Note: In all my writing, I usually introduce my chapters with poetry, quotes, or song lyrics in order to show what inspired the mood of the chapter. I haven't done it as much with this piece, but the below O'Hara poem is how I feel about my ships in this story, as well as friendships.
Disclaimer: As always, anything recognizable belongs to JKR and I am making no money.
Comments and opinions are appreciated. As always, thanks for reading!
"Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth
it's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners
the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water
I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days"
-Frank O'Hara, Animals
There were three more Order of the Phoenix meetings after the initial one Hermione attended. They ended up being a repetition of pretty much everything covered in her first one. More bickering happened; more talking in circles as, Dumbledore put it.
Remus certainly had been correct with how cliquey the Order was. She didn't ever remember it being like this in her time. Probably because there weren't enough members to do that with; probably because there was a single person that everyone loathed and ganged up against: Severus Sanpe.
Whatever the case, the follow-up meetings were still held in Sirius's flat. Hermione and Remus had managed forge a mutually beneficial arrangement before these meetings. She would come over earlier and help him straighten up the mess that was always left in Sirius's wake before he tromped off to work. In return, Remus would lend her books from his personal library.
Remus would thank her profusely for coming over. He told her it was the same every morning. The morning mess consisted of Sirius muttering apologies from behind a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth. There was always an impressive trail of crumbies that led towards the fireplace. Too, the late night celebrations always left messy dishes and clothes and trash strewn about. Empty beer bottles and cans littered bookshelves; junk was on the large sitting room table.
Remus claimed that there wasn't a spell that worked as well as good old-fashioned elbow grease. Hermione pretended to believe him, glad to have him for company.
Hermione would sometimes bring Remus copies of books he requested from the Hogwarts library and she would press them into his arms when she arrived before the couple of hours they had prior to the evening's meeting. He would then hand her copies of books by his favorite Muggle authors. This evening's was Breakfast of Champions by an interesting American author called Kurt Vonnegut. She'd frowned in near abhorrence at the pages when she thumbed through, eyeing the little doodles and diagrams.
"It's supposed to be that way. You'll like it," he assured her, closing it for her. He lingered behind her elbow.
They would talk about literature and other subjects and disciplines that meant a great deal to them. He would show her the new coffee beans he picked up at certain points and grind up the ones she wanted. He always set the timer and he always let her plunge the French press.
They would sit on the love seat, legs pulled up into the cushions and crossed under themselves, facing one another. Remus would lament over his friends and how it was difficult to get them to engage in intellectual discourse or other philosophies.
When the timer went off, she poured and served their coffees and he led them to a sofa in the sitting room. It was getting dark outside already.
"I'm glad you enjoy 'boring' things. My friends don't really fancy these types of conversations. They always say, 'we aren't in school anymore, Remus'," he smiled at her, sipping at his black coffee.
She curled her hands around her own scarlet mug. "I know exactly what you mean. The only person I really talk to at Hogwarts is Severus. Not to say that the other professors aren't brilliant. It's just—"
"Is he nice to you?" It was the first time Remus had ever interrupted her in this time and her own. He looked sincere and concerned; it was almost paternal. He watched her face, watched the way the shadows of the fireplace's flames danced around and upon her. It was now full-dark outside and they lost all light except the close embers keeping them warm.
She was taken aback and nearly insulted, though she knew he probably knew that Severus was not kind at all times.
She lowered her mug and let it rest on her knee—they were both pulled up to her chest now. "I mean, we have our rough patches like any friendship. But yes, he is nice to me." She paused while she sipped from her mug once more. "I know you lot tease him." She looked into his eyes. "I heard what you used to call him." She sniffed at the memory of the silly Snivellus.
"I never called him that," Remus said. He was not defensive and he was not defiant. Ever noble, ever honest.
"Did you ask them to stop?" She asked quietly. She used her mug to warm her hands.
Remus felt as though the future of their friendship depended upon his next answer. He felt she was going to judge him in some kind of irreversible way. That whatever he said, she wouldn't be pleased with him.
And she would know if he was lying to her. He sipped from his coffee and finally admitted, "No. I did not."
