Albus Dumbledore's knowing blue eyes were piercing Remus's from the portrait behind the headmistress's desk. Remus stared back at him, but not with the same serenity. There were questions he was burning to ask, reproaches he was attempting to suppress, and a strong urge to explain himself to the wizard he had always looked up to. Before he could express any of this, however, McGonagall returned to her desk.

"How are your students progressing?" she asked.

"Much better than I'd anticipated at the start of the year," Remus replied. "Friday sessions of Defense Club have helped a great deal."

"I noticed you canceled the last meeting."

"I was ill."

McGonagall looked him over, and he wondered if he looked as dreadful as he felt because she asked, "Everything all right?"

"Everything's fine." Upon McGonagall's questioning gaze, he added, "The last full moon was just a bit rougher than normal." In truth it had been the worst he'd ever experienced while taking Wolfsbane Potion, which hadn't eased his symptoms this month as effectively as it usually did.

McGonagall nodded. "N.E.W.T.s are three months away. I expect you must be feeling the stress since your subject was the most affected by the education debacle that was last year. Tell me, has Miss Granger been up to task as your assistant? Has she been meeting your needs?"

"Uh, yes," Remus said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat at her choice of words. "She's been a great help."

"I imagined she would be. The students in Defense Club seem to hold her in high regard and respect her as though she were another professor. I've heard comments about what an excellent pair the two of you make."

Remus felt a pang in his chest and glanced away from McGonagall only to catch Dumbledore's twinkling eyes. He averted his gaze again, shame mingling with his regret. He'd kissed a student. He'd done more than just kiss a student, he'd been in a romantic relationship with one, albeit in the past when he had no knowledge that he'd be her teacher in the future. Still, how could he look these professors in the eye after he'd betrayed their trust? These professors who had taken a huge chance on him by hiring him as a teacher despite the widespread prejudice against his kind.

"But actually," the headmistress continued, "I wanted to discuss Miss Weasley with you. I have some exciting news for her, but since I'll be away from the castle for a couple of days I thought you could break it to her. It appears — Merlin's beard, what is that noise?"

Remus had noticed the faint whirring sound as well. McGonagall scanned her desk. Then out of one of the drawers she pulled a small glass object revolving like a spinning top — an Amoroscope, one of Fred and George's inventions. It was glowing blue.

"Ah, one of the tongue-in-cheek gifts from the Weasley twins," McGonagall said with a hint of humor. "As much grief as they have caused me over the years, I must admit they are brilliant with magic and quite amusing with their creations. Let's see . . ." She read the back of the product's box. "Blue means that you, Remus, are my friend and not a 'backstabbing phony.' That certainly is a relief to know."

"What do the other colors mean?" he asked, remembering how the Amoroscope had turned purple that time he'd been in the Weasleys' joke shop with Hermione.

"Red represents enmity, gray stands for indifference, and purple means love."

Remus experienced another pang in his chest. The Amoroscope had glowed strikingly bright and had whirled violently in his hand when he'd been with Hermione. That meant that what she felt toward him was very strong. . . .

Or it could mean nothing. The Amoroscope was, after all, just a silly toy as Hermione had said so herself. Either way, he pushed the thought from his mind. He didn't want to think about her right now.

He also didn't want to face Ginny. He dreaded his meeting with her that afternoon, but he couldn't refuse McGonagall's request.

And so after classes that day, the youngest Weasley entered his office. With a stiff greeting she sat in the chair opposite him, her arms crossed over her chest. With the intention of keeping anything to do with Hermione out of this hopefully short conversation, Remus began to speak only to be immediately interrupted.

"Hermione's really torn up because of you," Ginny said with a glare that made him want to squirm in his seat. "What you're doing to her isn't right."

Remus swallowed. "I've already apologized to her for what happened in the past —"

"I'm not talking about what happened in the past. I'm talking about what you're putting her through now."

"I'm not doing anything. I'm staying away."

"Exactly! Don't you realize how much she's already suffered over you this year? Don't you realize how much you're hurting her now by avoiding her like this and —"

"Ginny," Remus cut across her, unable to bear any more, "we're not here to talk about Hermione."

Ginny clearly had much more to say on the subject, but mercifully she held her tongue.

"I called you in," he went on, "because Professor McGonagall wanted me to relay to you some exciting news."

Curiosity mingled with the condemnation in Ginny's gaze. "What news?"

