Remus awoke late Sunday morning feeling groggy and grumpy from the little sleep he'd gotten last night. He'd been consumed by thoughts of Hermione and racked with apprehension at the shrewd conclusion George had drawn about him. The Weasley had seen right through him last night. He'd sensed his jealousy and knew he had feelings for Hermione.
"Well, if you want her so much, why don't you just go after her?"
Because he was old enough to be her father, for starters. And he'd likely lose her friendship if she knew how he felt. He feared that she did know how he felt now, feared George had told his girlfriend that he suspected her professor had an inappropriate interest in her, or worse, that she herself had realized he had feelings for her after seeing his ill-disguised jealousy last night. He should have been more careful, more guarded. He'd acted rashly when he'd gone after Hermione and George when they'd left the Great Hall, and he'd been foolish to fall for George's provocations.
Remus had already missed breakfast by the time he finally mustered enough energy to drag himself out of bed. He thought he'd visit the kitchens for a bite, but first he checked the post that awaited him on the table in his sitting room. Along with today's edition of the Daily Prophet were a couple of surprises — valentines. He'd forgotten it was Valentine's Day today. But who would have sent him these gifts?
The first package was of assorted sweets. The card attached revealed it was from Professor Avila, graciously thanking him for the dances last night. The other gift was a box of his favorite chocolates from Honeydukes. Remus knew before even looking at the card that it was from Vivienne. He crumpled the unread note and dumped it in the rubbish bin along with the chocolates.
He was about to leave for the kitchens, but then the headline on the front page of the Daily Prophet arrested his attention. He seized the paper and quickly read through the article. There'd been a werewolf attack last night, one involving his old schoolmate Hugh Hawthorne and his girlfriend Rosalind. . . .
His appetite gone, Remus skipped his trip to the kitchens and left the castle for St. Mungo's to see his friend.
Hermione was on her way to the library when she heard an unwelcome voice calling her name from behind her in the corridor. She sped up to avoid George, not in any mood to see him after what he'd done last night.
"Wait up, Hermione," he said, chasing after her. "We have to talk. Or we could continue where we left off last night and snog, whichever you prefer."
Irked by the humor in his voice, Hermione whipped around. Her anger flared at the sight of the smirk on his face and she unleashed her indignation upon him.
"I can't believe you did that! I thought you were trying to help me! Now Remus just thinks I'm —"
"I was trying to help you," George argued, "and I did! You should be thanking me right now."
"For what? Getting me into trouble?"
"No, for proving Moony is totally in love with you."
"What on earth makes you think that?"
"Come on, we can talk in here," he said, opening the door to the classroom nearest them, and Hermione realized their raised voices had attracted the attention of a few students down the corridor who'd stopped to stare at them.
Still, she didn't budge. "I am not going in there with you. Not after that stunt you pulled last night."
George rolled his eyes. "I promise I won't pull anything like that again. I'll behave myself, all right?"
Hermione reluctantly followed him into the privacy of the classroom but kept her distance for his safety. She had a sudden urge to set birds on him like she'd once done to his younger brother.
"We didn't get a chance to talk about what happened last night," George said, seating himself upon one of the desks while she stood, arms crossed over her chest. "You disappeared on me."
"Well, I wasn't very happy with you."
"You should be happy with the way things turned out. You saw how Remus reacted when he saw the two of us together."
"Yeah, he was disappointed in me and angry."
"He was jealous. He couldn't stand seeing us together. He even punched me in the face after you left, nearly broke my jaw."
Hermione examined him for evidence of this surprising claim, but if it was true, George had probably treated himself with that special healing paste he and Fred used when they tested their joke products on themselves because she didn't see any bruising on his face. Shame. "You probably deserved it."
George nodded. "That I did."
"Why? What did you do?"
"We don't need to get into the details. All you need to know is that I confirmed my suspicion. He's in love with you."
"He's not. Just because you wound him up somehow and he punched you, doesn't mean —"
"Merlin's beard, Hermione," George said with a hint of exasperation. "You're blind, the both of you. It's painfully obvious to anyone paying enough attention that the two of you are dying to be with each other. Why are you so unwilling to believe it? Why are you afraid?"
"I'm not afraid!"
"Then why are you stubbornly refusing to see what was made so clear last night?"
"He's not in love with me. He didn't show the slightest bit of interest in me last night. He hardly even looked at me."
"He couldn't look at you because he's your teacher and he wanted you too much. He wanted to be the one dancing with you, he wanted to be the one kissing you, but he couldn't and he hated me for being able to. He didn't want me anywhere near you. Why else do you think he followed us out of the Great Hall and started checking classrooms?"
