Chapter Seven

July 19th, 1981

A restful night of sleep was on the agenda for everyone in the small Godric's Hollow cottage. Remus and Hermione had taken over the spare bedroom that Harry had stayed in the night before, while Harry had been relocated to his childhood nursery. Baby Harry's crib was moved into Lily and James's room, and a proper bed was transfigured out of a rocking chair that sat beneath the nursery window.

Lily had quipped that it was a good thing James was such a master at Transfiguration since they were likely to have more guests staying once Sirius and Peter came home. Harry and Hermione purposely had not looked at one another at the mention of Peter. Neither were ready to have that conversation with the Potters or Remus. Hermione knew that they needed to wait for Sirius's arrival first and ensure the man would not do anything stupid—like last time—when he discovered the betrayal.

The still very human part of her wanted to stay with Harry. She had seldom been far from her best friend since they first left to hunt Horcruxes, and there was an integral part of her that needed to be close to him to assure that he would be safe and alive. The new part of her, however—the lycanthropic magic that pulsed in her veins like the beat of a war drum—yearned for Remus as though he were the first sunbeam to fall upon a prisoner, as though he were that first desperate gulp of air upon breaking the surface of a raging sea.

Harry had awkwardly hugged her goodnight, looking like he wanted to make a smart remark under his breath but thought better of it when she pinned him with a glare.

She thanked Lily for a set of borrowed nightclothes, and then cleared her throat as she stepped into the spare room to find Remus standing at the side of the bed, staring at the mattress as though it were an Arithmancy equation.

"Strange," she muttered quietly. "We don't have to share . . . I mean, if it's awkward, I can sleep—"

"I want to be right next to you," Remus blurted out, looking embarrassed as the words fell from his lips. "Sorry. I'm not usually . . . Sorry."

She smiled. "Me either. Perhaps . . . Do you think it would be best to just be honest? Being a werewolf is something you're experienced at that I'm not, but we're both adrift as far as this mates thing goes. Maybe we should just say exactly what we're thinking when we think it? For all we know, it could be essential."

Swallowing hard and looking pained by it, Remus nodded. "I'd like . . . I'd like very much to feel your skin."

Trying not to show how much his words affected her, Hermione shifted where she stood. "I'd like that as well." Skin to skin during the previous night had been like a healing salve on an aching wound.

She watched as Remus pulled back the blankets and adjusted the pillow on his side. She automatically began doing the same, though paying little attention as her hands mechanically mimicked his movements, smoothing down the blanket. When his fingers tugged at the bottom of his shirt before pulling it over his head, she looked away to prevent him from catching her staring at him.

"Honesty?" Remus quietly asked with a soft chuckle. "I can hear the way your heart picks up when you panic. You're not afraid, are you?"

Only slightly humiliated, Hermione laughed into her hands. "No. Certainly not afraid."

"Then what is it?"

Opening her eyes and peeking between her fingers, she saw a concerned look on his face that seemed to be hiding something else. There was a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Are you having a laugh, Remus Lupin?"

He smiled. "Humour me a little, will you? It's not often I catch a pretty witch blushing around me."

"I find that very hard to believe," she said softly, raking her eyes over his exposed chest.

She assumed that he found the scars on his skin hideous, but she thought they were beautiful. It ached to know where they came from and the pain they had caused, but the contrasting colours that blended into his complexion were startlingly attractive, and there was a long scar that ran through his chest—flat and smooth skin that broke through chest hair.

As much as it hurt to think of the friends that were left behind in the future, Hermione was pleased that Ginny was not around at that moment to tease Hermione over this. Draco, however, was likely going to be a nightmare when he showed up and found out that she had not only gone and mated herself to their former professor, but she was apparently taken with him to the point of adolescent stupidity.

Remus climbed in bed, and Hermione followed, pressing against his side instinctively and resting her cheek against his chest so that she could feel his heartbeat. She could hear him breathe in deep, his nose in her hair at the top of her head. Her magic began to settle in her chest.

