Falling Leaves

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

ATTENTION! There are some mild dark thoughts in this chapter. I don't believe they'll be triggering to anyone, and the section is very, very short, but I thought it best to let you know.

ATTENTION #2! A few words are being eaten by the Doc Manager and I have no idea why or how to fix it. Up until the last chapter, I had been able to catch the missing bits before posting, but I missed one last chapter. The fixed sentence now reads: "Meanwhile, she got him a tonne of chocolate from Honeydukes and a few of Zonko's newest trinkets, and nothing else was said about the wolf or any Patronus."

October 1975

Remus pinned his Prefect badge haphazardly to his robe, alternating between half-running through the corridors and advancing in a more purposeful, dignified manner whenever he reached a turn, lest he cross paths with a teacher. After Peeves had changed the direction of three consecutive flights of stairs just for the fun of encumbering his efforts, Remus decided to stick to the castle's secret, tamper-proof passageways. He was too late already to put up with impish poltergeists and their boredom. As he stepped out of the last one - hidden behind an unremarkable-looking, brown tapestry - Remus rested his back against the stone wall and heaved a breath, countering his weight so as to keep from sliding down to the ground.

On the opposite wall, right below a torch, cows had stopped their perpetual gnawing on brush strokes of grass to stare at him from inside their delicate, indented frame.

What a picture he must make that the inane paintings of the castle watched him as if he were the exhibit and not the other way around. Raspy pants escaped his lips, his lungs burning with each icy, shallow burst of air that made its way inside, and he pressed a hand over his chest, guiding his ribcage to a less bruising breathing pattern. Then again, Remus would need multiple hands since every single part of his body screamed its existence through pain, a cacophony of muted grievances to which he gave little importance, a smile tugging at his lips.

She had brought him chocolates. It had been the most perfect gift, and just after a full moon, too, though Hermione wouldn't know that, just as she wouldn't know that he had snuck out of the Infirmary to meet her, and had done so against Madam Pomfrey's recommendation that he stayed longer. The transformation had been a few days prior, but the cold always made them more ghastly, even when they already felt as though the stillness of death would be a kinder alternative, every muscle in his body tightening and twisting and turning into themselves in toe-curling, gruesome ways, his skin an all-encompassing itch made not of flesh but of sweat and boiling blood as each and every strand of fur punctured through it like needles. But the cold… the cold penetrated through skin and muscle and drove his anguish all the way to the bone. It cut through the marrow, shattering its encasing as though it was made of the thinnest ice. Remus always wondered when a lucky one would shatter the right way and pierce his heart.

All it took was one shard.

He was convinced it would happen. At times, he would covet it. There was a freedom only death would grant him, that of never having to live with the aberration inside him ever again. Each time he would be disappointed, though: Death seemed disinterested in sparing Remus any pity, perhaps because he had enough to wallow in it for himself.

As of late, however, whenever the beast clawed its way out from within, Hermione's face shone as a refuge in Remus' mind. Dying would have meant never seeing her eyes light up again, never watch her hair change with her mood, never set gaze upon the smiles he pretended were just for him, and the possibility was one he could no longer entertain. He had had to see her earlier that day - it was no longer a wish, but a necessity. He couldn't bear to think she would be waiting for him there, alone, wondering why he hadn't shown. So far, Remus had been careful not to schedule for them to meet on the afternoons of a full moon yet hadn't predicted having to stay four days in the Infirmary afterward. Despite the weakness wearing on his body, Remus was glad that he went. She had welcomed him with a smile, a mishmash of flavored chocolates from Honeydukes, and the most nonsensical baubles he had ever seen.

The small touches had been there as well. His starvation for contact had gone unnoticed before Hermione, like something you didn't miss because you didn't know of its existence, a quiet need that only made itself known when fulfilled and you couldn't fathom the glaring difference it made to do so. The belief that she made him better than any strengthening potion in Hogwarts could wasn't a foolishly romantic exaggeration. She would touch him a hundred different ways, from full-blown, drawn-out hugs to half-hearted, huff-accompanied little swats, and they settled something inside him, even when the physical pain remained.

At night, sometimes, his skin still retained the warmth wherever she had touched, and sleep brought balming dreams that would never come to pass. That day, she had laid her head on his shoulder - her peach-scented shampoo even richer than their assorted sweets - and sighed. Something was burdening her mind. While they were together, Hermione smiled far more than she worried, but there were still times when he wished he could rob some of her concerns for himself. Remus bore the weight of one pernicious secret. How many more did she?

