Remus had never enjoyed a lesson more than he did on the Monday morning that classes resumed after the spring holidays. After being certain he was going to be fired the last time he'd been at Hogwarts, he felt nothing but gratitude and relief to be able to teach in his classroom again. So consumed by this joy, he hardly noticed the strange way Luna Lovegood was staring at him.
When the bell rang at the end of class, Luna remained in her seat, still considering him thoughtfully, as the rest of the Ravenclaws took off for their next lesson.
"Anything I can help you with, Luna?" he asked, stepping toward her desk.
"Yes. I have a question, Professor. Did you know your aura is changing?"
"Pardon me?"
"The dubite is still there," she said, tilting her head as her gaze dropped to his chest, "but it's weakening as your aura is strengthening."
Remus glanced down at his shirt, wondering if he'd spilled some breakfast on himself earlier, but there was nothing there.
"What's a dubite?" he asked curiously.
"A small, claw-shaped creature that latches onto your chest, unable to be seen, and keeps you from enjoying peace and happiness. You've had yours for a long time, Professor, but I always knew you'd defeat it eventually. It was just a matter of time before you found the special potion and mustered the courage needed to take it. I suspect Hermione has been helping you with that, has she?"
Luna gave the disconcerted Remus a smile.
"I'm glad," she said. "I know you'll be completely rid of the dubite soon."
Remus watched in bemusement as Luna strolled out of the classroom, a vague smile still on her lips. Then he glanced down at his chest again.
"What in Merlin's name . . . ?"
Harry had already informed her that Remus hadn't been fired, but even so Hermione could not describe the tremendous relief that rushed through her when she'd returned to Hogwarts after the holiday and saw Remus for the first time, still sitting among the other professors at the staff table in the Great Hall.
That relief, however, whooshed out of her when McGonagall caught her eye. The headmistress gave her a look of warning, the message crystal clear to Hermione: stay away from Remus. Hermione's stomach sank as her worry that there could be no contact at all between them was confirmed, and she was too afraid to even look at Remus again under the headmistress's watchful eye.
It appeared, however, that McGonagall wasn't the only one keeping a close watch on her. Tuesday morning in Transfiguration, Professor Avila constantly shot looks full of displeasure and distaste at Hermione. Hermione felt a similar displeasure but tried her best to keep in check her own ill feelings toward the woman who'd eavesdropped on her and Remus and gotten them in trouble.
It took considerable effort, so Hermione was glad when the bell rang at the end of class — until Professor Avila held her back.
"Do not think, Miss Granger, that I have forgotten the detention I gave you for your insolence and lack of preparation for my class," she said. "I wanted to oversee your detention myself, and, as I've been very busy, I haven't had time to assign you a date. However, I expect you in my office at six o'clock this evening."
In truth, Hermione had forgotten the detention she'd been given before the holidays for walking out of Transfiguration. She remembered now with some satisfaction the look on Professor Avila's face as she'd done it, though she also realized that incident had probably only added to Professor Avila's desire to catch her in any wrongdoing, to get her into trouble. And she certainly had gotten her in trouble. Her and Remus both.
Now, as Hermione entered the D.A.D.A. classroom, uncertainty tangled her stomach, an uncertainly she knew was unlikely to be cleared anytime soon if she wasn't allowed to talk to Remus. Remembering the warning look McGonagall had given her, Hermione used every ounce of will power she had to keep from trying to catch Remus's eye, to keep from trying to communicate with him in any way she could to find out if he was upset with her and figure out where they stood. Instead she just focused on the lesson.
Today they were reviewing the Patronus Charm. Hermione wasn't surprised when Remus asked his students if anyone would like to demonstrate how the spell was cast instead of showing the class himself. He hated the wolf form his Patronus took. So, knowing his discomfort, she raised her hand when no one else volunteered.
"I'll do it, Professor."
"Thank you, Hermione," he said, his eyes meeting hers for only the briefest of moments.
Hermione made her way to the front of the classroom, taking a deep breath to relax before performing the spell. It had been a while since she'd practiced this charm. She conjured a memory, the happiest she could think of in that moment, and in her mind Remus was gazing at her with glowing eyes as he gently stroked her cheek, and then he was kissing her deeply beneath the sky full of stars and she was lying in his arms, exactly where she felt she was meant to be.
