

"No. Two Death Eaters were apprehended and turned in."

Harry deadpanned, "I'm not doing this again. You know why I can't. They were never proven to be Death Eaters. I can't just call off the case. It's gone public now and it's not just my reputation on the line. It's the entirety of the Magical Law Enforcement Department!"

Hermione leaned back in the chair, crossing her legs at the knee. "I remember when you'd get into a verbal spar with the Minister over not doing the Ministry's bidding."

"That was before! And do you really think Kingsley is doing that bad of a job? That I should go verbally spar with him because you decided to get involved with a fucking murderer?"

Hermione pursed her lips, "Remus isn't a murderer."

"He's literally killing people, Hermione. What do you call that?"

"Retroactive karmic interference?"

Harry let out an exasperated (and honestly, a bit dramatic) puff of air. "Look," he began, softening his tone. "I'm doing everything I can to steer them away. But, they're starting to catch onto the pattern. It's becoming an all out manhunt, now. Nott funded half of the Ministry events alone, people are pissed he's gone. There's nothing I can do. My hands are kind of tied here."

Hermione nodded. "I know," she admitted. "But, Harry, he's prepared to die to finish what he started. He's prepared to let the Auror's kill him. He doesn't deserve to die for this."

"Do you honestly think he deserves his freedom? We all lost things to the war—people. We all lost parts of ourselves for it. Why does Remus get a pass?"

"Why shouldn't he? If it were you out there, I'd feel the same way. Harry, he's been fighting for his right to even be a part of the Wizarding World since he was five. And then he's forced to spend the next two and a half decades fighting for the community that doesn't even want him. He loves magic. He just wants to protect the people around him from the dangers of it."

"And in doing it, he's become the danger. I'm sorry Hermione, but I—look, I'll do what I can. But, it has to stop. I can only cover up so much without landing my own arse in Azkaban."

"I know," Hermione said, resigned.

That night, Hermione laid in bed, staring up at the starburst, stucco ceiling. The smell of peonies and vanilla wafted over from the candle lit in the corner. It smelled too sweet. Too clean. She pressed her fingers against the tender spot on her neck, the bruise left behind by a fierce kiss to her throat. Harry was right. She'd known all along that he was, but hearing it said from the person she trusted most…

She sighed and rolled over, burying herself beneath her sheets. The moment she realized that it was Remus killing off the Death Eaters, Hermione had known it was going to get complicated. She'd always liked Remus, always respected him. It was even more difficult now because she understood. Remus' want for revenge wasn't out of pocket. He'd been slighted by so many people and to watch Death Eaters walk free when he'd lost so much? Hermione understood the pain that it brought him.

But, he was still using Unforgivables. He was still taking lives that weren't his to take.

Remus was becoming the very thing he was trying to eradicate.

.

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a/n: thanks for reading. let me know your thoughts?