When darkness bled inside through the small, round windows, Hermione placed a kiss on the shoulder she had been leaning against, igniting tingles from the point of contact all the way to his throat and heart, muttered a quiet "Until the 1st, Remus", and stood, all before he could collect his thoughts enough to as much as give her a reply.

His heart always raced when she surprised him, and she always somehow did.

News that he was no longer under Madam Pomfrey's care had likely reached the Common Room already, so Remus had rushed to fulfill his duties. After he composed himself, brushing his clothes with the palm of his hands and carding his fingers through his hair, he turned a corner. The signature long auburn hair of his partner was hard to miss as she neared the Trophy Room up ahead, and he closed the remaining distance between them in large strides, "Sorry, Lily."

If she was startled by his arrival, Lily didn't show, but she slowed her pace regardless. "Falling ill is out of your control. You have nothing to be sorry about, Remus. You shouldn't even have come."

"I feel better."

Remus could feel her side-eyed gaze on him. Squaring his shoulders, he pushed out his chest and opened his eyes a bit wider, trying with all his might to appear livelier.

"I'm sorry, but you don't look it." His entire chest deflated once again and he closed his eyes in an extended blink. Lily had always had the oddest combination of kindness and harsh honesty Remus had ever encountered. With his luck, his attempt had come out as an uncanny impression of a cockerel instead of healthy. "Have you eaten well, at least? I didn't see you at the Great Hall."

"Do chocolates count?"

"I'll take the absurdity of your question as a no, then."

"They were… they were a gift." He had not the faintest idea of what made him tell Lily that. None other than the innate tendency of secrets themselves, contradictory in its nature as it was, to seek out confidants in order to flaunt their shrewdness while denying it in the process. And as confidants went, the other Marauders were out of the question, their help, however well-intentioned, would be hell if they caught even a hint of Remus being remotely interested in someone, whereas Lily… Lily would keep mum about it.

He had admitted to nothing much, but heat spread through his neck and face nonetheless, despite the chill surrounding them, and he regretted the words right after. Would it be too much to hope that clumsy words and embarrassment didn't translate into a flush? Or that Lily would have a rare, unheard-of moment of denseness and not read anything into them?

"Wow. Remus. John. Lupin." Yes. Yes, it would. "I can hardly believe it! Who is the girl? Is she a Gryffindor? A Ravenclaw?"

"She's not from here. And it's not like that, she is…" Orderly chaos, orange-red fire contained by a knowing gaze and a tilt of her mouth. Haughtiness laced with wit yet tempered by the softest tenderness. "She's a friend, is all."

"Oh, so I suppose your other, non-feminine friends have also gotten you chocolates as a get-well-soon gift?"

"My 'non-feminine friends' are not good examples to judge others by. They might give it a go, but I wouldn't eat any food coming from them unless I wanted my hair dyed blue for a week."

"Not even from Peter?" Remus gave her a pointed look. "Fair point, I wouldn't either. But a cheeky card would be the right mix of aloof yet friendly, anything other than that… I may be wrong, but she might actually like you."

"She didn't even know I was sick. I wasn't feeling myself the last we've spoken, and she thought it might cheer me up, I think."

"Chocolate as a spontaneous treat? I take what I said back, she does like you. And before you say anything, I can tell. Abigail - the Hufflepuff, remember? - fancied you for the better part of last year, and you never even noticed. I, on the other hand..." Lily did stop walking this time and turned toward him. "But no matter. I think the important question is, do you like her?"

"I do. Still, that—"

"Still nothing, Remus. Don't wait until she hits you on the head with her feelings, talk to her, let her know yours. Love, in friendship, can fester unless addressed early on. If one or both of you behave cowardly…" She swallowed, and Remus could smell the salty scent of tears. He would have comforted her, but she kept staring straight ahead, her steps unfaltering. If his inkling was right, he had very little ground to do or say anything anyway. Remus had been both witness and accomplice to the catalyst that had brought on those tears, and if there was something he wasn't proud of, it was his uncomfortable acceptance - but acceptance nonetheless - of the actions that led to it. "Things can go wrong, terribly so. Not to mention you'll both be happier in the long run if everything is clear even if things end up not working out. If you do marry her someday, however, I expect nothing less than to be included as a bridesmaid. Or not, if the groomsmen are going to be those three. Now come, let's finish this corridor. There are some final touches I need to add to my Arithmancy assignment before sleep."