The feeling she'd had that night they'd spent together in the Room of Requirement swelled within her, filling her up to the brim, and blinding silvery-white light erupted from the tip of her wand. Her classmates gasped and oohed at its brilliance, but Hermione stared in shock at the Patronus she'd conjured, trotting around the room, illuminating everything in its path with its powerful glow. Her Patronus had not taken its normal shape as an otter; it had taken the form of —
"A wolf?" Dean Thomas said, surprised. "I thought your Patronus was an otter, Hermione."
"It is — it was," she said in astonishment, her eyes shifting from the luminous wolf to Remus. Their gazes locked for several moments before she turned away, her Patronus vanishing as she swiftly returned to her seat, her face pink.
"Why would a person's Patronus change, Professor?" Dean asked. "I didn't know that could happen."
Remus took a few moments before answering.
"Sometimes . . . some experiences . . . a shock or — or an emotional upheaval of some sort . . ."
Like falling in love? Hermione's blush deepened. She felt her classmates' gazes sweep over her and she tried to act normal, but she was only as successful as her professor, who was being uncharacteristically vague and inarticulate with his answer to his student's question.
Hermione did her best not to bring attention to herself for the rest of the lesson. Still, she could feel the stares of her classmates. Was she just paranoid or were they looking curiously, suspiciously, knowingly between herself and Remus?
Did they know?
"Of course they don't," Ginny reassured her during lunch.
"So there hasn't been any talk about us?"
"No."
"Are you sure? Nothing at all?" Because if there were any whispers, if rumors were swirling about, McGonagall would almost certainly be forced to fire Remus.
"Nothing. Well . . . maybe there has been a teensy bit of talk," Ginny admitted, and Hermione gave a little squeak. "About how the two of you got on so well, and then how you suddenly didn't even look at each other any more."
"You think they know there's something between us? Because my Patronus . . ."
"Only the other Gryffindors saw that, and even if any of them did think there might be feelings between you two, they would never suspect that you, Hermione Granger, would be sneaking around with a professor, much less tell on you guys for it."
Perhaps her classmates wouldn't suspect it, but unfortunately there was someone who did, and she had detention with her that evening.
When Hermione went to Professor Avila's office later to serve her punishment, her Transfiguration teacher unfurled a piece of parchment and handed it over with a smile Hermione didn't like one bit. Written on the parchment was a list of tasks that included filing papers, restocking and organizing storage rooms around the castle, and cleaning filthy cauldrons and bedpans — all to be done without the use of magic.
Hermione glanced through the long list. There was no way she'd be able to complete all these tasks tonight. Of course, she wasn't meant to.
"If you don't finish tonight," Professor Avila said with obvious pleasure, "you may return tomorrow evening, and then the following evenings after that if so required, until you have checked off every item on that list."
Anxiety crept up on Hermione. It would take at least a week to get through all these tasks, maybe two, and if she spent every evening doing this, that would drastically cut into her study time. Professor Avila was doing this purposely, trying to sabotage her chance of success.
Hermione knew, though, arguing would get her nowhere, might only make the situation worse. So she gritted her teeth and quickly got to work, not wanting to give Professor Avila the satisfaction of seeing her upset.
Organizing files, while tedious, wasn't difficult or all that unpleasant. Even if being in the same room with Professor Avila was. Hermione could feel her staring at her from her desk, and she glanced up to catch the older witch's peeved expression.
"Am I doing something wrong, Professor?" she asked in the most polite voice she could manage.
"Yes, and I don't understand how you're getting away with it," she replied in a clipped manner, stiffly setting down her quill. "I don't understand how you've weaseled your way out of trouble for harassing Professor Lupin."
Hermione hadn't expected her to bring that up. Professor Avila stared at her through narrowed eyes as she continued.
"You're just like her, that girl I despised when I was a student. She was a transfer and only attended Hogwarts for a few months, but I remember her so well. You look just like her. I'd think you were her daughter if I didn't know your parents are Muggles."
Hermione felt a little jolt of shock as an incredible thought occurred to her — could the girl whom Professor Avila had despised in her youth be her when she'd posed as Jean Wilkins in the past?