Hermione agreed that it was unlike Remus to go out of his way like that to catch students breaking rules. If anything, he usually cut students too much slack, unless they were being too obnoxious or doing something too dangerous. Why had he decided to go checking classrooms precisely after she and George had left him and departed from the Great Hall?
"He was jealous," George told her. "You had to have seen that when he came barging into the classroom to break us up. It was written all over his face."
She was about to deny this automatically, out of stubbornness more than anything, but then she remembered Remus's expression, the initial look on his face when he'd caught them in the classroom: hurt and a bit angry and. . . .
"He. . . he was jealous," she said incredulously. She'd been so embarrassed to be caught with George like that and she had dwelled so much on Remus being disappointed in her because of her conduct that she hadn't even considered his disappointment might have actually been, as George believed, because he wasn't the one kissing her. Could it really be true?
George smiled at her look of dawning realization and astonishment. "He was jealous, Hermione, and that can only be because he has feelings for you."
She felt a flutter of excitement in her belly at the thought. If that were true. . . .
"So, now that you're no longer in denial," George said, "what are you going to do about it?"
What was she going to do now? "I. . . I don't know. . . ."
If she put herself out there and confessed her feelings for him, she'd be crossing a line that she could never uncross. Everything would be different between them from then on. And she had no idea how Remus would react, even if he did have feelings for her. What if —
"Stop!" George exclaimed, making her jump. He hopped down from the desk to grab her by the shoulders. "Stop what you are doing right now!"
"I'm not doing anything!" she said defensively. "I was just thinking —"
"Exactly! Unfortunately, that's something you and Remus have in common: the both of you think way too much. It keeps you from taking action, from doing what you truly want to do and being happy. One of you has got to break that pattern and get out of your head, and I think it should be you, Hermione. Stop overthinking everything and just go for it already!"
"Go for it?"
"Yes! If you want to be with Remus, make it happen. Stop waiting around for him and make the first move. Here," he said, taking from his pocket the Marauder's Map he hadn't been able to return to her last night and shoving it in her hands. "Go find him right now before you can talk yourself out of it."
"I'd have to talk myself into it first."
"I thought I just did that for you. Come on, Hermione. It's Valentine's Day, the perfect day for romance and proclamations of love."
At his insistence she searched the map, but, "He's not here." She felt a surprising bit of disappointment mingled with her relief. "He wasn't at breakfast either." Where could he be? She hoped he wasn't with Vivienne or some other woman.
"Then keep an eye on the map and go see him when he comes back," George said. "Promise me, Hermione, that you'll go see him. What have you got to lose?" Sensing her misgivings, he added, "Remember: fortune favors the brave. And you are a Gryffindor, aren't you?"
She hated to admit that she hadn't been living up to her Gryffindor status. She hadn't been very brave when it came to Remus. And George was right that if she kept doing what she'd been doing and waiting around for Remus, she might be waiting forever and nothing might ever happen.
"Okay," she said. "I'll go see him."
"Swear it."
"I will. I promise."
Even in that moment a part of her regretted this promise to George, but Hermione knew he wouldn't let her take it back.
After he left and as the day wore on, her regret grew and her nerves intensified. How could she have promised to do such a thing? How could she profess her love to her professor? What if George was wrong about how Remus felt? What if —
Well, he was certainly right that she thought too much. But how could she help it? She could hardly function the rest of the day, dreading and anticipating the moment when Remus would return to the castle. And late that evening, when she saw on the Marauder's Map that his dot had finally reappeared, she felt a jolt of panic and wished Ginny was there with her. She could have used some encouragement and advice from her bolder and more experienced friend, but the younger witch had sneaked out of the castle earlier to see Harry for their Valentine's Day date and had yet to return.
Hermione was alone with only her Gryffindor courage and she became very aware of her pumping heart. It was fast and furious and she thought it might fail her as she made good on her promise to George and headed toward her Defense professor's office.
Back in his quarters at Hogwarts, Remus wished he hadn't thrown away the chocolate Vivienne had sent him. He could have really used some now to help his mood, which had turned bleak after what he'd seen at St. Mungo's. Hugh was contaminated now and forever tainted, like Rosalind was tainted by the blood on her hands, like Remus himself, through association, felt tainted.
He was about to take a shower to try to wash away the feeling of being unclean, though he knew it was useless (the contamination was pumping through his veins), when he heard a knock. He passed through the entrance to his quarters and back out to his office, wondering who would be calling at this late hour.
"Hermione," he said in surprise when he opened the door.
