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.
Special thanks and love to teheminator and MammaWeasley27!
His eyes stung. A throb traveled from the nape of his neck all the way to his shoulder muscles and back, joining them together by a thread of pain.
Remus kept reading.
The fear that Hermione had already accepted their bond had led him to his Library—a set of short, unpolished planks barely deserving the name, crowded by battered, second-hand titles. While most books stood straight, others—to the horror of any librarian—rested on top of those, as linear or askew as the heights of the ones beneath them determined.
Remus pulled out all the volumes concerning werewolves, sat with them on his armchair, and began.
Yellow-brown pages glowed under the sun rays filtering in, inflaming the blocks of black, Gothic-lettered text with new life. The few thin-lined drawings gained vividness as well. One depicted a man mid-transformation, elongated claws and furry snout opposing his yet human form. Another pictured a smiling wizard holding a werewolf's severed head – a woman's.
In all of them, the werewolves' eyes were round and expressionless. Inhuman.
Not the wizard's eyes, though.
Thankfully, the following book didn't include any images. Cruelty was easier to withstand that way.
As Remus reached the last page of the last book, critters were the only things breaking the silence.
He found no mention of it. No indication of a mate's acceptance through the use of a wolf's magic ever being a possibility.
He had to have missed something.
With the waning daylight, he reached for his wand. Bluish-white light irradiated at his side, granting the atmosphere a sicklier, colder feel.
Remus ignored the dryness in his throat. Ignored the gnawing emptiness in his stomach and grabbed the pile of books once again. Sand-like parchment grated at his fingertips as he dragged them over the paragraphs, followed each word's path before turning the pages, grasping at any implications that could have led him to believe she had accepted him. When Hermione had told him about their Patroni, he had been certain… He could have sworn—
His spot of light disappeared.
Left in the dark, alone with those books, something other than relief seized his chest. He drew his feet up onto the seat and dropped the volume to the side.
All it would take was a single look.
Remus fisted his hair. Pulled at it until his scalp prickled.
If Hermione were a Legilimens… That was the thing about lies, they were always so frail. Legilimency wasn't even required—she could see right through him, couldn't she? Spot the truth beyond his facade, shatter his carefully cultivated demeanor and expose him to the world, not unlike the manner she had cried "Werewolf!" years before.
And the very worst would be her sorrow.
Hermione didn't take kindly to betrayals. Remus could envision how it would unfold: the way her eyes would water but would not shed a single tear. The higher pitch of her voice as she swallowed back the unwavering feeling of being made a fool of. The remainder of any admiration and trust she had, freely and misguidedly, nurtured for him vanishing into thin air.
He had seen it before—in that bloody, run-down Shack.
The look in her eyes haunted him still.
He knew not when that memory gave way to nightmares, or when those tortured him back into awareness. Knew not what he had forced down his throat despite his stomach or which set of clothes he had put on, but he did know how he looked, had caught a glimpse of his reflection staring back at him: deep dark circles, sallow skin, and a piercing stare. One he could not meet.
When the afternoon came, Remus chose to travel by Floo. Not that he would have minded getting Splinched, but the thought of forcing Hermione to care for him…
He reached into the bowl and closed his hand, bits of Floo powder getting under his nails whilst more sizeable amounts escaped his fingers like sand in an hourglass. They fell, settling on the ground around and on top of Remus' feet while he lingered before his fireplace.
As if delaying his arrival would make facing her any simpler.
He swallowed and gripped the Floo powder firmer before letting go entirely. "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."
He took a step forward, chill, emerald-colored embers engulfing his body. He hadn't taken any notes. Nor had he marked suggested pages or whatever action a bizarre wolfmate guided study could require.
As it was, his contribution to Hermione's understanding of things was comprised of keeping the books he carried from escaping his grasp. Of keeping them from getting lost in an unknown fireplace of the Floo Network, never to be seen again.
When the flames died down, the grey cobblestones of his fireplace had given way to the Black's house Drawing Room.
"Oh, bugger..." A man's voice sounded from inside the room.
Remus' chest unclenched, if only a little. Ducking his head, he stepped onto the hearth only to be faced with a surprise. An orange sofa yelled its presence inside the gloomy room. Gone were the dark green ones – their opulent carved arms and feet, and arabesque fabric replaced by simpler woodwork and plain, albeit comfortable-looking, fabric. Atop the center table before it, a Gryffindor mug served as a vase for half a dozen daisies.
