Tie Your Heart at Night to Mine, Love
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"Blishen's Firewhisky, 250 years old" read the label of the half-empty bottle sitting on the kitchen table at Vine Grove's Cottage. Fresh, round stains marked the now worn pine boards – wood that despite the years still bore Remus' carved initials, long after its varnish cracked and peeled, the engraving a boyish attempt to protect his mother, by disguising his loneliness as boredom. He ran a finger over it – the sort of marking that sickly resembled another.
The bottle had been a gift from Sirius when the unruly Black converted his parents' house into the Black's worst nightmare. The animagus had welcomed him in, a glint of humor in his eyes as his mother screamed obscenities like a drunken muggle sailor. That observation alone earned Remus a smirk from his friend and higher-pitched shrieks from Mrs. Black's painting.
They didn't drink that day. The house was inhospitable – hostile, even – and yet their soberness was due to another reason – change was on the way. They both could feel it – a sentience that fired up their every nerve. The clarity that knowledge provided before the change itself swallowed them up in its tangled mess was the last they would have for a while. As seasoned survivors they basked in it, prepared for the worst, and hoped to Merlin for the best.
As he was about to leave, Sirius handed him the bottle.
"To new, exciting times, Moony."
Five words that had prevented Remus from drinking it the day his friend went through the veil, the day he lost Sirius and failed to protect Hermione. Since then, Remus had been reluctant to open it.
Until he failed her – again. He gulped the contents of his glass and set it once again on the table, a third wet stain intersecting with the first – or was it the second? – one. By accident, surely, for if not for his wobbly aim the liquid wouldn't have spilled in the first place.
He had drunk this way before – straight Firewhisky, intent on numbing the senses and causing a well-deserved migraine afterwards – when he resigned his job at Hogwarts. That day he had settled his affairs almost thankful for Snape's slip of tongue and tracked down Padfoot, a bottle of much cheaper Firewhisky than this in hand.
Despite what he led the Trio to believe, he remembered every second of that rotten night.
They had lost Peter, Sirius' only chance to be cleared of James and Lily's murder, and further antagonized and bullied Severus. His transformation had scared them all and he had viciously attacked his best friend as he tried to protect them. The wolf had wanted to kill Harry, to kill them all.
Except for Hermione.
And yet the one thing that haunted him the most from that night was her. The wolf had recognized her then – a sweet, intelligent girl, whose curiosity was only surpassed by her loyalty and whom Remus had teased inside the Shrieking Shack not five minutes earlier – as his mate.
If she hadn't been there… If he hadn't been there… If he had transformed under the effect of the Wolfsbane… The possibilities of it never happening weighed on him since.
He rushed out of Hogwarts, equally wishing he'd see her soon and never again. It was the demise of sanity that he and Sirius mourned over several glasses. Fate had been unsatisfied with turning him into a monster and had furthermore condemned him to a greater monstrosity – that of loving a child.
They drank to a stupor – Sirius' wretched body and unstable mind in unison with Remus' doomed soul. If their friendship was ever strained, their misery reconciled them.
"You've been drinking."
The tone was wrong – much too deep, much too sober – yet Remus raised his head expecting to see Sirius there. He had delved on that memory for too long, enough for inebriation to temporarily erase his friend's death. A slip that a visit from Kingsley Shacklebolt to his house soon corrected.
"Astounding observation skills, Kings," he said, the slurring adding to his sarcasm, "No wonder they made you Head Auror."
The other wizard half-smiled and pulled himself a chair. He lifted the bottle, scanning the label and dipped it towards the table. The liquid fell inside a glass that hadn't been there a second earlier – a wizarding bar trick, certainly, that the auror must've learned to charm a few witches or trick his friends into thinking they were already hammered. Or both, most likely.
Remus snorted, unfazed by it. "What happened after we left?"
Kingsley sipped the drink, humming in approval, his manner relaxed, "A political crisis was averted by Umbridge's great-uncle. There was no love lost between them… I believe his exact word was 'leave'. She must have been counting on him being dead and silent, apparently."
"And her reaction?"
"That of a toad trying to look like a peacock. A gruesome image, I assure you. But she did leave, without a word. I am surprised, tough, that today's news doesn't contain any accusations towards George."
"'Hooligan tampers with deceased heroes' behavior'?" Remus sniggered, "I wouldn't put it past her."
"Nor would I." Shacklebolt emptied his glass before he continued, "I still don't know why we are drinking. Care to enlighten me?"
Remus looked down at the bottom of the cup.