"Hi Remus." She flashed him a nervous smile but he had difficulty returning it. He was torn by her unexpected appearance. She was the person whose comforting company he most longed for this grim evening, but also the last person he wanted see after what he'd just witnessed at St. Mungo's.
"What brings you here so late?" he asked her. "Everything all right?"
"Yes, I — I just wanted to see you. May I come in?"
He hesitated as he remembered the last time she'd been in his office, the night he'd lost control and forced her into an embrace. But he couldn't just leave her standing in the corridor. He stepped back to let her in.
After he'd closed the door behind her he paused for a moment, wondering if it would have been better, more proper, to leave the door open since he was speaking alone with a female student after hours. To reopen it now, though, would only draw her attention to his concern for propriety.
Deciding to leave it shut, he tore his gaze away from the door and back to Hermione. "What did you want to see me about?"
The nervousness he'd sensed from her before turned into a different kind of worry as she surveyed him under the better light inside his office. "Are you okay, Remus?"
"I'm fine," he replied as casually as he could. Then to avoid her probing gaze he said, "You can take a seat if you like," and started toward his desk, but she held him back. A thrill traveled up his arm at the unexpected contact.
"You're pale — what happened, Remus?"
"It's nothing," he said, stepping back from her touch.
"It's not nothing. What's wrong?"
Remus hesitated, but the concern in her eyes wore him down. "Did you read the Daily Prophet today?" She shook her head. "There was an accident," he told her. "A friend of mine, Hugh Hawthorne, was involved."
A look of vague recognition crossed her face. "Hugh. . . Is he the man I met at the grand opening of Fred and George's joke shop?" Remus nodded. He'd forgotten they'd met once. "What happened to him?"
"He. . . he was bitten by a werewolf last night. He's fine," he added quickly to preempt her worry. "Or he will be anyway. I was at St. Mungo's today to see him. He looked. . ." An image popped into his mind of a green and sickly-looking Hugh wrapped in bandages, his wounds hidden from sight, but he knew his face and chest must have been a bloody mess when he'd first arrived at the hospital. "He wasn't in good shape."
"But the full moon isn't for another two weeks, so he won't be a werewolf, will he? He'll just be like Bill Weasley."
"Yes. Perhaps a bit more scarred."
"I'm so sorry, Remus. I hope he gets better soon."
"He'll be okay. It was lucky Rosalind — his girlfriend — took him to the hospital as promptly as she did or it might have been a different story. He might have lost too much blood."
"How is she, Rosalind? Was she there with Hugh when he was attacked?"
"Yes. She. . ." Remus swallowed. "She was the werewolf who attacked him."
Hermione's mouth fell open. "But — but why would she —?"
"I don't think it was intentional. These types of attacks that happen when a werewolf hasn't transformed are very rare, and I don't believe they're usually done out of malice. It's just that sometimes, even without the full moon, a werewolf can experience certain wolfish impulses that can be difficult to keep in check. It usually happens when their emotions are running high. Hugh and Rosalind were having an argument when she. . . ."
"Lost control," Hermione finished for him, her brow furrowing slightly. Remus wondered if she was thinking about the time he'd lost control, when the wolfish impulses triggered by their contact and her scent had taken over him and he'd felt the urge to bite her.
"When she realized what she'd done," he went on heavily, shaking that memory from his mind, "she took him to St. Mungo's right away to get treated. The Healers said she was in tears, terrified and panicked, and she fled as soon as they received him, probably hoping no one would realize she was the werewolf who bit him. They already suspect it was her, but Hugh refuses to confirm it because he's afraid she'd be sent straight to Azkaban. He says he couldn't do that to her because it was just an accident."
"Well, it was just an accident, wasn't it? She didn't mean to hurt him. She just lost control, like you said. She doesn't deserve Azkaban, she just needs help learning how to control her wolfish impulses."
"She might not have meant to hurt Hugh, but she's still responsible for her actions and what happened to him. She should have never put herself in that situation. Being with Hugh was reckless of her. She should have never gotten involved with him."
"Why not? Just because she's a werewolf?"
Just because she was a werewolf — as if that were a small matter. "Because she's dangerous," he told her. She frowned at him. Of course, she could never fully understand. "You've never met another werewolf, have you?"
"I have," she said quietly, her face paling slightly. "I met Fenrir Greyback last year, the night Harry, Ron, and I were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor."
Remus tensed, horrified by the thought of Hermione being anywhere near that savage werewolf. She'd never told him about this before. "Did he hurt you?"
"No. He didn't get the chance to do anything but threaten and leer," she revealed, and relief swept through him, though he still hated the thought of him frightening her. "I understand why he provokes such fear, but I also know most werewolves aren't like him."