"You're safe."

She closed her eyes, wanting to believe him, and waited for sleep to take her.

Several hours later, in the middle of the night, Remus woke up with panic flooding his senses. Unused to the feel of soft sheets and a comfortable mattress, it took a moment for the fog clouding his brain to be shaken away and to remember where he was. Potter Cottage in Godric's Hollow. The familiar smell of the sheets that only came from line drying would have been enough to give away his location had he never been to the cottage. Witches raised in magical homes typically learnt to use spells to do their cleaning and often used a Drying Charm followed with a spell that would add a scent to the fabric. While Remus was unaware of that particular charm, he knew that it added the same scent for every caster. Lily's preference for doing some things the Muggle way would make the scent of her sheets unique to her.

It was not Lily, though, that occupied his thoughts.

Hermione pressed against him with an unconscious need as though she were trying to fit them in the same body. The thought made him swallow hard as his body reacted to her nearness, her touch, her smell . . . everything her. He had read about true wolf mates and heard rumours circulating in the packs. They were told with the same air and tone that his mother used to use when reading him fairy tales, or that his father used to use when reading Beedle the Bard. It was a myth. Except many claimed that it was not. Some held the idea sacred. Others scoffed at it and the implications that came with it.

Remus had never been a believer.

Now, with one hand tangled in Hermione's hair and the other planted on the bare skin of her hip where her pyjama bottoms had pushed down, Remus was finding himself to be devout in his sudden worship and faith in true mates.

He shifted on the bed to try and make himself more comfortable. The summer heat mixing with the wards surrounding the house had stifled any potential air flow, and werewolves tended to run hot anyways. Having Hermione pressed right next to him was a bit stifling, but he was damned if he planned to leave her side.

The movement rekindled the deep aches in his muscles, reminding him that the full moon had only been two nights earlier. The memory of the transformation shocked something inside of him, waking the wolf within. The tingling wild magic of lycanthropy vibrated, and his senses returned to life. The smell of Hermione's skin filled his nose, and Remus groaned as he involuntarily ground his hips against her belly.

Snapped out of his own daze when her breathing pattern changed, embarrassed, Remus looked down to find himself staring into her eyes. He always saw a little better than others in the dark thanks to lupine senses, so making out the brown of her irises was easy enough. The little flecks of gold in her eyes, however—more than there had been the day before—were illuminating. She looked lost in her stare, still a little asleep but with an intense focus somewhere behind an invisible wall that Remus knew all too well.

Her wolf was coming alive within her.

Hermione made a soft little sound that was primal and needy, and he tightened his fist in her hair on instinct. Her eyes widened, and for a split second, he thought about letting go, but she growled softly and kissed him.

She was supposed to have been a myth, a rumour, a silly fairy tale told to little werewolves to ease the burden of a life alone as an outcast from society. She was not supposed to be real.

But she was. Real and perfect and delicious and just . . . She was deity as far as he was concerned. Gentle and tender and fragile, and yet she was rough and battle-worn and wild.

Her hands were frantic, pulling at her own clothing which was shifted back and down the bed as it parted from her skin. Remus's own legs got caught in his pyjama bottoms as he tried to wiggle out of them.

He took over the kiss, groaning when her tongue met his. He could taste the sweetness of her mouth and a hint of whatever toothpaste she had used prior to bed. He smiled. Most witches just used a charm to clean their teeth, but he had watched as Hermione jumped up and down and did a funny little celebratory dance when Lily had offered her a spare toothbrush. Her Muggleness reminded him that she was human, and that he, by common sense, was as well.

The thought of being something other than a wolf, and knowing that the woman in his arms knew both sides of him and embraced him so openly was a revelation. He smiled against her lips, half tempted to laugh just for the joy of it all.

Hermione pulled away from him, smiling as well. "Something funny?"

"No, just . . ." Remus took a breath. "Happy. I . . . I never thought—"

She cut off his words with another kiss, this one tender and gentle.

