AN: Hey everyone... I just wanted to add this chapter so you could see it from Remus' perspective (I was just thinking that since most stories are usually told from either third or in the first person of only one character, it doesn't really allow the reader the opportunity to see things from multiple perspectives... so I'm going to pull a Stephanie Meyer and write my own Midnight Sun). I think each character deserves to have their own voice, just as a counterpoint so all odd number chapters will be Hermione's perspective and all even chapters will be Remus'...

Onward with the story...

I love how she watches me while I pretend to sleep, feeling her eyes caress my skin. At first I thought she knew I was pretending but after getting to know her better I realize that Hermione would never stare at another person if she knew that they could catch her in the act.

She will never know what it means to me, how she traces my scars over and over but never flinches or turns away. How in that simple unguarded act, she shows me that I am not the hideous creature I always believed myself to be.

Sometimes when her stare hits a particular part of my body and lingers, I like to open my eyes slightly so that I can watch the little smile that touches her lips, the ways her eyes soften and grow warm. All things that she attempts to hide from my eyes when she thinks I am awake.

I could die a happy man to just gaze upon her beauty forever, but it hurts me that she tries to hide her feelings for me.

I wonder if she tries to hide because she is ashamed to be with me, for others to know that we meet like this in secret, giving of our bodies to give the other comfort and affection. I have to accept what she is willing to give and I don't want to ask for anything since I am the luckiest man to be able to share my bed and heart with her, even if it is only in secret or in the dark.

Maybe she isn't ready or maybe she doesn't consciously know how she feels, or maybe it is I who am not ready to tell her or to have her tell me so I stay silent as I watch her and she stays silent as she watches me.

I love how her scent clings to my skin and to my sheets, one of the first nights we were together, I scrunched my nose to take in the scent as much as I could to catalog each scent note and then I heard her laugh. Even though I have long figured out that she smells of jasmine, bergamot, sandalwood, and neroli. I try to scrunch my nose as often as I can without it being too obvious, just so I can hear her sweet, quiet, throaty laugh. The sound alone makes me happy and relaxed. It is the most beautiful sound because it comes from her.

Why is she moving to sit up and moving away from my touch as if it burns her? Something must be bothering her.

I pretend to wake up and snuggle closer to her. Even though I have been lucky enough to have her this way for months, I have always been afraid that she will tire of me and leave.

After the war, I had lost so many things: my wife and countless friends. I still had my son but I felt so lost, I couldn't take care of myself and I wanted to die. Then she knocked on my door, demanding to be let in, telling me how selfish I was being, wallowing in my own self-pity when Teddy needed his father. She was right to do it of course, its why I love her along with: her passion, her zeal, her stubbornness about always doing what is right no matter how hard it is.

She saved me from drowning, she pulled me back and gave me a reason to keep going.

I smile gently at her and ask

"Hermione... what's wrong?"

I then use my hands to slowly rubs soothing circles on her back as my other hand goes down until my hand is on top of hers. For a minute, she relaxes into my touch. I love touching her, I can't get enough of touching her. She seems to love my hands and fingers and what they do to her. I love that she loves me touching her.

She sighs and says "Nothing, I just can't sleep is all"

And then she does it, she moves away from my touch and I know that she is lying. It is something, something is amiss and my smile falls to a frown. I don't like when she is hurting or in pain especially because she tries to hide this from me too. She can't even seem to be able to sit next to me now.

She slowly walks over to the full length mirror that she bought for me. I remember when she bought it, how she set it up in an empty corner and then slowly began to strip in front of me. She had wanted to watch me watching her while we had sex. The sex was even more mind-blowing than normal. I could tell how turned on she was, how dilated her pupils where, how her lips became engorged with blood because she kept biting them, how a rosy hue covered her skin. How demanding she was that night, I can still remember her breathy voice as she begged me to go deeper and harder. How she came over and over again as I kept stimulating her G-spot... how the pleasure was so intense she cried.

I came up behind her slowly and wrapped my hands around her abdomen, making sure to only lightly touch her skin just the way she liked. I took the first night I had with her to just touch her, to learn her erogenous zones, to learn how to touch her and stimulate her. Then I heard my favorite sound in the universe, her moan in response to my touch. It makes me laugh how quickly her knees weaken particularly when I slowly trails kisses on the back of her neck to her collarbone, letting my stubble lightly scape her sensitive skin and I can tell from the musky smell that is emanating from between her legs that she wants me.