"A scout from the professional Quidditch league wants to come to Hogwarts and watch you play in the final match versus Ravenclaw."

Her mouth fell open. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. It seems the buzz about your talent on the pitch has spread past the walls of Hogwarts and reached the ears of recruiters for some of the professional teams."

"Wow. Does — does that mean . . . Do I have a shot at playing professionally?"

"Possibly. There are certainly people interested in seeing what you have to offer."

"Merlin's beard. If the scout is coming to the final . . . we really have to win the Cup now."

"Don't put too much pressure on yourself. You'll impress the scout playing as you normally do: with nerve and skill and fierce competitiveness."

After Ginny left, thrilled and anxious over the news he'd just given her, Remus sagged in his chair, tormented by what she'd told him about Hermione. She was hurting, suffering, because of him. The look on her face when he'd left her in her dormitory nearly two weeks ago still haunted him.

But he reminded himself that he'd done the right thing. He was doing the responsible thing now by maintaining his distance from her. The hurt she was feeling would soon cease. She'd get over those feelings she thought she had for him and be better off for it. He was doing the right thing.

"Oh no," Hermione grumbled when she awoke Thursday morning — she'd overslept.

She clambered out of bed and got ready at frantic speed, flying out of her dormitory minutes later, hoping to grab at least a piece of toast before breakfast was over and classes began. Her stomach felt hollow after she'd completely immersed herself in an intensive study session last night and forgot about dinner again.

So, her hastily packed book bag thumping against her with every step, she sped through corridors, down to the entrance hall, and through the open doors to the Great Hall — only to come to an abrupt halt when she collided into something solid.

Firm hands grasped her, keeping her from falling over backward at the sudden impact, and Hermione's already accelerated heart jolted when she looked up to find green-gray eyes staring back at her. She and Remus both froze, the memory of their last exchange hanging heavily between them, an ugly strain that was palpable and that pressed in on her chest, and was broken only when Professor Avila, who'd been walking with Remus, said in her usual stern tone, "No running in the corridors, Miss Granger. Mind where you are going," and Remus hastily released her.

"I'm sorry," he murmured before lowering his gaze and edging past her, Professor Avila following alongside him.

Hermione stood there for several seconds before she could bring herself to move again. Her appetite gone, she slowly turned around and dragged herself back toward the marble staircase, her mix of emotions a roiling sea inside her.

I'm sorry, he'd told her. She hated those words. She knew he meant them — she'd seen the guilt and something like sorrow flicker in his eyes when he'd said them moments ago, the same as when he'd said it that horrible morning in her dormitory when he'd walked out on her — but that didn't make her feel any better. That didn't help in the least. If anything, that only made everything worse.

He was sorry. But sorry for what exactly? Sorry that they couldn't be together? Sorry that he'd walked out on her after she'd professed her feelings for him? Sorry that he didn't return those feelings? Sorry that he'd ever given her the rose?

Did Remus truly believe the rose's magic had manipulated her feelings? Did he truly believe the rose was dangerous? Was he really going to get rid of it as he'd said?

Hermione reached the Transfiguration classroom and sank into the seat next to Ginny, anxious over the fate of the rose. If he did believe it was cursed, then he would want to break the curse, which would entail destroying its magic, the magic between them, and perhaps destroying the rose itself, the symbol of their love. The thought that he might have already destroyed it was too much for her to bear.

"Miss Granger." Hermione jumped at the sound of Professor Avila's cross tone. She looked up to find her Transfiguration teacher scowling at her. "Do you plan on working on the assignment or sitting there and staring at the floor? Where is your book?"

"Sorry, Professor," Hermione muttered, scavenging through her bag as Professor Avila watched with a narrowed brow. But she couldn't find her textbook. "I . . . I don't have it."

"The audacity! You think yourself so intelligent so as not to need the textbook to do your work?"

"Of course not," Hermione said, very conscious of her classmates closely watching their exchange. "I just forgot —"

"Detention for your lack of preparation, Miss Granger. If you weren't going to come to class prepared, you shouldn't have come at all."

Anger suddenly flared within Hermione and she shot to her feet.

"You're right, Professor. I would have saved us a lot of trouble if I hadn't shown up to class today. So," she said, snatching her bag, "why don't I just do us both a favor and go now?" Jaws dropped all around her. Hermione could feel every pair of eyes in the class glued to her as she strode to the door, and with a final glance at her stunned Transfiguration teacher she said, "Good day, Professor," and walked out of the classroom.