He helped her move when she broke the kiss and crawled over him, straddling his legs. Remus kept his hands on her hips, lifting her when she scooted forward.

The expression on her face looked like relief. Like he had somehow, through no actions or intentions of his own, filled up every missing piece of her. If that was what she was feeling, Remus understood. It felt to him like he had spent his entire life with a missing limb, never knowing it was gone until he found it. She was a warmth he had never before known. Her gentle fire flowed through him, reaching the end of every nerve, penetrating every bone, turning the riptide that was his magic into a smoothly flowing river.

"Oh God," Hermione moaned.

"If he exists, he is far too good to me."

She let out a little laugh that turned into a shuddering whimper.

Together they built a steady pace that was heated and intense, but nothing like the practically violent way their first coupling had been—not that either had a single complaint about it other than the fact that there had been an audience.

This time they were human—even if Remus could hear Moony howling in delight from somewhere deep inside his subconscious. He wondered if Hermione could hear her wolf yet. He wondered what she would look like. He wondered if her fur would be the same pretty colour that her hair was.

Remus bit down on his bottom lip to stop from laughing as he caught himself in his thoughts. The very last thing he needed was to turn their infection into a fetish. Reminding himself that this woman, this witch, was human, he ran his hands over the bare skin of her thighs.

Hermione gasped and grabbed his forearm when he struck gold, her tight grip holding him exactly where, he assumed, she wanted him.

He wrapped his arms around her back, pressing her as close to him as possible. She held onto his shoulders as he kissed her, drinking in every little noise she made. He tasted the salt of the tears that struck a path down her cheeks. He hoped they were tears of joy . . . or the relief he knew he felt himself.

July 20th, 1981

Hermione woke from a deep sleep that was more restful than any other night that ever preceded it. Then again, it was likely the sleep deprivation and panic from war that led her to think that. Still, as she stretched her limbs, revelling in the pleasant ache in her muscles—and a very pleasant ache between her thighs—she was reminded that she was not alone in the bed.

Rolling over, she smiled at the way that Remus's hair sat flat against one side of his head from where he had clearly had it pressed against his pillow—or more likely from the feel of it: her shoulder. He snored very softly, looking a mixture of exhausted and yet restful. Memories of the night before came rushing back to the forefront of her mind, and she let out a relaxed little sigh.

Getting into any relationship—let alone a magically permanent one fated due to lycanthropy—had certainly not been in the cards when she, Harry, and Draco concocted this last ditch effort emergency plan should all else fail. Granted, she did recall Draco mentioning more than once that she would likely have better luck finding a man in the past, since everyone in their timeline was aware of how bossy and irritating she could be. Still, as unexpected as Remus's new place was in her life, she felt like she had hope back in her heart again—something she had almost given up on at least once or twice after Hogwarts fell.

She moved as quietly and slowly as possible as she pried herself from Remus's grip, finding her pyjamas in a wrinkled bundle beneath the duvet at the foot of the bed. One of the legs of her bottoms was twisted up in the sheet, and she spent a frustrating minute desperately trying to untangle it without screaming. She knew she could do it with magic, but she still did not have a wand, and using Remus's was something she did not want becoming a habit.

Once dressed, she slipped silently from the room, gently closing the door behind her so as not to wake her mate. Turning around, she covered her mouth to prevent the startled squawk from escaping too loudly when she almost ran into James Potter, who looked to be camped outside her room.

"Morning," he said with a mischievous grin that made her insides squirm a little the same way that Fred and George used to make her feel.

"Good morning," Hermione nearly whispered as she adjusted her top, knowing that she likely looked more dishevelled than merely sleeping permitted. "Where's Harry?"

"Having breakfast," James said, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back against the hall cupboard. "Lily makes a wicked full English. Normally we're just a beans and toast kind of family, but she's used to keeping some sausages on hand for when Remus shows up. Figured with the full moon just past, he'd be pretty hungry. You get to eat while you were . . . wherever you were?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. Didn't have the stomach for it, honestly."