"I was a prefect," Professor Avila informed her haughtily, "and respected by all the teachers as I was one of the brightest witches in the school. And Remus — he was a prefect too, and we would sometimes patrol the corridors together. He was always so kind to me —"
"He's kind to everyone," Hermione blurted, the softness in her professor's tone as she spoke about Remus rubbing her the wrong way.
Professor Avila scowled. "He was going to ask me to the Halloween dance," she said sharply, bitterly, getting to her feet. "But then that girl, Jean Wilkins, came along."
Hermione bit her lip at the confirmation that she was the girl Professor Avila had despised.
Professor Avila stepped around her desk to stand before her, and Hermione could smell sherry on her like she sometimes smelled on Trelawney.
"All the teachers were so impressed by her supposed cleverness, and Remus was — he was taken by her too." Professor Avila looked Hermione over like Vivienne once had, her lips curling into a slight sneer. "But not again, Miss Granger. He's much too noble and proper and wise to fall for a student's wiles, especially those of a girl the likes of you!"
Professor Avila made a sudden movement and an alarmed Hermione reached for her wand. But her professor only stormed out of her office, slamming the door hard behind her, leaving a ringing silence in the room.
Hermione stared at the place where Professor Avila had disappeared, understanding at last why her professor had disliked her from the first and amazed that she could have inspired such a grudge when she hadn't even met Professor Avila in the past. Hermione wondered if Remus even realized his colleague had feelings for him. Probably not.
Hermione couldn't believe it. At least three women — Professor Avila, Vivienne, and herself — had been vying for Remus's heart this year, yet Hermione knew he'd likely eschew romance and choose to be with none of them. Not even with her. Maybe especially not with her after what had happened recently.
Would that truly be best for her as Remus believed?
Was that what was best for him?
Heart heavy, Hermione continued to work, checking items off the list as quickly as she could. Then, when curfew came and went and Professor Avila still hadn't returned, she decided to dismiss herself from detention. She needed to get some studying done.
Remembering she needed a book, Hermione headed to the library, hoping Madam Pince was still there and would let her in. Luckily she found the doors still open. Hermione hurried through them, gasping when she crashed into somebody on their way out.
A pair of hands caught her around the waist, steadying her as she nearly fell backward, and she went still — as did Remus. She knew it was Remus. Even though she hadn't seen him before their collision, and even if she hadn't recognized his robes, his scent, she knew it was his arms around her, could feel it in the way her entire body seemed to awaken at his touch, lighting up like paper lanterns floating up into a night sky.
Tingling with tension at their unexpected contact and barely breathing, she slowly lifted her head and met his gaze. They were so close, close enough for her to see the freckles in his eyes, close enough to place a tender kiss upon his lips, close enough to feel his heartbeat next to hers — too close.
They shouldn't be this close. Not now, not here. What if somebody saw them and McGonagall found out Remus had been caught in another embrace with her, however innocent and inadvertent it had been?
Hermione hastily broke apart from him. "I'm sorry, Professor," she said, stepping back.
"Hermione —"
She shook her head, tearing her gaze away from his. "I — I have to go."
Hermione turned on her heel and fled for her dormitory, book forgotten, while Remus called after her. She didn't turn back. She couldn't turn back, couldn't stand to get him into trouble again.
She'd run away from him.
Before he'd had the chance to say anything, Hermione had run away. Why?
Remus stalked through the corridors back to his office, remembering the fear in her eyes when she'd pulled away from him moments ago. But fear of what? Of getting caught together again? Or fear of him? Recalling what had happened the last time they'd embraced, the way he'd ripped open her shirt, buttons flying everywhere, and kicked down his bedroom door, he couldn't blame her if she was afraid of getting too close to him now.
In his quarters, Remus tried not to remember the mess he'd made there that night — physically and otherwise — and how wildly he'd been consumed by lust. It unnerved him the way he'd lost himself so quickly, how easily the wolf that prowled within just burst free from his restraint — like Hermione's Patronus had burst free from her wand, the wolf she'd conjured earlier in class a perfect pair to his own Patronus.
He couldn't believe her Patronus had changed to match his. It had seemed to frighten her as much as it frightened him what that meant, what that charm revealed about her feelings. Strange how magic worked.
Ruminating on the mysteries of magic, Remus retrieved the magic rose from his bedroom, a little thrill traveling through him as he touched the flower, similar to the thrill he'd felt when he'd held Hermione a short while ago, the thrill he always felt with her, deeper than just a physical sensation.