Hermione felt a great sense of satisfaction as she sauntered down the corridor with an unexpected free period before her — but the feeling didn't last for long. Minutes later she was in the girls' bathroom and could have easily been mistaken for Moaning Myrtle as her emotion, always so close to the surface these days, burst from her uncontrollably.

But she felt resentment more than anything else, toward Remus, toward herself, toward the tears that kept spilling down her face. She didn't want to cry anymore. She wanted to grab Remus by the front of his robes and force him to face her, wanted to tell him he was a fool for destroying the rose, for walking away, for avoiding her. . . .

How could he treat her this way after the way he'd kissed her that night in her dormitory? He'd told her that had just been his wolfish impulses, but she didn't buy it. It had been more than that. She was certain of it. She was certain that there was a reason she affected him differently, more intensely than any other woman. There had to be.

She wiped away her tears in frustration. Why had she pushed him away? It had been her reflex when he'd bitten her, but she hadn't really cared that he'd been a bit rough, or that he may or may not have been being influenced by the wolf, she'd just been overjoyed to feel his kiss again. But she'd ruined it, ruined everything again, and she cursed herself for breaking that kiss. Maybe if she hadn't things would have gone differently that night.

After reining in her emotions the best she could, she washed her face and momentarily debated skipping D.A.D.A. today because her heart broke a little bit more every time she was before Remus and he did all he could to avoid her gaze. Then, in another surge of anger, she decided against skipping the lesson because why should she make things easier for him by not showing up to class?

Hermione settled in her usual seat in D.A.D.A. a short while later, but unlike the previous couple of lessons with Remus she did not sit there with her gaze downcast, wanting to disappear into her surroundings to avoid the glances her peers cast her way, curious about her unusual behavior and lack of participation and the obvious rift between her and her professor. Instead she ignored the stares and grins from her classmates, who seemed impressed by her outburst in Transfiguration earlier, and kept her gazed fixed intently upon Remus. She was sure he could feel the glare of her scrutiny as she studied him, his eyes still shadowed from his transformation last week, his usually relaxed and friendly demeanor subdued and slightly strained.

And as she took him in she knew he was right when he'd told her he wasn't the same person he'd been when he was seventeen. He was different in some ways. He was even more guarded now than he'd been in his youth, more stubborn and bitter when it came to matters concerning his lycanthropy. But it wasn't surprising. She didn't blame him. He'd been through a lot in his life, experienced a lot of loss and pain and hardship.

And he'd simply lived more. In every respect. She was almost certain she'd been his first girlfriend in the past, but who knew how many women he'd been with the last two decades. And how did she compare to them? How could she compare? Why would he, who could draw the likes of women as attractive as Vivienne, be interested in someone like her, his annoying know-it-all, bushy-haired student? Was she a fool for believing she was somehow special to him?

No, she told herself firmly, forcing aside her pestering doubts. Whatever Remus had said, she refused to believe he didn't have feelings for her. Because she knew in her heart that he felt what she felt. He felt the same about her now as he had in the past. Like Dumbledore had once told her: the circumstances between them might be different now, but Remus's heart was the same.

He had lied when he'd told her he didn't have feelings for her. She knew in her gut he'd lied. Because he'd been overwhelmed with all that he'd learned that night and he'd panicked. He'd been afraid. He'd only pushed her away because it was his instinct, because he thought he had to do due to their situation, because he thought it was best. He'd told her — warned her — on Valentine's Day that he would do this, that he would stay away from any girl he loved because he'd want better for her.

But what about what she wanted? Didn't that matter at all?

Her indignation that no, it apparently did not matter to him, gave her the nerve to stay after class and finally face Remus for the first time since he'd walked out on her.

While the rest of her classmates filed out of the classroom, Neville and Dean hung back as they talked to Remus in the corner of the room where they'd been practicing spells. Hermione hung back as well, telling Ginny to go on without her.

"Are you sure?" Ginny asked, glancing uncertainly between her and their professor.

"I'll be fine," Hermione assured her. "We have to talk sooner or later."

She couldn't let things go on like this, couldn't let him keep pushing her away. She had to salvage their friendship at least, until she could make him see sense.

