The moonlit sky and the whisper of a cool breeze caressing his face disoriented Remus when he awoke. He blinked at the lake stretching before him, the surrounding forest. It took him a moment to remember where he was and what had happened. But when he turned to the girl curled up beside him on the bed of grass, lying cozily beneath his coat, he smiled.
Hermione had dozed off too. He wondered how long they'd been asleep. It didn't matter. He'd be perfectly happy to stay there with her like this for the rest of the night. For the rest of his nights. He drank in the sight, the feel of her nestled against him, unable to remember a time he'd ever felt so content, so calm, so at peace.
The feeling of calm didn't last long for long, however. As he reached out a hand to stroke her hair his watch caught the moonlight and he started when he glimpsed the time. The night around them was deceiving. It was already morning and he should have been up an hour ago.
"Hermione," he murmured, gently trying to rouse her. "Hermione . . ." She only snuggled closer to him and mumbled something he couldn't make out. He tried again. "Hermione, we're going to be late to class."
Her eyes flew open at that, and he couldn't quite suppress his grin as she sat up with a gasp, his coat sliding off her. "What time is it?"
"We'll make it on time if we hurry," he assured her and helped her to her feet.
She hastily straightened out her clothes and brushed off the grass clinging to her, but when he turned to her again after brushing himself off and gathering his coat he found that her urgency had diminished. Her eyes focused on him and her lips curved into a slow smile. "Good morning, Remus."
A warm smile of his own spread across his face. "Good morning, Hermione." And it was a good morning indeed. Last night had been incredible, even if he was a bit achy and stiff from sleeping on the ground and itchy from the grass. He picked a twig out of Hermione's hair and brushed back her unruly tresses. When he made to smooth his own tousled hair, she stopped him.
"I like your hair like this." She raked her fingers through it, ruffling it again. "It makes you look like a mischievous Marauder up to no good."
If she only knew what sort of mischief was running through his mind right now. Perhaps the kiss he gave her next gave her an inkling of his mischievous thoughts, but unfortunately he didn't have time to act on them. She made a small noise of protest when he cut their kiss short.
"We need to go," he muttered and took her hand in his.
As they started toward the castle she said, "Too bad we don't have time for breakfast."
Remus frowned. "We never did make it to the kitchens, did we?" Last night he'd recalled that she hadn't had dinner and suggested they take a trip to the kitchens, but. . . .
"No, we got a bit . . . sidetracked."
Remembering vividly what had sidetracked them, he glanced down at her lips, swollen from too much kissing, and seductively so.
"You're very distracting," he told her playfully, and her eyes gleamed at the words she'd once said to him. "I'll go now and grab you something to eat."
"You'll be late to class."
"They can't start without me."
She grinned, but said, "Don't worry about it, Remus. I can wait until lunch. Anyway, we're not allowed to eat in class. Professor Avila would just give me another detention."
She was probably right about that. He'd heard Olivia was very strict and rather unpleasant to deal with sometimes. "She's always been a bit uptight and demanding from what I remember of her."
"Did you know her when you were a student?"
"A bit. She was a prefect like me, but a couple of years younger and a Ravenclaw. I remember she took her prefect duties very seriously, so I can imagine what she must be like now."
"She hates me. I don't know why."
"Interesting. Because the two of you are similar in a lot of ways —"
Hermione halted in her tracks, mouth agape in horror and offense at being compared to her Transfiguration professor. "Are you calling me uptight and demanding?" she demanded.
"No. Of course not," he said, restraining a chuckle. But then he shot her an oblique glance and added, "Although . . ."
Remus was delighted to hear Hermione's laughter again as he teased her along the way up to the castle — a bright and lovely sound that he, until last night, hadn't heard in a long time.
As they approached the door leading back to the school, however, he and Hermione quieted, their smiles fading. Their steps slowed, becoming heavier, reluctant. It was as if they were beginning to wake from a blissful dream and the reality of their situation suddenly came rushing back to them like a dash of ice-cold water to the face.
"What are we going to do?" Hermione asked as they paused before the door.