He leaned to the side to place his mug down on the one table in the sitting room. His green jumper rode up and she caught a glimpse of the smooth skin near his hipbone—it looked like something had taken a bite from him there. He hastily adjusted it before returning to his previous position.
"I never said anything to them," he admitted to her, twisting his hands in his lap. "I was always afraid to."
Hermione thought of Severus the other night in her quarters. Oh, yes. Spineless Lupin…how is he these days? She found her voice. "Why didn't you say anything to them, Remus?"
"They were my friends," he shrugged. "I'd never had any before and I was afraid to lose them. They were there for me in a time when no one else was. They did things for me that I would never be able to repay them for. I guess abusing my Prefect-hood in order to let them do pretty much whatever they wanted was me thanking them in a small way."
"They were cruel to Severus."
"They were to cruel to a lot of people. I conveniently divorced myself from them whenever those things happened. And besides, Severus was no angel, no matter how he may perform for you these days." His tone was laced with a strange kind of coldness—he seemed so foreign to her in that moment.
She didn't say anything else about the matter. Instead, she asked him why he liked Breakfast of Champions so much.
"It reminds me to not take everything (even myself) so seriously. It is absurd. It is bawdy at times, I think. But it's just a fun read. Poignant, too. American Muggle authors are doing very unique things with their literature right now."
The others arrived in such an abrupt and jarring manner like every other time. Hermione and Remus stayed seated where they were and the others piled in around them. This time, Sirius crammed himself on the armrest next to Hermione. He wiggled his eyebrows at her. She rolled her eyes at his bony hip.
Small parties were always held at the end of Order meetings, which explained all the empty Firewhiskey bottles scattered across the sitting room. Most of the Members would return to their families or retire because they had to be up early in the morning for work.
Sirius, James, Lily, Marlene, Edgar, Frank and his wife Alice, and Peter Pettigrew (who missed the first couple of meetings that Hermione attended) were usually left behind. They were the young ones, after all. Alice and Lily did not partake in the drinking for the sake of their unborn children.
Hermione usually skipped out on the parties that they asked her to stay for. She wasn't quite so comfortable around everyone yet. And again, the cliquiness.
"Maybe you could stay for one drink?" Remus asked hopefully. "I usually head out or go to bed when they start this mess." He waved his hand in the general direction of the kitchenette where Sirius was playing bartender. "It'd be nice to not be the odd man out. But if you don't wish to, I understand."
"I don't know, Remus," she bit her lip, stealing a weary glance in that direction. "I'm such a homebody." She felt like it was a lame admission. She didn't even teach until later in the afternoon. Severus would be proud of how absolutely UN-Gryffindor-ish I'm being.
"Hermione," he said her name so seriously, in a deep voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck stiffen. She expected him to say something about how she shouldn't waste her youth by never being reckless. He instead leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially. "You cannot leave me here with them."
Her hand flew up to her mouth to suppress the laugh fighting its way out. "Okay, but just one drink."
He smiled sweetly at her, his forehead relaxing as though he were actually relieved that she chose to stay. He held up his index finger, in agreement with one drink. He led her to the congregation in the kitchenette.
"For all my friends!" Sirius shouted. He was passing the glasses around. They were not simple shots, but half full drinking glasses. "We drink to life tonight, like every night. I hope to see all of you tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. If I don't, I love you all dearly. Especially you, sweet Lily and darling Alice. Where the both of you are eating for two, I'm drinking for two." He slung back the drinks meant for the two women, in quick succession. Everyone laughed at his clever joke. Hermione and Remus smiled uncomfortably as Sirius handed them their glasses.
Hermione stared into her glass as Remus tugged at Sirius's sleeve, dragging him away for a moment, and muttered into his friend's ear.
"Sirius, you speak as though you are ready to bury one of us at any given moment."
"Moony, I know you know what I mean." For the first time in a very long time, Sirius had a somber expression on his face. He was frowning in a disappointed way, like he was upset that his friend couldn't understand him. "We don't know how long any of us are going to be around. So, eat. Drink. Be merry. For tomorrow, we may die. We really, really may, Remus." He shook his head before pulling Remus into a tight and intimate hug. "We may not have the time to do all we want to do. To say what we want to say and who we want to say it to."