Ginny departed from the classroom and Hermione lingered by Remus's desk while he spoke to her classmates. He didn't look her direction, but she could tell he knew she was there, waiting for him, by the way he tensed slightly.

Then, when Neville and Dean went on their way, Remus reluctantly headed toward her. His step faltered, though, when his gaze shifted to the desk she was leaning against. His eyes flicked to hers and the memory of the time they'd kissed passionately atop that very same desk passed between them. Remus quickly looked away from her again as her face heated and she stepped away from the table in a hurry.

Remus strode around to the other side of the desk, his mouth tight. "Do you have a question regarding the lesson?" he asked without looking at her, entirely focused on gathering a stack of papers into his briefcase.

"No. I . . . I was just wondering when we were going to discuss what we'll be doing in Defense Club tomorrow. Or are you going to cancel it again just so you don't have to see me?"

Hermione thought she saw Remus flinch at the slight edge that had crept into her voice as she'd asked the question. He said quietly, "I'm not canceling."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Good. We'll be taking our N.E.W.T.s soon and we need the practice now more than ever."

"Actually, I wanted to speak to you about that, Hermione," he said, closing his briefcase and dragging his gaze to her. "I thought with N.E.W.T.s coming up, it would be best for me to release your obligation as my assistant. That way you don't have to come to all the Friday meetings and it'll give you more time to study for your exams."

"I'm not leaving Defense Club," Hermione said, hurt and resentment rising in her at the suggestion. "I need the practice as much as anyone else."

"You don't. If you had to take your exam today, you'd easily achieve 'Outstanding.' And I — I just think it would be best for you and I to . . . put some distance between us."

She frowned at the distance he'd subtly put between them moments ago, the desk standing between them, reminding her of his teacher status, one of the reasons he'd given her why they couldn't be together — one of the excuses. She decided to use one of his other excuses to her own advantage.

"I don't see why we need to. You think I was just being influenced by the rose," she argued, "so now that you've destroyed it, now that it's gone, so are my feelings for you, right?"

His brow flickered slightly. After a long moment, not quite meeting her eyes, he said, "Right."

Her chest tightened — he'd destroyed the rose. She hadn't wanted to believe he would, but if he truly thought it was dangerous, then he would consider it his responsibility to do so. He was their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor after all. Still, the loss of the rose, of what it represented. . . .

She shoved her devastation aside for the time being, willing away the threat of tears. They wouldn't help. She knew the best thing she could do right now was to attempt to reason with Remus.

"Then you don't have anything to worry about, do you?" she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I know there can be nothing romantic between us." Not yet, anyway. "But I also know you need my help with Defense Club. There are too many students. You can't help them all on your own. We have to work together for their sake."

She saw the hesitation in his eyes as he weighed the truth in her words.

"You're right," he said finally. "But we . . . there needs to be clear boundaries between us."

"I understand." She'd expected that so instead of feeling hurt she just took a breath of relief for the small victory. "So . . . what are we doing tomorrow?"

As Remus struggled through his brief meeting with Hermione regarding Defense Club plans, trying hard not to succumb to the memories of kissing her, he knew it was a bad idea to continue working with her, however minimally. But what was he supposed to do? She was right. He needed her help. He couldn't fail his students and McGonagall now just because he was uncomfortable with their situation.

He loosed a heavy sigh when he retired to his quarters that evening and underwent his daily struggle to resist the lure of Hermione's scent, the illusion of her presence that the rose on his bedside table gave him.

He'd lied to Hermione. He hadn't gotten rid of it or destroyed it like he'd made her believe. Not only because he knew it wasn't really cursed — he'd sensed from the first time he'd held it that its magic was pure — but because he simply couldn't bring himself to do it. Even though he was wary of it, he couldn't bring himself to part with the rose, much less destroy it, because it would be like destroying a piece of her, a piece of himself. He didn't understand its magic but knew it was somehow inherently linked to them.

He thought back to what she'd told him about the rose, how she'd claimed it hadn't influenced her or her emotions. She'd said she had feelings for him long before he'd ever given her the flower. If that were true . . . since when had she had these feelings for him? And why would she have ever set her eyes on him in the first place? Those lovely eyes of hers that had once looked at him with longing and which now held resentment when they met his gaze.

Yet while he was filled with regret that things couldn't be different between them, regret for lying to her about the rose and his feelings, he knew he had to do this. Even if she ended up hating him for it. He was doing the right thing.

Wasn't he?