"Most aren't like me either, Hermione. I was extremely fortunate to have parents who kept me after I was bitten and friends who accepted me despite what I was. I was able to hide my affliction and get along relatively well within normal wizarding society for most of my life. But the majority of werewolves aren't so lucky. Most of those who are bitten young grow up very differently than normal children. They live on the margins and are told by the rest of society that they're monsters, and it's hard not to believe you're a monster when you literally become one every full moon and experience the impulses we do."
"You're not a monster, Remus," she interjected, conviction strong in her voice and compassion bright in her eyes. And though he usually marveled at her sympathy for his kind, he couldn't help but disagree with her in this instance and think her a bit naïve.
"Well, these werewolves are taught by their fellows and elders to believe otherwise," he said. "They're encouraged to give in to their wolfish impulses, to give in to what they truly are without remorse or consideration for the society that shuns them. Many have to in order to survive. Everything is about survival and instincts for them."
"Did Rosalind grow up like that?"
He nodded. "I met her a couple of years ago when I was acting as spy for Dumbledore in the werewolf community she was living in. She was milder than the other werewolves, not as bitter against normal wizards, and she wasn't interested in joining Voldemort. She was curious about me, though, and how I managed to get along among normal wizards. She wanted to get away from the life she knew and try be normal."
He should have told her then that it was a losing battle.
"When I reconnected with Hugh," he continued, "I was happy to hear from him that she'd succeeded in getting away from her old life, but I was concerned that the two of them were involved. When you grow up like Rosalind did and are used to acting on your primal instincts, it's difficult to assimilate into normal society and learn to suppress those wolfish impulses. Rosalind clearly didn't have enough self-control yet. She was dangerous. It was reckless of her to get involved with Hugh."
"But she couldn't have known this was going to happen, could she? You said so yourself these types of attacks are rare. She probably thought she did have enough control over her impulses."
"She shouldn't have assumed she was safe. She should have been more cautious and thought more about Hugh's well-being. It was selfish of her to be with him. She should have stayed away."
"That's not fair," Hermione argued. "Hugh knew she was a werewolf, didn't he? And he wanted to be with her. He seems to love her. What happened was awful, and maybe you're right that Rosalind should have been more cautious, but I don't think it was wrong or selfish of her to want to be with him. She deserves to be happy with the man she loves. I mean, if you loved someone and she didn't care you were a werewolf, wouldn't you —?"
"No, I'd stay away from her," Remus said at once, backing away from Hermione. She stared at him, stunned. "It could never go anywhere," he explained. "There's a reason werewolves don't usually marry. There's a reason why they don't get involved with normal wizards. We have little to offer but danger and the stigma attached to us, and there aren't many who'd want to be with a creature like us anyway."
"But if you did find someone —?"
"I could only bring her trouble, and I would never want that for the person I loved. The cost of being with a creature like me isn't worth it. I'd want better for her. I'd stay away."
He felt a deep ache in his heart as he gazed at Hermione and knew he would do just as he said. Because she deserved better — far better — than him.
"But what if she didn't want you to stay away?" she pressed. "What if she loved you and wanted to be with you?"
"That just isn't possible for me, Hermione."
"It is possible —"
"Hermione, please," he said, putting his hand up to keep her from saying anything more on the subject. He couldn't bear having this conversation with her of all people. "This — this is a very personal matter, and forgive me but I'd rather not discuss it."
She bit her lip, bit back whatever she'd been about to argue, thankfully respecting his wishes.
Desperate to get away from the subject of love and werewolves, he asked her, "What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"
She took a few moments to answer. "I'm afraid it — it doesn't really matter anymore."
Remus didn't understand what she meant by that, but he decided it was better not to question her about it. "In that case, you should probably get back to your dormitory, Hermione. It's past your curfew, and you're not supposed to be here."
But she stayed where she was, peering up at him with tears in her eyes. And not only could he see her sorrow, he could feel it in his heart, a deep ache in her chest like his.
"I'm sorry for upsetting you with all this," he said. "Please, put this out of your mind. Hugh will be fine —"
"And you?" she asked, her eyes searching his. "Werewolves have a right to love and pursue their happiness just like everybody else, Remus. It makes me sad you seem to believe otherwise and you don't realize how much a good man like you is really worth. . . how lucky any woman would be to have you."
The ache in his chest sharpened at the kindness of her words, and the tenderness in her gaze held him still, frozen in place, as she stepped closer — too close.
"You deserve love, Remus," she said, and his heart sped up, beating strongly against his chest as though it wanted to jump out and meet hers. "You are loved," she whispered.