He wandered back to his sitting room, breathing in Hermione's scent as the rose's magic subtly thrummed through him. Allowing himself to fall under its spell, he gave in to the warm feeling the rose instilled in him, the same feeling he'd had when he'd kissed Hermione in the Room of Requirement and when he'd kissed her for the first time atop the Astronomy tower in the past. He remembered vividly how magic had seemed to spark between himself and the girl he'd thought was a dream, how it had filled him with a feeling of warmth and contentment and —
Remus paused in the middle of the room, his features drawing into a frown. It suddenly clicked in his mind that the thrill he felt whenever he and Hermione touched, the magic he felt whenever they kissed, was the same as the magic he felt from the rose.
Remus stared at the extraordinary flower in his grasp. How could he have not realized it before? A host of new questions arose from his sudden understanding. The magic, was it —
"Hello, Remus."
Remus whipped around at the unexpected voice.
"Pardon me, I didn't mean to startle you," Dumbledore said from one of the portraits on the wall. The headmaster's gaze lowered to the rose in Remus's hands and he raised a brow. Remus, feeling as guilty as though he'd just been caught holding Hermione herself, fought the childish urge to hide the flower behind his back, out of sight.
What was Dumbledore doing here? Checking in on him? Remus had a sneaking suspicion that all the portraits were keeping a close eye on him under McGonagall's orders.
"That is quite a lovely rose you have there," Dumbledore remarked pleasantly. "I assume it is the magical one? I am surprised to see it. Hermione is under the impression you have destroyed it because you believed it to be cursed."
Feeling the urgent need to explain himself to the headmaster, Remus said, "I had no romantic intentions when I gave her this rose."
"I believe you. It was a simply a kind gesture and your intentions were pure, as pure as the magic which imbues the rose. You expected nothing from Hermione in return."
"I didn't expect anything that followed to happen. I couldn't have known . . ."
"Do you regret what has happened?" Dumbledore asked.
Remus hesitated. He'd often thought everything would be much easier if he hadn't fallen in love with Hermione, and he certainly regretted the pain he'd caused her, and the fact that they couldn't be together. But did he regret their time together, the days and weeks of joy he'd experienced with her both now and in the past?
"No," he said quietly. "I don't."
"Then why have you been pushing Hermione away?"
Remus looked away from Dumbledore, his gaze falling again to the rose, taking in its beauty and magic and vitality. He remembered the feeling he'd had on Valentine's Day when he'd received it as an anonymous gift from Hermione, the feeling that he was too tainted to touch a thing of such purity. . . .
"She's better off," he said, setting the rose down on the nearby coffee table. "She deserves somebody young and whole, someone who isn't a danger, who wouldn't sully her reputation —"
"Hermione deserves someone who loves her as deeply as she loves him and who has the courage to fight for that love," Dumbledore interrupted. "I am disappointed in you, Remus. I thought you had greater strength of character, but I see you are still allowing your fears and insecurities to get the best of you."
His words took Remus aback and frustration flared within him.
"This isn't about. . . . My fears are legitimate," he argued.
"What do you fear? Requited love? Companionship and emotional intimacy? Happiness?"
"What I fear is losing control, the wolf taking over . . . hurting her."
"Have you hurt her before?"
"No. Thank heavens, no. But I've lost control with her on several occasions, and I've never lost control with anybody else."
"So she affects you differently?"
"I can hardly be around her when the full moon approaches, and Wolfsbane Potion is useless when it comes to her. Her scent still affects me, more strongly than any other woman's, and if there's any physical contact between us, my wolfish instincts are triggered immediately and overwhelmingly. My impulses go haywire. I can't distinguish between myself and the wolf, and I don't know what I'm capable of."
"So you are afraid you will not be able to control your wolfish aggression, your impulse to bite and satisfy the wolf's craving for human flesh; yet the losses of control you have experienced have not resulted in any harm to Hermione. What has kept you from hurting her?"
The question startled Remus. "I — I don't know exactly." He'd never considered it much before. "The last time it happened . . . everything was a blur. I didn't hurt her, but I — I went a bit wild. Since Hermione . . . it's been getting harder to keep my impulses in check. That night, I was too overwhelmed with my feelings and with — with hers."