"We'll fatten you right up," he said cheerily, pushing off of the wall and skipping toward the small staircase. "Come on down and fill up a plate."

Sighing in relief, especially since her stomach seemed to speak English and had woken at the mention of sausages, she took a step to follow behind Harry's father. "Do you think I should wake Remus?"

James pivoted on one heel, turning with the grace of an athlete that never quite lost the muscle memory of balance. He grinned up at her. "Nah," he said with a daring expression. "We'll save him some. I'm sure Professor Lupin worked up quite the appetite."

She felt all the blood drain from her face at his words, and her eyes widened. She turned her gaze to the foot of the stairs and saw a small hint of black hair sticking out from behind a wall. "You son of a bitch," she muttered under her breath. Harry must have heard her, because the hint of black hair vanished from sight.

Looking elated, James stepped into her eyeline. "Hey now, that's my wife you're besmirching."

Stiffly, she followed the elder Potter down the stairs to the floor level of the cottage and into the kitchen where Lily had, indeed, set out quite the spread. The redhead turned and smiled as Hermione entered. She looked overjoyed as she pushed eggs onto a plate in front of a chair that Harry darted into.

"Wash your hands?"

Harry glanced up at his mother before clearing his throat and glancing at Hermione, looking guilty. "Yes, ma'am," he said as he picked up a fork and speared a tomato with the end of it. Keeping eye contact with Hermione as she slowly approached him, he reached his free hand out to the seat next to him and removed the fork and knife from the place setting—as though he expected Hermione to stab him with either—leaving behind only a spoon.

Hermione lifted a threatening eyebrow at him.

Harry slowly removed the spoon as well.

"Did you sleep well?" Lily asked politely, moving to stand in the space between where Hermione sat beside Harry. "I would have let you both sleep all day, God knows you could probably use the rest, but James insisted on fetching you. Was Remus up yet?"

Clearing her throat and resolving not to castrate her best friend in front of his mother, Hermione smiled. "I slept very well, thank you. And no, Remus was still sleeping."

"He'll do that," Lily said with a sigh. "Used to sleep in a lot when we were at Hogwarts. I imagine he was worn out from the—"

"Transformations," Hermione muttered, tucking the arm where she had been bitten against her side automatically.

From around his mother, Harry reached for Hermione's hand. Lily stepped back to allow him to get closer, and Hermione looked into the eyes of her best friend. "Don't pity me, Harry."

"I don't. I won't," he promised, though he had an unsure look in his eyes. "We'll figure it out. You're not alone in this."

Lily cleared her throat, and Hermione caught the redhead mouthing "say something" to her husband. James, looking eager to split the suddenly morose tension in the room, smiled and said, "Exactly. She's got Professor Moony."

"Ow, ow, ow," Harry quietly winced under his breath when Hermione pinched the skin between his thumb and index finger. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it just slipped out."

"Any chance that you're going to forget about this?" she asked James, not bothering to let Harry go just yet.

James grinned, his arms folded across his chest defiantly with a confidence that Harry only ever displayed in battle or on a broom. "And miss taking the piss out of Moony? Not a chance."

"Who's taking the piss?" Remus grunted as he tiredly walked into the room, heading straight for the cooker and plucking a sausage from the skillet. The only indication that the meat was too hot as he tossed it into his mouth, was the way that one of his eyelids squinted for a split second.

Lily swatted at Remus, shooing him away from the cooker and thrusting an empty plate at him. "Don't just eat from the skillet, Remus. God knows where your hands have been."

James laughed, and Harry let out a yelp when Hermione pinched him harder. Struggling, he escaped her grip and scooted his chair another foot away from her reach.

"That's not what I meant, Potter," Lily said, pointing a finger at James.

Remus raised a brow. "Did I miss something?"

"No," Harry blurted out.