He tensed as she softly kissed his cheek. But before he could move or fully panic, she pulled away again.
"Goodnight, Remus," she murmured and walked out of his office.
Hermione heaved a sigh as she closed her bedroom door, her heart heavy with her unexpressed feelings, her throat tight with all her unsaid words. She'd tried to be brave, but how was she supposed to tell Remus how she felt when he was so set on pushing her, or any other woman he might care for, away?
She picked up the magic rose from her nightstand. It was as gorgeous and as perfect as ever, and still alive — whatever that meant. She breathed in its scent as she laid down in bed and studied the mysterious flower that had comforted her countless times the last several months, and which represented to her her past with Remus and the possibility of happiness with him. It had also been a symbol of their love — or at least of her love — love she wished he'd let himself feel now, love she wished she could give to him —
Hermione gasped as the rose suddenly began to glow, brilliant and warm. Then, right before her very eyes, it vanished. She blinked down at her empty hand in bewilderment and then sat up, glancing all around her in a panic. But the rose was nowhere in sight. It was gone.
Remus touched his cheek where Hermione had kissed him and brooded over her words.
"You deserve love, Remus. You are loved."
He shouldn't have said anything. He shouldn't have told her about Hugh and Rosalind or about werewolves. He'd always been drawn to Hermione's compassionate nature, but he didn't want her pity.
"You're not a monster, Remus."
He was a monster. That was the unpleasant truth. There was a beast dwelling within him and he'd been feeling its presence more often and more strongly than ever lately, and he knew it was somehow because of Hermione.
Only last night he'd felt the presence of the wolf when he saw her kissing George and he feared what could have occurred if its influence had overpowered him. What happened between Hugh and Rosalind reminded him that the wolf was always there within him, ready to strike if stirred, like when emotions were running too strong and self-control faltered in the face of animal instinct.
Rosalind had lost control and reacted violently, accidentally hurting someone she cared about. And if the conditions were right in a horribly wrong way, Remus knew there was always a chance he could do the same, even with all his self-discipline and restraint.
The Daily Prophet had noted this, too. He was briefly mentioned at the end of the article he'd read that morning, the writer calling into question McGonagall's decision to appoint a known werewolf as a Hogwarts professor. Remus was sure he'd begin receiving outraged letters from parents again like he had at the start of the school year. And those parents had a right to be concerned. What happened with Rosalind and Hugh reminded him of the cruel reality of his nature.
When Remus wearily retired to his bedroom, he was so lost in his thoughts he didn't immediately notice the red rose on his bedside table. When he did catch sight of it, he froze, momentarily startled by its presence and struck by its vivid color and beauty. Where had that come from? Was it another Valentine's Day gift? There was no card — who could have sent it to him?
He picked up the rose and felt a thrill travel through him at the contact, a light tingling in his fingers, as if the flower was alive and charged, teeming with energy. He also noticed it didn't smell like a normal rose. It had a different scent, an intensely alluring scent he recognized at once — Hermione's scent.
Remus examined the flower curiously, wondering how it could possibly smell like her. Was it fake, some sort of product? Did it have some type of entrancing spell placed upon it that, similar to the effect of love potion, made it smell like whatever attracted him? That seemed like something Vivienne might have done to entrap him. But as he carefully turned the flower around in his fingers, he detected no curses or enchantments had been placed upon it. On the contrary, he sensed a purity about the rose.
He sniffed it again before setting it down, not sure whether he should be wary of it or not but too tired at the moment to care. Its scent stayed with him as he laid down, making him feel slightly dazed.
Sleep swiftly pulled him under and Remus fell straight into wild dreams — he was with Hermione on the highest tower of the castle and kissing her under the stars; then her lips tasted of chocolate and they were on a picnic blanket in the middle of the snow; then she was in his dormitory and they were entwined in a passionate embrace — wild dreams that kept him tossing and turning through the night, but which faded from memory by the time he began to stir.
Still half-asleep he reached for the rose, reached for her, craving her scent, which alternately calmed and comforted him and drove him wild, made him lose control — like Rosalind had lost control. Images flashed through his mind of a bloodied Hugh and Hermione's fearful eyes, and Remus snapped wide awake, abruptly pulling his hand back from the vibrant rose — he was too tainted to touch something so pure.
A/N: This chapter is a little late for Valentine's Day, but oh well. It wasn't a very happy one anyway. Sadly, Hermione and Remus aren't quite there yet and are still struggling on their journey to let themselves be silently drawn.
As always, thanks for reading and thank you for your lovely reviews. Also, my apologies for the slow updates lately. Next chapter should be up more quickly.