"Her feelings?"
Remus nodded. "Something strange happens sometimes. I can feel her heart beating inside me as clearly as I feel my own, and I can feel what she's feeling. If she's afraid, I know it. I don't just sense it, I feel it. She wasn't afraid the last time I lost control, but she was the times before that. And when I'd realized some of the emotions I was experiencing weren't my own," he said slowly, thinking back to those incidents, "when I recognized her apprehension, I snapped out of the wolfish mindset. My sense of self returned."
"Under which circumstances do you feel her heartbeat and emotions? Does this happen only when you are intimate in the days leading up to the full moon?"
"No," Remus said, glancing away. He suddenly felt nearly as awkward as he did as a young teenager when Dumbledore had given him 'the talk' on how his lycanthropy affected his libido and advised him on how to control his wolfish urges. "I think it happens whenever she's experiencing very intense emotions about — about me."
"There is a special bond," Dumbledore said slowly after a short, thoughtful pause, "a deep empathy, which is said to develop between what some call 'soulmates.' But what you describe, actually experiencing Hermione's feelings as she experiences them — that may be a unique phenomenon. Perhaps it is because of your heightened wolf senses."
The headmaster refocused his thoughtful gaze on Remus, who was reeling a bit from his use of the term 'soulmates.'
"I believe this bond might be the reason why Hermione has remained safe even when you have felt you've lost control. The wolf recognizes that bond between you and does not wish to bring her any more harm than you do."
"Then why do I feel this way? Why do I struggle so much with my wolfish instincts and feel so afraid and conflicted when I'm with her?"
"I believe it is exactly that — your conflicted state and your fear — which makes you feel that way."
"I don't understand."
"You are always so cautious about maintaining your composure and denying your wolfish nature that you tend to suppress all of your emotions to a certain degree. Your feelings for Hermione seem all the more intense for that fact, and you've found you cannot suppress them, yet you fight them just the same, perhaps because you are afraid of their strength or because you think that they are wrong.
"You fight those feelings and you are like the wizard who tries to deny his magic but can never rid himself of it. He cannot suppress his power for long before his pent up magic bursts from him uncontrollably. However, in your case, what bursts from you is your wolfish aggression. What results is your loss of control."
Remus stared at Dumbledore, an uneasy feeling starting in his stomach as he considered this logic. "So . . . I'd be less dangerous if I — if I gave in to my wolfish nature?"
"You'd be less dangerous if you were to fully accept your feelings for Hermione. Emotions, like magic," Dumbledore explained, "are forms of energy that must flow more freely rather than be bottled up. I believe if you accepted your feelings and allowed yourself to experience them rather than attempt to stifle them, you'd find peace within yourself, and you'd regain control over your wolfish nature and pose no threat to Hermione's safety."
Remus couldn't believe it. If Dumbledore was right . . . he'd created this problem himself. By resisting his feelings for Hermione he'd made himself a danger, made himself into a ticking time bomb of sorts. Had he given in to his feelings, this wouldn't have been an issue.
His stomach sank in a sickening fashion as he instinctively recognized the truth in Dumbledore's words, the irony. If his fear and too strict self-restraint were the real problem . . . had he been pushing Hermione away for nothing?
"You have always had a tendency to distance yourself from others, Remus, Dumbledore said quietly, "even from those you consider your closest friends. Perhaps it is especially those you care about most deeply that you pull away from most. You may feel that they are, as you said earlier, 'better off' without you. However, in Hermione's case, I dearly hope you will not continue to choose that self-imposed misery out of mistaken nobility. Not only would you be denying your own chance at love, you would be denying hers as well."
Remus sank onto the sofa, overwhelmed, as Dumbledore continued.
"I also hope you will learn to see yourself as the rest of us do: a good man, a cherished friend, a person who deserves whatever happiness he chooses for himself. And I hope you will choose happiness, Remus."
Werewolves have a right to love and pursue their happiness just like everybody else, Hermione had once told him.You deserve love, Remus. You are loved.
Remus shook his head. After what he'd done, after how he'd treated her and what he'd just learned, he didn't deserve Hermione. He really didn't deserve her. Or the magic of the rose.
Remus cleared his throat before looking up at Dumbledore again. "Hermione once said . . . when I gave her the rose . . . something in that exchange between us sparked the magic. How . . ."