What were they going to do? That matter hadn't come up in their conversation last night. He hadn't purposely avoided the subject, though perhaps he had on a subconscious level steered clear of it so as not to spoil the moment. Because for once in his life he had lived in the moment, had forgotten everything and acted on his feelings without worrying about the consequences.
He didn't have that luxury anymore.
"We . . . we'll talk later," he said. They didn't have time to figure it out right then.
"Tonight? Here?"
He shook his head. "We shouldn't. . . . Not here. Not in the castle. I think we should wait until the holidays to talk." There were only two more days of classes before school was out of session for Easter.
Hermione agreed to this, though she looked uncertain as she scanned his face. Then she pressed her lips to his — a lingering goodbye kiss he hated to pull away from.
"We should get going," he said. "Classes are about to begin."
She nodded. Knowing that students might be walking past in the corridor outside and they shouldn't be seen exiting the room together, she said, "I'll go first."
He began to pull open the door for her, but the thought of not being able to kiss her again, of not being able to hold her for who knew how long — he was already starving for her.
He shut the door once more and his lips captured hers. Mischief danced in his head again, and he could tell from the way she leaned her body into his, pressing herself flush against him, that she too wanted to continue where they'd left off last night. Which only made it that much harder to break their kiss. He barely managed to tear his mouth away from hers, but his arms seemed incapable of fully relinquishing her.
She seemed to be struggling just as much as he was to part from him. "Maybe . . . maybe we can stay?" she suggested, her hand running down his chest — a light caress that deeply stirred his desire, making his blood sing with the magic between them.
As tempted as he was, "We can't. If we both miss class . . ."
"You're right," she said and released a soft sigh. "I . . . I'll see you soon."
Her lips met his once more, soft and chaste this time, and it took an extraordinary amount of willpower to keep himself from holding her back again as she slipped out the door.
Remus followed her out of the Room of Requirement a minute later and immediately wished he could go back inside. The contrast between the dreamy silvery-blue hues of the moonlit night he was leaving behind and the harsh glare of day he was stepping into was jarring. Sunlight, bright and sobering, streamed through the windows as he walked along the corridor, and his good sense came beating down upon him along with it, hurtling back to him like a Bludger to his chest, like a Beater smacking him upside the head with his bat.
What had he done? Last night . . . he shouldn't have. He could get fired for this. . . .
The guilt twisting and clawing at him briefly gave way to paranoia when he came across Professor Avila and Flitwick on his walk to class and they shot him peculiar looks as they greeted him in passing. He feared they somehow knew what he'd done, could tell just by looking at him what had happened between him and Hermione last night, and he was going to be fired. But then he assured himself that they couldn't possibly know, and he realized they'd only been noting his disheveled hair with fleeting curiosity. He dragged a hand through it, fixing it as best he could before stepping into his classroom.
He was distracted all throughout the lesson, and was even more so during his next class with the seventh year Gryffindors. He couldn't look at Hermione, yet he couldn't not look at her, couldn't keep his thoughts from slipping back to last night and wishing he was alone with her again in the Room of Requirement.
Anxious as he was, he was grateful she didn't stay after class. Because as much as he wanted to be with her, as much as a little reckless part of him desperately wanted to continue seeing her secretly and thought he might be able to get away with it without anyone finding out — he was a Marauder after all and had spent a good deal of time during his school years sneaking about the castle — he knew there could be nothing between him and Hermione while she was his student. He had to wait until she graduated.
But graduation was still nearly three terribly long months away, and he'd already been apart from her for far too long — it would be impossible to stay away from her, especially after last night.
Especially if she continued to seek him out like she did that evening.
His pulse quickened when he met her in the corridor outside his office.
"I — I know we're not supposed to meet until break, but I had to —" she started, but she broke off when he stiffened and subtly took a step back from her. Following his gaze, she spun around to see the headmistress and the Auror coming their way.
"All right, Remus?" McGonagall said, the formidable witch lifting a brow slightly as her eyes met his and utterly frayed his nerves. Was it just his paranoia kicking in again or was she looking suspiciously between him and Hermione?