November had arrived bringing the best of tidings. Instead of dreading the day of the transformation, Remus had been given a reprieve: a total lunar eclipse would take place during the full moon that month, so, other than some restlessness, his pet monster wouldn't be able to show its ugly head. Also, his talk with Lily had planted a seed of hope, one he had no idea how or even if he should cultivate. If Hermione liked him back… What then? Even as he reminded himself at set intervals that he was a werewolf and shouldn't put her in the position of unwittingly dating a beast, he couldn't deny the idea of her corresponding to his feelings put a spring to his step, one he had been quick to tell his friends had to do with the eclipse. That month, he could almost pretend he was just an average teenage wizard, in love with a charming young witch.

When Hermione didn't show on the first as they had agreed, he had chalked it up to a scheduling issue, even though she was the most organized student Hogwarts had likely ever seen. The second time, he had gone straight to the dorm after she failed to show, low-key fear eating at his insides.

He had gotten her expelled.

That was the only explanation he could come up with. She had seemed preoccupied, and perhaps he should have given more credence to his suspicions that something was amiss, but nothing about her actions screamed final or overly worrisome. But if not showing hadn't been her decision to begin with...

Remus was used to Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall's leniency, but Hermione had told him about the Ministry appointée's tyranny, and what had he done? Encouraged her to form an illegal club, not to mention have her return to the garden repeatedly even when she had told him it was off-limits to students in her time. Ultimately, he had her risk undergo torture, have her skin forever etched with the markings of a Blood Quill along with whatever other sick punishments that raving woman could concoct. Placing her at the mercy of a madwoman, perhaps expulsion was the better option after all, even if, when his time caught up to hers, Hermione would be a fiery ball of righteous energy.

But his older self wouldn't stand for her being hurt. He would have had the same thought, many years before, and would be able to prevent it, to be there for her no matter what. That notion was the only thing allowing him to breathe.

As the days passed without her, and the sun seemed more subdued than ever, Remus tried to tell himself it wasn't as if her absence hadn't happened before. Just last year he had thought he wouldn't see her again, wouldn't recognize her further on when they met in the future, and life had kept going. Now, he knew he wouldn't forget her - couldn't, yet the idea of not seeing her for decades…

He wished he could find some clue, but even though he now had a name, he had just that: one name. She hadn't provided a last name and he hadn't asked for it (stupid, stupid werewolf, repeating the same mistakes).

Remus couldn't go about Hogwarts asking students what they would name their children, not without looking like he had lost all the wits he had about him. He knew her best friends' first names as well, but a fat lot of good the knowledge did him, for the very same reason. He had already searched Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff for someone with features that resembled hers, but to no avail. The only one who had some passing likeness was Bellatrix Black, but he doubted any child she birthed could turn out to be as benevolent as Hermione was. Slytherin didn't suit her in the slightest.

And to think he had been feeling chipper... He would gladly trade the respite the eclipse offered for her happiness and the certainty that she was alright.

December 24th, 1995

Remus sat before his desk and scanned the contents of the old, yellowed piece of parchment, a tumbler of firewhisky drawing darker rings on the light-colored wood. Some of the parchment folds were already torn, had split due to too many uses, the ink not as jet-black as it once was. It crinkled in his hands as he refolded and stored it away.

The stoked embers in the fireplace burst into tall, green flames and Sirius' floating head poked inside, "Remus? Are you there?"

Remus swirled the amber liquid once before draining the last gulp. "I'm here, Sirius, as I told you I would be yesterday and the day before that, and two weeks prior to that."

"Are you sure you aren't coming? They're here, you know. Everyone."

"We both have things to do. The Order's instructions…"

"I haven't forgotten. But it's Christmas. Surely we can rest for one day?"

"You can, Sirius."

"But not you?"

"Dumbledore's—"

His best friend's expression closed off, a harsh glint back in his eyes. "I know when you're lying, always have. So don't bother. Happy Christmas, Moony."

A/N: *Slaps some Remus POV into your hands and smiles*

I hope you guys liked this chapter! Not the happiest one, I know, but this story is the Happily-Ever-After kind, so fear not, we'll get there!

Let me know what you guys thought of it if you can, reviews are appreciated and they do make me dance! Write, too. While dancing :)

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Love you all! :)