Remus looked over his friend's shoulder and at Hermione who was sniffing at her glass and all but gagging after doing so. He laughed.
Sirius thought he was laughing at him, so Sirius laughed as well, clapping Remus on the back before moving on to someone else.
Hermione stayed for several drinks. By then, most people cleared out. Lily and Alice took their respective (and drunk) husbands home via side-along Apparation. Marlene stayed behind, still chatting amiably with Sirius, both of them sitting on top of the kitchen counters. Peter was passed out in one of the armchairs. Edgar had made it to the bathroom to get sick. He was so sleepy that he lay in the floor and began snoring, half of him in the bathroom, half of him in the hallway.
Hermione and Remus were both sitting with their legs tucked under, in front of the now unlit fireplace. They were now sharing the same drinking glass, laughing too hard at nothing and everything. Hermione pried the glass from Remus's hand, their fingers brushing. He stopped laughing and cleared his throat, almost sobering up. She clutched the glass in her hands and watched him. He tugged at his jumper, making sure it was pulled all the way down. He caught her watching him do this.
"There's nothing wrong with you, Remus," she whispered.
"Thank you," he pursed his lips, not meeting her eyes.
She shrugged and took another drink. "I'm just telling you."
"And I thanked you," he said a bit too loudly.
Sirius and Marlene's private conversation and obnoxious guffaws of laughter stopped abruptly so they could look at the two sitting on the floor. Even Peter woke up and sat up in his chair to see what was going on, who was having a row.
Hermione stood and pinched some Floo powder by the mantle. "I'll tell you how I like the book." And she was gone in a green flash.
Remus groaned and leaned back until he lay down on the floor, pressing his palms into his eyes.
"Smooth," Sirius jeered, his arm around Marlene who rolled her eyes.
Saturday morning and afternoon came and went. She spent most of her free time reading Breakfast of Champions. Remus was right. It was ridiculous. That was all she was going to tell him about it.
Hermione was told of the ball's location later that afternoon. She found herself in the cleared out first floor of Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley that evening. She thought it was pretty adorable that the ball was being held in a bookshop, but that was just her. She wondered if Remus and Severus thought it was equally neat. Well, she hadn't seen either of them yet.
Not that she was looking for them.
She felt more like a chaperone to a child's dance, really, being there. Dumbledore had divvied up responsibilities and she was to make patrols around the indoor perimeters.
A lot of people already showed up, in resplendent robes and beautiful masks. Some were home-made, others were obviously purchased from a store. Some young women's masks were as bejeweled and lavish as their dress robes. Some were as basic as possible.
Nobody was dancing and everyone was awkwardly standing beside a punch bowl. There was an enchanted record player playing loud music rather than live entertainment.
The venue was decked out garishly with paper lights and carved and painted pumpkins. There were skeletons sat up in chairs, staged to look as though they were on a coffee date. Confetti flew in all directions and streamers were thrown over bookshelves and tomes. A concession table held an enormous cauldron filled with punch. Cauldron cakes, pumpkin pasties, and myriad sweets were strewn about on the table.
As Hermione went round and round the dimly lit room, she tried to discern who the masked people were and if she could point out anyone from the Order who were there. Most, if not all, of them were supposed to be there. In the end, Dumbledore was the only recognizable one out of the bunch because of his massively distinctive silver hair swept upon his back. His bright purple robes all but glimmered in the dim light and candlelight.
Hermione's own robes were a deep burnt orange color. Her mask was an emerald green with feathers fluffing over an entire side of her face. There wasn't much glitter—she didn't care to be cleaning it off of herself for the next while. She hadn't bothered using any Sleekeazy on her hair and instead let it flow the way it wanted to.
"My, my, what a frightful sight," a low voice murmured in her ear. It was unmistakable, and there was mirth at the end of his words. "Spooky, even."
"Professor," she rolled her eyes, as she knew that he was talking about her hair.
"I hope it was worth it to get this lot together," he warned her.