"Wotcher, Hermione," Tonks greeted brightly, giving her a hug.
"Tonks — what are you doing here?"
"Came to pick up Remus," the pink-haired witch told her, glancing over at him with a wink. Upon seeing his blank expression, though, she asked, "Did you forget you and I were supposed to go to the Three Broomsticks tonight?"
"Of course not," he lied. It had in fact slipped his mind, but he was grateful for the excuse to leave the castle and postpone his talk with Hermione.
"It's too bad you can't come with us, Hermione. Or maybe —" Tonks looked to McGonagall, but the headmistress cut her off before she could even ask.
"Miss Granger should be in the Great Hall for dinner with the rest of the students."
"Yes, Professor," Hermione said, startled by the hard look the headmistress pinned on her. "I — I just had a question for Professor Lupin about the exam we took today," she explained, "but I — it can wait."
Before heading off to the Great Hall, Hermione glanced between him and Tonks in manner that surprised Remus — she didn't think there was something going on between them, did she? Tonks was about to get married to another man.
At the Three Broomsticks a short while later, Tonks was telling him all about this. He, however, was too preoccupied with his dilemma with Hermione to pay the proper attention to her excited chatter about her wedding plans. He was so distracted that he didn't notice her changing the topic of conversation. This became evident to Tonks when she described how Ron had sustained an injury during an Auror mission and he replied with, "That's wonderful."
"Is everything all right with you?" she asked him then, putting down her drink to examine him more closely. "You seem a bit distracted. Troubled."
"I'm fine. What were you saying about Ron?"
"Don't you try to change the subject. What's going on with you, Remus? Come on now, I've been doing all the talking. It's your turn." Remus began to shake his head, and Tonks added, eyes twinkling, "Remember, I'm an Auror. I have my ways of coaxing information out of you."
"It's nothing. I'm just in the midst of a — of a situation at work that I'm not sure how to deal with."
"What sort of situation?"
"I . . . I'm having trouble with a student."
"What's the problem?"
Remus was about to tell her again that it was nothing, but then he considered the witch before him. Tonks was probably the least judgmental person he knew. If he were to tell anyone about Hermione it would probably be her. Perhaps she'd be able to advise him on what to do. So, feeling desperate enough this evening to want to talk this out with someone, he decided to tell her. But where to begin?
"It's . . . complicated," he murmured, staring deeply into his glass of firewhiskey before downing it.
Tonks waited for him to continue, but he didn't know how to proceed. He probably shouldn't have started by saying his trouble had to do with a student. Perhaps he should have started by telling her he'd fallen for a woman but was hesitant to get involved with her because she was younger, and then later reveal that she also happened to be his student, a student named Hermione. Would that have made a difference, made him seem less . . . dishonorable? Would waiting to be with Hermione until after she graduated make any difference, make it less likely that they'd be subjects of scandal and scrutiny as soon as their relationship became publicly known? He didn't think so.
He now regretted saying anything at all about the matter. But Tonks continued to press him, so he finally told her tentatively, "My student . . . she . . . she's a female student, and I — Well, she — er —"
He hardly knew what he was saying, just that he wasn't saying it right at all. Still, Tonks seemed to guess from his hesitance and awkwardness where this was going and her eyes went round. "Has she got a crush on you?" Then, to his astonishment, she giggled. "How cute!"
"Cute?" That was definitely not the word he'd use to describe his dilemma. "What — what do you mean by 'crush'?"
"You know, a schoolgirl crush. You're a young and handsome professor, it's not surprising that this could happen. These sort of crushes aren't that uncommon. When I was in school, a couple of friends of mine had crushes on Professor Flitwick for a while. They'd ask him really dumb questions during class, sort of competing for his attention, but it was in a funny way, like a silly game. I'm sure the crush this girl has on you is just as harmless, isn't it?"
"I . . . I suppose." Remus didn't know what to say.
"Then you shouldn't worry about it too much. It's just a phase. It'll pass soon enough and she'll leave you alone."