Hermione cleared her throat, sat up straight, and offered the chair beside her to Remus. "How did you sleep?"

"Shouldn't you raise your hand before asking a question?" James asked with a delighted smile. When Hermione glared at him, he held his hands up in supplication. "You might as well get used to it. When Sirius shows up, it'll be about a million times worse."

She was not sure how she knew, because Remus made no outward sign of distress, but she could feel the sudden tension flowing off of his skin a full minute before he quietly cleared his throat and asked, "Sirius is coming home?"

Hermione and Harry shared a curious look while Lily pinned James with one of her own that Hermione caught the end of. Leaning across the table on his forearms with his head low as though he had a secret to share, Harry said, "You know he's loyal. Right? Sirius isn't the spy. He'll do whatever it takes to keep everyone safe."

Without looking at him, Remus picked up his fork and began eating. After swallowing his first bite, he said, "Depends on your definition of loyalty, I suppose."

"Moony," James said with a hint of warning in his voice.

"You know what happened when we last saw one another."

"Remus," Lily interjected, "Sirius was . . . It was a bad time. We'd just gone into hiding, and he was worried about Harry."

"Plus, you weren't being very forthcoming about your activities," James added.

"Spy," Remus said with a bite. "Kind of defeats the purpose of keeping your objective a secret if you tell your mates every last detail."

"You didn't share any details, Moons."

Remus scooted back from the table and looked up at James incredulously. "And that gave him the right to accuse me of . . . To say what he said to me? After years of friendship and everything we've been through?"

"Of course not," James replied with a softened expression. "But you know how he is. Sirius doesn't think that about you. But . . . there were rumours about the werewolf packs, and you were gone. Greyback's name showed up in the Prophet after a small village was—"

"James." Lily grabbed his arm and shook her head. "We know you're not like the werewolves we've read about, Remus. Sirius knows that too."

Hermione sent a pleading look at Harry, silently asking for help. He shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head toward Remus. Understanding, she took Remus's free hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Almost immediately, his stiff posture relaxed a touch, and he let out a slow exhale.

Looking up again, Remus made eye contact with James. "It's not just me. There are other werewolves who aren't like Greyback. And some who don't even know that there's another option. It's not fair to think that I'm special."

"You are fucking special," James said with a furrowed brow. "You're ours."

"You know what I mean, Prongs."

"Sirius will be fine. When he gets here, we'll all sit down and talk this out," Lily said calmly as she walked back to the cooker to grab the skillet. Moving to Remus's side, she placed more sausages on his plate with an expression that brokered no argument. She stayed right where she was until Remus stabbed one of the sausages with his fork.

Hermione cleared her throat and looked back at Harry, offering him an uncomfortable smile. Thinking of how he had told her once about how Professor Lupin used to talk about the dangers that Sirius Black posed him prior to the discovery about Wormtail, she chuckled. "Third year?"

Harry, catching her meaning, smiled and nodded.

They finished eating breakfast in relative silence. Lily and James discussed plans for the day that involved a schedule that they apparently kept little Harry on. Hermione talked with them both about the eroded wards on the house and how best to tackle the project without alerting anyone monitoring the wards that they were being tampered with. It would take some special rune work, but Lily insisted that she kept a decent collection of books in the basement, and the answer must be in one of them. Harry and James talked about creating emergency Portkeys as backup security measures, something Remus vehemently agreed with.

As they all stood to go on with their day, James clapped Remus on the shoulder. "It'll all be great, Moony. We'll all be together again like we're meant to be."

Remus nodded, not looking convinced. "Just so we're clear, if Sirius says anything about Hermione, I'm going to throw him through that wall."

Shocked by the calm tone and genuine look on his face, Hermione's mouth fell open. She hoped that her expression showed horror and incredulity and not the smallest, tiniest, faintest hint of being turned on.

"You'd better not," Lily said, flicking Remus's ear as she passed him. "I just painted that bloody wall."