He watched a few of them standing around and looking at one another. There was low, idle conversation. But for the most part, they looked like they were waiting for something to happen. "They don't seem to do much, do they?"
"Dumbledore's to give a speech later as a means to rally them," she defended the ball, even though she didn't want to.
"I've come to tell you that there may have been a security breach after all."
"Truly? It hasn't even started yet," she hissed at him as though it were his fault.
"Indeed. Bellatrix—the lunatic cousin of your precious Sirius Black—and her dratted husband have been set loose by the Dark Lord." He sniffed from behind a silver mask that covered only his eyes and long nose. "Then again, that could just be talk. Knowing them, I have enough reason to believe they may try something. I'm just telling you." He turned on his heel and left her, probably to keep watch elsewhere.
Hermione went to look for Dumbledore to alert him, as he was the only member of the Order that she recognized. But he was missing, perhaps preparing for the later speech. She slipped her hand into her robes and gripped her wand in a sweaty palm. She felt that she would have to make a decision soon, even though nothing was happening yet. She felt her breath coming and going in shudders.
The record changed over to big band and swing—she wasn't so well versed in music and couldn't say who was playing. This got some people out on the dance floor and she smiled to herself before continuing on in her search. She decided to step away from her assigned perimeters and went up the few steps that led to the next level of the store that looked down towards the mezzanine that everyone was on.
From here, Hermione was able to spot out two red headed men who were the exact height and wearing identical masks and robes, bending over the concession table and examining the sweets. Perfect. She'd alert those guys and get the word going.
She went back to the few steps and found someone pulling a book from the shelf, examining it. She smiled to herself, and thinking it was Remus said, "You were wrong about Vonnegut. I don't care for it much."
The person holding the book tucked it under their arm and turned to look at her. "I don't think I would care much for having a Vonnegut, as well." The voice was drawling and bored. The speaker was wearing a solid silver mask, but unlike the ones downstairs, it covered his whole face. The mask had intricate markings and expressions carved into it.
"It sounds unpleasant."
It was now obvious that the speaker was a man. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and he wore gloves.
Hermione offered a small smile before heading back down towards the concession table and to the Prewett twins. She pulled them aside and mumbled to them to be on alert and to give a heads up to other Order members they may recognize. She was starting to feel slightly panicked over how unorganized this whole thing was starting to feel.
She went back to her assignment of patrolling. More people were dancing and she felt better that they were having a good time, but the anxiety was slow to subside. Perhaps Dumbledore wasn't going to speak. Perhaps the point was to mingle and have her dance with a Muggleborn and inform them about the Order? Perhaps not at this moment, though—most of the songs now were of the slow variety.
She was thinking rapidly, too busy watching everyone in the room, when she nudged into someone standing with their hands clasped behind their back, holding a thin box in one hand.
"Pardon me," she said, mortified. A blush crept up on her cheeks.
"It's no trouble, madam." The man bowed his head to her. He was clean-shaven and grinning down at her all too openly. He wasn't in dress robes, but instead a worn gray sweater vest with a white button-down and orange corduroy trousers.
At this point, she was sure she wouldn't go to another masquerade ball. Every man she's ran into tonight has been odd.
"Hermione, its me," Remus leaned forward, speaking in his same conspiratorial tone. "Remus Lupin?"
It tickled her all too much that he used his full name. She bit back a laugh and smiled up at him.
"I wanted to apologize for being a prat the other night. You were trying to be nice and I was an arse." He pressed the box into her hand. "From one friend to another."
She opened it gingerly. It was the quill she was staring at the night they first met. "Oh, thank you, Remus. I can't wait to use it!" She shrunk it down and slipped it into her robe pocket.
"You are very welcome." But his mind was somewhere else.
Remus was thinking about what Sirius told him the other night. About not knowing how much time any of them had left. He took a deep breath and eyed those that were dancing. He looked back at down at her. "Hermione. I know I'm not—"
"Yes?"
"I just. I—Would you like to dance with me?" He was going to throw up. He added hastily, "Just once."
"I would love to, Remus. Thank you for asking me."