Remus didn't comment.
Knelt down beside the new piece of furniture, with his cheek almost touching the floor, was Harry. His hair remained as disheveled as ever, but his appearance had changed—Remus didn't know if it was due to a happier life or to regular meals, but Harry had regained some of the weight the war had robbed of him. The fact that he was no longer being hunt down by Voldemort surely helped.
"Looking for something?"
Harry started and rose to his feet.
"Remus!" Harry said, barely sparing him a glance. He let out a breath and dusted his hands on his jeans, his eyes still scanning the floor. "No, not exactly."
"How so?"
"That would imply that I lost it and I certainly didn't. Misplaced it, perhaps." Harry turned his attention to Remus. "But it's nice to see y—God, are you feeling well?"
Remus managed a small smiled. "I haven't slept much, is all."
"Is the moon—"
He felt any trace of a smile wither. "Poor sleep on a regular night is not a wizard's prerogative, Harry. On occasion, us werewolves have been known to suffer from it as well."
"Right. I didn't—sorry." Harry ran his hand through the back of his head, the same discomfited gesture he used to see on James all the time.
Remus regretted his tone—he hadn't meant to take out his frustration on him.
Before he could apologize as well, Harry's hand flew to his elbow.
"Ouch!" Harry rubbed the spot and spoke to the floor. "Come on, not again…What have I ever done to you?"
In response, a bit of gravel came flying through from behind the sofa. Harry dodged. The small stone rattled on the wooden floor, coming to a stop before Remus' feet. Whatever threw it didn't seem to pose much of a threat, but Remus took out his wand regardless – it was the Black's House, after all. Merlin knew if it wouldn't want vengeance against orange furnishings, Gryffindor mugs, and daisies.
"Oh, don't!" Harry said to him.
Harry reached down behind the piece of furniture, bringing a tiny, purple furball of a thing into view.
"This is Arnold, Ginny's pygmy puff." The furball squeaked and tried to get away from Harry's hold. The boy held it with both hands. "He's usually nice, but he's been throwing things at me all evening for no reason at all. It's starting to get tiresome, really."
Remus suppressed the tugging at the corner of his lips—a more heartfelt smile than the previous one had been—and put away his wand. Harry, who rode hippogriffs, threstals, and dragons, and was, in some ways, as daring as James and Sirius combined, under attack by a puff... "And Ginny?"
"Went out with Mrs. Weasley. Hence my being left to care for Arnold."
"And most definitely not losing it?"
"Precisely."
A chuckle escaped Remus. "I see. Have you tried hand-feeding it?"
"I can't say I did. Why?"
"They tend to prefer it. I would imagine Hedwig did as well?"
Sirius' voice echoed in his head: Wonderful, Moony. Chastise him then bring his deceased pet into the bloody conversation. And to think people called you the sensitive one!
"Hedwig pretty much fed herself. Or stole my food, whenever she felt like it." Harry looked down at the pygmy in his hands. "In any case, I did dangle a cracker in front of you when we were in the kitchen. Couldn't you have eaten that?"
Remus cringed and motioned for Harry to pass him the furry little pet. He scooped it up in one hand, left his books on the center table, and reached for a chocolate bar.
"Chocolate? You must be joking!"
"Sweets in general, really. It's a bad idea to give them white flour."
"I thought it was a bad idea to get them wet, but those were gremlins, I guess."
Remus raised an eyebrow.
"Muggle movie, never mind. So," Harry looked away, "advanced werewolf studies?"
Confusion set for a second, until Remus followed Harry's gaze. The Classic Study of Lycanthropy, Beasts' Lore: menaces to the wizarding society, and Myth and truth on werewolves: the revised edition sat where he had left them, their spines turned in their direction.
"Something of the sort. For Hermione"
Harry smiled. "I would imagine so. I'm just not sure she's home, mate."
Remus hardened his muscles to keep a wave of relief from overcoming him. A werewolf dreading to see his mate… Such a pathetic excuse for a Gryffindor he was.
Arnold squirmed on his palm and Remus loosened his grasp a little. The pet relaxed. "Do you know where she went?"
"Oh, Diagon Alley this morning, I think. Pretty sure she came back from there, though, so maybe somewhere else? You can leave the books on her desk if you'd like. I don't think she would mind."
Remus nodded.
"Here you go." He petted Arnold and placed him on the chair. The little creature nested against the soft cushion and yawned.
Something was different about Hermione's room.
