Tie your Heart at Night to Mine, Love
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.
Hermione dreamt that night as well. She lay under a tree amidst a sandalwood forest, the sound of her breathing as her only companion. The mist diffused the first streaks of sunlight, enveloping the woods in a yellowish glow, but the early hour chill never brushed her skin, for she felt wrapped in warmth and contentment. Hermione closed her eyes and inhaled the earthy wooden fragrance, letting it lure a smile out of her. That scent, not castles or fortresses, had become her safe haven. Yet she turned and found herself falling.
Hermione's eyes shot open as she realized she was indeed falling. Her stomach lurched as she reached out her hand, but her cold fingers slid over the smooth sheets. Something enlaced her waist, securing and pulling her away from the edge. She let out a breath.
"Hermione?" It was the same husky voice from the night before, the one that had called her name as if addressing an entire universe, the one that made her feel like a beautiful, vast secret. But the tone was wrong – it was less whispery, less tender. It bore the inquisitive inflection of a man who was now very much awake. "Hermione, is that you?"
Hermione stilled. Part of her brain had acknowledged it was an arm enlacing her waist, the part that had as evidence the sheet-covered chest she was facing, and the broad shoulder it was connected to. The dark-blond stubble down his neck and the thin white lines of scar tissue gracing his exposed skin confirmed her bedmate's identity. She was going to be expelled. Forever. From whatever institution. And that would be ending of the mortifying tale of how she spent the night in her professor's bed – and got caught.
Her brain flared up. How — WHY had her mind deemed lying in his cot acceptable?
She had been curious. The night before, when Professor Lupin had muttered her name, she had wished she could invade his subconscious and uncover why dream-Hermione was there in the first place. Could he feel her? Did he know she was clutching his hand? Their bond…could it be possible he felt her magic racing through his veins like blood itself? Or did it stream like spring water, as it did in her mind? She had then cleared her thoughts and pictured it – to the point that it lulled her into a rest of her own.
Worse still than sleeping with a professor unintentionally, was that the sandalwood scent she had tied to feelings of warmth and safety came from him.
He removed his arm awkwardly, bringing her back to the situation at hand. And her reaction, albeit instinctual, was grounded in the finest common sense: she jerked up and away from him, until her back hit the metal grating at the end of his cot.
"God! This is embarrassing…" She cupped her hands over her face. The mattress shifted underneath her, and she slid her hands down, until her palms were pressed together in front of her mouth. She chanced a glimpse at Professor Lupin, who had pushed himself up to a sitting position, now keeping a proper distance. She forced her voice out, despite the thickness in her throat. "I'm sorry."
His face displayed a tight-lipped smile but he wasn't looking at her, his gaze trained on some particular spot of the sheet.
"It's…it's quite alright." When their eyes met, however, his expression changed. He leaned forward, eyebrows wrinkled, and something shone in his eyes. "Surely embarrassment's not enough reason to cry?"
"Cry? I'm not—I'm crying." A tear trailed down her face, and realization was all it took for others to follow. "I'm crying."
"Shhh, it's okay. Come here." Professor Lupin swung his legs off the bed, sitting at the edge of it, and placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her to do the same.
"You were dying." Her words and accusatory tone surprised her as much as her own tears had. Hermione felt rather than saw as he put the sheets over her shoulders. "Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey—you-you were dying."
"I'm not dying anymore, Hermione, I promise. Can I get you something?"
She snorted, dragging the back of her hand over her tear-stained cheeks. "I should be the one caring for you. You need water, and I need to call Madam Pomfrey."
"I've felt worse, I assure you."
Hermione looked up at him only to catch him scanning the Hall, as if the Healer's name was taboo. Whatever misconceived idea he might have about the seriousness of what he'd gone through, he seemed to take Madam Pomfrey's fussing as a given because he added, "I dare say this is the best I've felt in years. Your mortification excluded, of course."
His lips curled with just the draft of a smirk and Hermione gasped, yet couldn't contain her smile. "Of course. If I may clarify, there was an academic reason for that."
"I'm sure there was. And I'll love to hear all about it."
She narrowed her eyes at him, but found no sarcasm in his smile. She returned it, and they both stared down at their feet dangling in the air, relishing each other's company in the short-lived quiet before Madam Pomfrey started to make her rounds and found Professor Lupin awake.
A/N: Late chapter, sorry! I've spent a lot of time tweaking this one, and I still have mixed feelings about it. What do you think? Good, bad, somewhere in between?
Lots and lots of thanks to my reviewers pianomouse, and CassieRenee333. To mystic23, SereniteRose, SJandDJ, EloisePhelps, MissTigerLily1013, thelight-ofnight, and katriellejs, for adding the story to their favorites. And to kittie night, Hotmamatx, vbchick517, , SereniteRose, CassieRenee333, SJandDJ, Shorsaki-Yuki, LoveHistory, EloisePhelps, lovediva100, Thedoctorswif3, MissTigerLily1013, DancingWithAngelsAnd Demons, Midnight sky494, katriellejs, and princesskitty68, for following the story. :)