Was Tonks right? Could it be that what Hermione felt for him was merely a crush? It had felt like much more than that last night, but he wasn't sure what to think now. Which was more likely: she felt for him the way he felt for her, or she'd simply gotten a bit carried away with a schoolgirl crush?
His conversation with Tonks moved on to other things, but his mind didn't. As they strolled down the street after leaving the Three Broomsticks he remembered how he'd once overheard Ron teasing Hermione about her old crush on Gilderoy Lockhart, the D.A.D.A. teacher at Hogwarts the year before him — was this a pattern of Hermione's, then, to develop crushes on her new, young D.A.D.A. professors? Was what she felt for him just a phase that would pass shortly as Tonks had assured him? Would she leave him —
"George!" Tonks suddenly exclaimed, snapping Remus back to attention. He glanced around and spotted the Weasley striding down the road not far from them.
George turned to wave but didn't move to meet them. "Love to stop and chat," he called, "but I'm late for a date." He gave them a wink before disappearing into Honeydukes.
"Ooh, do you think he's going to see Hermione?" Tonks said, wiggling her eyebrows and making Remus's stomach squirm.
"What — what makes you think that?"
"They're dating, aren't they? I heard they went to the Valentine's Day dance together. Didn't you see them?"
Remus remembered how they'd danced and laughed together that night, how he'd caught them snogging in that classroom.
But he told Tonks, "I think they're only friends." That's what Hermione had told him anyway. Yet he couldn't help but wonder if George had entered Honeydukes not to just buy sweets for his date as he'd presumed but to use the secret passage in the cellar to sneak into the castle to see Hermione.
He shook the thought away. Hermione had told him there was nothing romantic between her and George. George had to be dating somebody else.
The nagging doubt persisted, however, and that night as he settled in bed Remus wondered what had really gone on between Hermione and George. She'd told him they'd only ever been friends, yet he'd caught them kissing not only at the dance but on Christmas Eve as well. It seemed to him there had been more than simply friendship between them.
As much as he disliked the idea of them together, though, he had to admit . . . George might be good for Hermione. And why wouldn't she be interested in him? He was funny and clever and charming and fun. And successful. Very successful. He could offer Hermione much more than he, a shabby old werewolf, ever could.
His brooding thoughts tainted his dreams that night. . . .
He was strolling hand and hand with Hermione through a garden of red roses glittering with magic, shimmering warmly like the stars appearing in the growing darkness above. A particularly gorgeous rose caught their attention. Hermione twirled it in her hand with admiration before presenting it to him.
"For you," she said. "Being with you has been incredible, Remus. These last two weeks have been the best of my life."
Touched by her words, he kissed her soundly. Then they glided out of the garden and into the Great Hall where a flurry of dancing and laughing, of mirth and music greeted them. But as they walked through the crowd of familiar and unfamiliar faces, the laughter suddenly died. A hush fell over the room, and everybody went still.
Hermione's smile faltered as she glanced around. "Why are people giving us funny looks?"
Remus surveyed their surroundings as well and found that everyone was indeed staring at them, their expressions ranging from shock to outrage to disgust.
"I think it's because of my costume," he told her. "It must look a bit scandalous for a professor to be dancing with a student."
Rapid whispers ruptured the silence around them.
"I suppose it doesn't help that I'm dressed up like an old man and you look very young," he added. "Maybe I should lose the wig."
The rumbling murmurs grew louder as Remus tried to remove his wig and failed, for what he thought was a wig wasn't really a wig at all. The graying hair upon his head was his own. He wasn't wearing a costume. . . .
Looking very uncomfortable with all the attention, Hermione tugged on his hand. "Let's go."
They weaved their way quickly through the glaring and gawking crowd in the Hall, dodging everybody's gaze as they searched for an exit. The talk around them was deafening now and unforgiving, and their search for a way out became frantic. Hermione released his hand to go on ahead of him. She finally found a door and hurried through. Remus followed moments later, stumbling into the next room just in time to see her running into the waiting arms of George Weasley. . . .