It was as if a gust of winter wind had whooshed its way inside, heightening every scent and adding its own fragrance to the mix. In addition to that, Remus could feel that he was being watched.
He slowed his breathing and narrowed his eyes.
Hermione wasn't there. Floors, bed, and desk were empty. No pair of eyes loomed from across the closed window's glass, either.
It was then that he spotted it. Perched at the edge of the wardrobe, talons grasping at the dark wood, was an owl. It stood unmoving, gaze trained on him.
Remus stared back at the animal—pruned white, tan, and brown-colored feathers coated its petite body. Its heart-shaped face was covered in all white, softer ruff except for two tan teardrop-like paths that descended from its almond eyes towards its beak.
At first, Remus thought the animal belonged to someone else. There was no cage to be seen, but, for the girl who advocated freedom to house elves, it stood to reason that Hermione would not wish to keep it caged in any manner.
She surely wouldn't lock someone else's owl in her room and leave.
Moreover, it seemed to somehow belong there already, alongside the piles of books, parchments, and ink bottles that far surpassed Hermione's clothing.
Remus stifled a twinge of jealousy. When she had told him of Ronald's wish for her to get an owl, he hadn't expected her to heed it. Not when Remus had told her she didn't have to.
Yet it was, he admitted, a beautiful animal. Not, of course, that Hermione would ever choose a pet based on such superficial traits—her mangy half kneazle was proof of that. In fact, she had most likely chosen it by the only trait it shared with the cat: like Crookshanks, the gleam in the owl's eyes betrayed intelligence. Despite the animal's surprise at his presence, its eyes bore into Remus' own—unlike the pygmy puff, it recognized him for what he was.
It had yet to blink or look away since he entered.
He was an intruder there, a potentially dangerous one to boot. With slow, careful movements,—for he wouldn't blame the animal for clawing at and biting him if he behaved in any other manner—Remus placed the books on Hermione's bed and left.
He closed the room's door and began to climb down the stairs. All that was left for him to do now was interact with Neville's frog and with whatever fantastic, invisible creature Luna had decided to befriend.
As if summoned, Neville appeared as Remus reached the first-floor landing. "Hello, Professor."
"Neville."
"Are you here for a meeting?"
"Not today. I came to loan Hermione some books, I was just on my way out."
"Is she home already?"
"I'm afraid not."
Neville averted his gaze. At his sides, the boy curled his hands into fists only to loosen them again. His stare returned to Remus.
"Maybe you should stay. A while longer. For Hermione, that is. You were our best DADA teacher, and she was crying yesterday…" Neville grimaced. "And I talked about blasted plants for the rest of the night! I'm not good enough about these things. And I probably shouldn't have told you this, but... Maybe you could help."
"Hermione cried?"
"I shouldn't have said—she asked me not to say anything to Harry… You shouldn't, too."
"Neville, tell me what happened."
"I can't. I promised I wouldn't. It's not life-threatening, at least I don't think it is. Just… just have her tell you. Please."
Remus wanted to grab Neville by his shoulders and make him stay until he explained things. Instead, he nodded.
He climbed the stairs in a blur, prepared to storm into her room—as if it could somehow contain clues to her whereabouts—when he heard her. Not the crack of Apparition, but the fluttering of large wings betrayed her discreet entrance.
If Hermione was sending letters as soon as she arrived, something could indeed be terribly wrong. Remus knocked on the door, the one he had opened minutes before, and wished he could just…
The knob turned. The door swung back to reveal a flustered Hermione, her cheeks a shade pinker than usual and her hair in disarray. A flustered Hermione was a living Hermione.
What little air was left from running up the stairs escaped through Remus' lips. Neville had said it wasn't life-threatening. Some part of him hadn't believed it.
"Remus!" Hermione scanned his face and caught him by the hand—the same way she had done two nights earlier—and pulled him inside. "Have you slept at all? I could have waited for the books, you didn't have to—you shouldn't have—"
Remus let go of her hand—he wouldn't sit on her bed with her. Instead, he pulled the chair from her desk and turned it towards her before taking its seat.
Hermione furrowed her brows but didn't mention it.
Silence weighted between them.
Remus couldn't demand she told him. If he asked her whether anything was wrong and she answered no…
"Neville…"
"Oh," Hermione said. "I was planning to tell you. I… I need your help with it."
"With what? He told me you were crying, that it likely wasn't life-threatening, but that as a DADA teacher I could perhaps help. What happened, Hermione?"
