1"Behind Closed Doors" By Meg
I don't own Harry Potter…I simply enjoy using the characters conjured up J.K. Rowling for my own sweet pleasure.
Pairing: Hermione/Ron and Hermione/Mystery man (okay, the cat's outta the bag. It's Remus.)
A/N: I usually write chapters to songs, and I feel that listening to the song helps to better feel the flow that the song has established, so...from now on, I will list the song below.
Song: "Breathe Me" by Sia, "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap, "Something in the Way" by Nirvana.
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And so it began. For months Hermione and Remus would meet each other in Diagon Alley for "lunch" and emerge several hours later from a room in the Inn, skin filmed over in sweat and oily fingerprints. She would send him owls from her desk at work and would read the ones he'd sent by wand light, in the bathroom at night. She dreaded the day Ron would find out, but as a sensible woman, she knew it was eminent. She merely hoped, day to day, that the axe wouldn't fall that day. But, day to day, she got butterflies in her stomach as she awaited his owl. Some days, he'd ask her to meet him, others he'd be in some far off part of the country side on business. No matter what he was doing, Remus would take the time out to send her an owl. The feeling was beginning to fade, but each time she saw an owl soaring in the air out of her window, her heart would make a small leap.
Remus lay on the cool wood floor of his cottage, eyes to the air. His amber irises traced the grain of the dusty wood planks on the ceiling, pretending each one was a strand of Hermione's hair draped over the milky white of the skin on her back. Without thinking, he reached up to grab a handful of her soft hair, and found his fingers folding around empty space. Again. It had been going on for weeks now, his thoughtful pining for the smell of lavender she left on his clothes, the dwindling warmth from her skin and the loose strand of her hair he'd find clinging to his robes the next day.
"'Mione my dear," he murmured out, speaking to her, though they were many miles away from one another. "Where have you gone?"
He slid his hand up, and pressed down on the floor, rising to his knees. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and he could feel it in the way his bones creaked. As a werewolf, Remus had far outlived his expected life span and wasn't yet eager to retire from this world. He, on the other hand, would've given just about anything to settle down for a while with Mrs. Hermione Weasley.
He was tired of hearing about Ron's every whereabout when he would work up the nerve to telephone her. He was tired of having Ron answer and having to hear the update about Harry Potter and the whole of the ministry. He was tired of all the middle men. Remus frequently found himself wishing for just a moment of silence where he could forget that Hermione did not belong to him.
"We spend every spare moment together, Hermione. Spare." He remembered telling her one bitter day after another memorable tryst. "I am tired of getting the odds and ends. I don't like getting the left over time with you...or the left over emotions."
Remus could still remember the way his words had hurt her, but also the way she stood fast over leaving Ron. Inside her heart Hermione loved Remus, but there was no denying that she loved Ron. He'd been with her in the good times, and so much good there had been, and in the bad times, which there was no fewer.
Remus stood, head hung in the kitchen sink. In one hand he had a large decanter of scotch and a battered glass in the other. He rinsed the stale alcohol from the crystalline glass and found himself with his head under the freezing running water. The flow of the water seemed to wrap around his head and run off from his lips. Lips that had not been kissed in so long. His eyes were crying great drops of icy spring water. Eyes that had not seen Hermione in a month's time. Remus fought the urge to dunk his head under the water for a moment. He wanted to feel detached from the world, like at the bottom of a clear stream.
"This is ridiculous!" He said, coming up for a deep breath of air. The water that clung to his hair flung across his back and sprayed the small kitchen down. "Jamis! Jamis, where are you?"
Within just a few seconds, a large bird flew into his open window and set himself down on the large butcher block. There was no mistaking that the bird belonged to Remus Lupin. He had equally greying brown feathers and looked like he'd suffered a few good battles in his time. Softly hooting, Jamis cocked his head and awaited a message from Remus.
Scribbling hard onto the piece of parchment, he wrote her a short note. It read:
"Hermione,
I haven't seen you in too long. I'm coming to you. Don't tell me not to.
Lupin."
His temper was rising, but he calmed himself to tie the note to his faithful bird. He'd woke up each morning that week, head filled with thoughts of Hermione. He'd woke up each morning with a sinking feeling of loneliness that only grew as the day weathered on. He never imagined that he could feel like such a stranger to a woman he'd known for so long. To a woman he found himself caring so much for. He hadn't felt love since the moment he got on the train, leaving Hermione in her time of greatest need, in Hogsmede a decade before. It had been the only way to survive. He'd needed to shut out the pain and shut out the love her felt for her and their unborn children to keep himself from devolving into the animal he kept inside. He needed to be aloof. Now it was Hermione who was aloof and verging on the lines of being cold.
"You think you can switch me off with a snap of your fingers..." He seethed as he pulled on his tattered old cloak. "I won't be made to feel like a...a...light switch!"
With a wave of his hand he sent out Jamis to deliver the letter to Hermione. He snapped his fingers and the candles in his house went out. He flung open the door, broom tucked under his arm. A moment later, he opened the door and came back in. He crossed the room, dissatisfied by the time it would take for him to get to London. He needed more immediate satisfaction. Floo powder, he decided. With a deep swipe of his hand, he gathered a large handful of the sparkling greenish powder and threw it onto his dying fire. The flames leapt up and sizzled.
"London!" He roared.
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Please R&R
Anyone catch the Dune reference? Lol.
Meagan