"You said you had no romantic intentions when you gave her the rose. You did, however, have feelings for her, feelings perhaps you hadn't yet fully acknowledged or discern to be romantic, yes?"
"Yes," Remus admitted quietly.
Dumbledore nodded. "As did Hermione. And the part of you that recognized those feelings and that pull between you was calling to her, as part of her was calling to you. That magic which draws you together — old magic, the most powerful kind — attempted to make a connection that night, to establish a bond between you. Your hearts, however, were too guarded to fully accept that connection and allow that bond to properly snap into place. The magic imbued the rose instead. The rose has ever since attempted to complete the connection between you and to nudge you to fully accept the bond."
"So the rose . . . it's magic . . . is it . . ." Remus couldn't get the question past the lump in his throat. He feared he already knew the answer, had always known on a certain level.
"Yes," Dumbledore said softly. "Your love."
Remus didn't know how long he sat there before Dumbledore quietly left the portrait.
He didn't know how late into the night he remained there, his face buried in his hands. Silence pressed in heavily around him while his thoughts and regrets rumbled deafeningly within.
Hermione had to have guessed that the rose was a symbol of their love. It was no wonder why she'd been so upset, so heartbroken that he'd destroyed the rose. She believed he had broken the magic, discarded their love. He'd made her believe it. And he had discarded their love. He'd given up his chance at happiness with her without even a fight.
Sirius had once told him not to let his furry little problem stop him from living his life. But he had. He'd let his lycanthropy, his fears and insecurities, his feeling of being unclean, to get the best of him. He'd been a self-pitying coward pushing away the girl of his dreams, the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Hermione, on the other hand, had always been more courageous and true to her feelings. She'd bravely declared her love, had been ready to give herself to him body and soul, had been willing to fight for them to be together despite everything — and all he'd ever done was hold back and pull away. Even that night in the Room of Requirement he'd held back, still hesitant to fully express his love for her.
Remus didn't want to hold back any longer, didn't want to push Hermione away anymore. He wanted to apologize, to tell her he was mistaken in so many things. He wanted to tell her how he truly felt, because he feared she didn't know, that he'd hidden it too well.
But he couldn't be alone with her or speak to her until after she graduated. For the next few weeks he'd be able to do nothing but wallow in regret over his stupidity.
Or maybe. . . .
Remus raised his head from his hands, eyes focusing on the table before him. Maybe there was something he could do, however small it may be.
But if McGonagall found out about this —
It didn't matter. Hermione was worth the risk.
It was nearly midnight when Hermione looked around with bleary eyes at all the books and notes strewn across the table before her and decided it was time to call it quits on this drawn out study session. If she didn't get to sleep soon, she'd hardly be functional come morning, and what good would come of that? She tidied up her things and prepared her book bag for the next day, then retired to her bedroom with a grand yawn.
It was when she was changing into her pajamas, clumsy with sleep, that Hermione suddenly froze mid-motion — she'd spotted something lying on her bed that hadn't been there earlier, something that made her breath catch in her throat: a single, gorgeous red rose.
She blinked in bewilderment, the weariness draining from her instantly. Staring at the vision before her, she wondered how the rose had appeared, wondered if it was really there. She half expected it to be a hallucination, a product of her exhausted mind, and that it would disappear the next time she blinked. When the rose remained each time her eyes opened again instead, she slowly moved toward her bed, wondering the question to which her racing heart already knew the answer.
A familiar energy tingled in her fingers as they met with the magic rose. A familiar warmth spread throughout her entire body, seeping into her very being. When she could breathe again, it was Remus's scent she inhaled.
She couldn't believe it. Hadn't he destroyed the rose?
Not trusting her unsteady legs, Hermione eased herself down on the edge of her bed, her fingers fumbling as she untied the piece of parchment attached to the flower. She recognized Remus's handwriting at once:
For you —
Despite what I had you believe,
I would never wish to destroy this rose
so precious and pure. Its magic,
our love, ignites my soul, and that light
inside me will never extinguish.
P.S. The rose smells like you.
Emotion seared her throat and her vision blurred, but Hermione read through the note again, eyes snagging on "our love." A broken sob escaped her lips and she collapsed onto her bed, hugging Remus's words to her chest.