She bit her lip and stared at her side table. She stood, walked over to it, and reached for a piece of paper. Her gaze lingered on its contents before it met his. Hermione held it out to him and spoke in a low voice, "It honestly doesn't seem dangerous. I've cast every spell I know since I received it yesterday."
Remus took it and looked at the picture. His chest tightened. "Your parents?"
Hermione nodded. "It just... it shouldn't exist. I saw all of them disappear. I watched myself fade away from each and every one of them. And I don't know if it is a threat, if it's cursed, if it means there's a chance to revert the spell. I don't know… And not knowing has become the new fad, apparently, because I know nothing."
"That isn't true, Hermione."
"I know." She pressed her lips together, a gleam in her eyes. "Next to nothing it is, then."
"I'll take it home and try a few other incantations. I'm leaving you with the books for now. Oh, and I saw you bought an owl."
A hint of blush colored her cheeks, but she didn't deny it.
Remus had been right, then. "Should you have any questions you can mail them to me. There are things I have to tell you."
Hermione frowned, her jaw set. "No."
"Pardon?"
She snorted. "No. I won't sit with a pile of books while you wait around to know whether I decided to be with you."
"Hermione, you should understand—you deserve to understand everything about it."
"Well, I disagree. There are things that should be thought over, but not you. Not a relationship with you." Hermione said. "I asked for the books so that I can understand what this bond between us means, but that's because you matter, Remus. A great deal. To me and in general, and I may read everything there is to know about it, and we may discuss all that you judge detrimental if you wish, but—God, I'm babbling again, so allow me to stop myself."
Her heartbeat should have given her away, was a thought he would have later on. It reached the same speed that it had during the Hogwarts' Battle—a non-stop pounding that had kept him alive throughout that night. Yet Remus was none the wiser when Hermione stepped forward, balanced herself on the chair's arms, and pressed her lips against his.
The touch put a stop to the current of objections in his mind. Like dense, almost palpable, fog, it settled in his brain and the only thing in existence was her. Her lips were cold in comparison to his. Her soft skin contrasting with the determined tilt of her chin, stubborn and tender incarnated.
The moment didn't stretch for more than a few seconds.
The feeling, he was sure, would stretch for the remainder of his lifetime.
Hermione broke the kiss, her warm breath still dancing over Remus' tingling skin. When their gazes met, there was weight to her brown eyes.
"It's a promise."
A/N: Oh my God, this was the hardest chapter I've ever written! I haven't even shown it to anyone else (it hasn't been betaed, sorry!), it was both so frustrating and exciting.
A lot has happened while I was writing it. I edited it at least 16 times and felt like an absolute failure for most of it. I even wrote a completely different author's note in which I confessed to playing pretend-writer all this time and to being unable to write a remotely decent chapter. Yep, that's how bad it was.
But some incredible things happened as well! I posted about these feelings on a FB writer's group full of amazing, incredibly supportive writers (especially MammaWeasley27 and FawkesyLady, so I wanted to leave a huge thank you to them). And, incredibly, a bunch of you voted for this story at the Mischief Managed Awards AND it got 1st place as Best Fan Fix! I was ecstatic! Thank you with all of my heart :)
Onto the contents of the chapter: it finally happened, everyone. I am dying to know what you guys thought of it, so if you always leave reviews, please don't skip this chapter! And if you're someone that reads from the shadows... gah, I don't know because I get what it's like to be really shy, but if you could just let me know this time it would be awesome (just know you're appreciated even if you don't ;))!
Much love to all of you!
Bear hugs to…
My reviewers: NeverIsTheEternal, skyeryder01, RAV3N R1PP3R, Pharies, Crossy70, and Journalism13.
To: Alyass, Tlauren2010, darknessbetrothed, coffeemonstar486, enya ravenclaw, MamaHooterz, WillowOdair, GeekOfManyForms, skyeryder01, LightHearted21, Katsieh, and Margareitha Malfoy-Nott for adding the story to their favorites.
And to: Alythya, Happydragon5, Tlauren2010, reinadelsol2389, coffeemonstar486, DracosxLioness, darknessbetrothed, HRER, Pharies, FriendlyDragon32, Mathly, belladonablush, chocolateluva13, BookFan5252, lildevil0644, MargsMonday, Katsieh, Happydragon5, LightHearted21, Ywool, BeesBooks, Fandomwizard26, BlackSiriusly, and GeekOfManyForms for following the story.