He offered her his arm and let her to the throng of people crowding the floor. Though the song was slow, people were smiling at each other and laughing easily.
Remus placed a nervous and gentle hand on her waist and grabbing her other hand. She pressed a small hand on his chest and looked up at him.
He chuckled, "I can't see you properly."
"We'll just have to dance another time when you can." She couldn't believe she was flirting.
He nudged himself closer to her. They weren't quite dancing cheek to cheek, but they were close enough to take in each other's scents. He was spearmint and outside and like fresh linen. He squeezed her hand gently, daring his thumb to caress her skin. It left a minuscule patch of blazing warmth in its wake.
She felt herself flush all too heatedly. She didn't know quite what she felt for Remus or what he felt for her, but she knew they equally enjoyed one another's company. Wasn't that enough? To begin caring for someone?
"I know we haven't known each other for long," Remus said quietly, looking at her ear instead of into her eyes. "But do you think that you would want—"
But before he could get all of that out, Severus Snape came out of nowhere, rushing towards her, grabbing her by the forearm and dragging her away and saying in a slightly panicked tone, "Miss Granger, they are arriving. They had the password. They have silver masks. I am going to flee. Be. Careful." He looked down at her with his obsidian eyes wide and worried. He gave her one long searching look before he took one long-fingered hand and waved it in front of his face, wiping downward. His mask elongated into something that looked…
Into something that looked similar to the man who she spoke to on the stairs.
Hermione went back to Remus and clutched at his arm, "Severus says that the security has been compromised. We must start evacuating everyone."
Remus reached up and tore off his mask so as to see properly. Feeling foolish that she hadn't done it sooner, she followed suit. He looked down at her and opened his mouth and closed it again before taking it off, yelling after Sirius and shouting instructions in code to Order members.
Hermione went to look for the Prewett twins thinking they would be in their previous and nearby space, but after several minutes, she couldn't find them. By now, it was clear that members of the Order had evacuated most people they were trying to enlist or protect. She found a lone partygoer and grabbed their hand, running with them to the nearest exit.
Only when the room was nearing the point of being cleared out did an insane cackle come from the upper floor. The owner of the laugh was a young, pale woman with wild black hair. She was tall and beautiful, but in a deranged way. Her eyes were blackened, but bright.
"But where have all the widdle mudbloods gone? Nobody could wait for Bella to show up fashionably late?" The woman all but wailed, sneering into the now dark room. Someone had put out all the candles. "Darling, make them come out and play," she spoke to her companion.
"Now, now, Bella," a deep voice rumbled. "You must be patient, my love. Seeking out the cowardly, hiding sacks of scum is part of the fun."
"Oh, Dolph, you know patience has never been my strong suit." She lifted herself above the upper floor's railing and heaved herself over, landing below on her hands and feet, much like a cat. "It I can't get a mudblood, then a blood traitor will do."
Her husband followed her, but with much less bravado. They were joined by the masked and gloved man Hermione spoke to earlier.
"They got them out in time," a fourth masked individual was saying.
"Yes, we are quite aware of that, Yaxley," Lucius Malfoy snapped.
"Well, you were here first, why didn't you act, Lucius?" Yaxley stepped forward, wanting to know.
Lucius drew his cane and used the its skull to rap smartly on Yaxley's head. "Do not question me, Initiate." Then he bellowed, "Nott!"
Nott came whipping around a near corner, panting. "I got me a nice couple. They were off snogging in a dark corner." His grin was disgusting and he smelled of dank sweat.
Fabian and Gideon Prewett busted back into the room in search for anyone who was left behind during the evacuation. They faltered when they found the dead Muggleborn couple in the corner near the concession table.
"Too late," Fabian said unnecessarily.
Gideon swore.
"It's too late for you mudblood lovers, as well," Bellatrix breathed heavily, her curls in her face, a deviant grin twisting its way across her mouth.
Side by side, they raised their wands in response.
From behind Bella, the four other Death Eaters stepped out of the shadows.
"The others will come," Fabian told his brother, licking his lips.
Gideon nodded, gripping his wand that slipped in his hand. "Once the others are taken to safety."