"I'll take that as 'Hermione'. What happened?" Remus glared at him. "Alright, not happened, then. You do know that a conversation implies that both parties speak, don't you?"
Remus slumped into the chair, supporting his left elbow on the table as he buried his fingers in his hair. He wasn't sure he wanted to tell the auror about it until the words left his mouth, "I almost kissed her."
"And?"
"Harry interrupted."
"And you're drinking because you didn't or drinking because you tried?" "Look, Remus, this deeper connection or whatever it is that you too have is destroying you. Embrace it or leave it… stop punishing yourself. If she makes you feel that guilty, Tonks is still single. Take her out, have some fun—"
The werewolf's fingers had turned white around his glass, the material threatening to crack under his grip. His jaw was clenched and nothing about his body said 'slumped' or 'relaxed' – his neck was rock-rigid, the muscles in his arms and shoulders strained against his skin. It was all he could do not to bare his teeth at Kingsley.
"I will not," he said through clenched teeth, his nostrils flaring as he tried to breathe his control back, "betray my mate."
"Your eyes…"
Remus blinked, unsettled. He loosened his grasp on the glass and set it back on the table. He hid both hands under the table gluing them to his thighs and pointedly kept his gaze down. Only after a minute of scrutiny, he darted a glance at the other wizard.
"They were yellow for a moment…I think." Kingsley muttered, then glanced at the Firewhisky bottle and shook his head. "That's good stuff. Wait…your mate? You don't mean—since the moment you've found her—"
"Since the moment I found her, I'm hers until I die."
Shacklebolt's brows gave a slight twinge – the equivalent of furrowed brows for him – before he spoke. "You must tell her. Hermione is a sensible witch, if anyone would understand—"
"I'm hers, but she doesn't belong to me. She doesn't have to. She can fall in love and live a happy life with someone normal."
"While you remain alone for the rest of your life? You certainly give new meaning to the expression 'lone wolf'."
"It's not some sacrifice that I'm doing. It's sick – this whole bond is just a cruel joke. I'm not about to ruin her life for something a werewolf – a monster – decided."
"Well, however you handled it, it worked. Just before I came here, Harry told me that she was leaving."
A single sentence, more powerful than best concocted Sober-Up.
"Where?"
"To see her parents, I think," Kingsley intentionally raised an eyebrow, "Does it matter?"
Remus scrambled to his feet and rushed to the small countertop under the kitchen's window. It was clean, and dry, and clear of everything except for two closed envelopes, delivered earlier that day by Pigwidgeon. He had gotten them already drunk, separated by what he judged as a few hours, and dropped them there as he wallowed in disappointment and self-pity.
The first envelope read "Remus" in neat, legible letters, with a slight slant to the right – Hermione's handwriting. Not that they had ever exchanged letters, but the long, thorough essays, always a few extra inches than requested, had been note-worthy even before the bond.
Remus. His pulse raced and his body seemed conflicted – his chest radiated warmth yet his stomach resembled a thunderstorm, cold as the pounding rain, with a single electrical jolt that traveled through his entire body at the sight of his name. It was the first time she had ever used it.
The second envelope, however, was addressed to "Professor Lupin". The use of the title had been deliberate – he had either infuriated or exasperated her, perhaps both. He saved the other letter for later and broke the envelope seal. He took the piece of parchment out and skimmed through the few sentences it contained until he found what he was looking for.
His hand trembled; elation gave way to a cold sweat. The letter slipped from his fingers and fluttered its way to the floor.
"Call the Order and your contacts in Australia, we need to find Hermione," Remus managed to say in a quiet voice, his gaze fixed and unseeing, "We need to get to her and her family before Umbridge does."
A/N: Sorry it took me so long, but I finally finished it! I hope you like it :)
Skiving snackboxes to…
My reviewers: nostalgiakills, IrishIris, Siriusly Orion Wicked, Helfinna, Kaleigh Windelynn, rosesnblueberries, and Buffalochip.
To Skiffle-Rose, LusciousFoil, karen hughes 35110418, Sammie Lupin, gopika nair 520900, NataaliaGarcia1, Muir1492, TheDiamondSparkles, and Ashamalee for adding the story to their favorites.
And to Andthetonygoesto, crankypants16, Siriusly Orion Wicked, LusciousFoil, karen hughes 35110418, volleyballbabe51, booklover7, gopika nair 520900, NataaliaGarcia1, Luna525, Muir1492, MST3000, antaures, Ashamalee, and GlitchyLakes for following the story.
Thank you all! Please review :)