Chapter Two: The Pleasure of Her Company
Lupin drew his broom up to a gentle halt, on the outskirts of a giant forest clearing. A dull fog had descended around them with the coming of evening, and he was pleased to see that at least a few of his concealment charms had held through the years. He could feel Hermione's fingers tensing against the folds of his robes, and, as it had every time she clutched him more tightly in her fear of heights, a delighted shiver ran the length of his spine, having nothing to do with the temperature of the night air.
"Here we are," he said, waving a hand at the ring of trees below them. He couldn't see the look on Hermione's face, but her silence made it plain enough what she thought about his home. Chuckling, Lupin shook his head, and, lifting his wand out of his pocket, he murmured, "Ostendo!"
Immediately, the scene peeled itself away, as if a giant hand had reached down and lifted a cover sheet from on top of the forest clearing. What had been a row of trees rolled slowly backwards, so that, inch by inch, a small, bleak-looking two-story house revealed itself, sitting in the middle of a barren stretch of earth below them.
"Oh," said Hermione, still breathless from keeping her vertigo in check. Lupin grinned.
"Not much," he said, with a shrug, "but better than it looked at first, I think."
Hermione nodded, and he felt her hair brush against him as she inclined her head further forward to get a better look. Tightening his hold on the broom, he focused determinedly on the little house, and tilted his broom forward to begin their descent. He could hear Hermione's ragged breathing as they neared the ground, and although she was muttering repeatedly to herself, he couldn't make out quite what she was saying. It sounded a bit like, "It wouldn't hurt anyway, not this close."
They touched down a few feet away from the house, and Lupin dragged his feet in the dirt to stop them running right into the structure. Looking around with some distaste, he wondered why he hadn't at least made an effort to beautify the place a bit, planted a garden or done some small home repairs. In the little more than a year that he'd been away, the outskirts of his home had grown over with weeds, some of which seemed to be trying actively to eat each other, grappling with long, green, leafy arms. He looked over at Hermione, to see if she'd noticed, but she wasn't looking at the plants. Whether she hadn't noticed the disarray, or was choosing politely not to mention it, Lupin couldn't tell.
"Where exactly are we?" she asked instead, swinging herself off the broom so quickly that she almost fell on to her knees in the dirt. She steadied herself on her feet, closing her eyes, so ludicrously grateful to be on the ground that Lupin smiled. "I mean, we can't be that far from Hogsmeade, seeing as we weren't traveling that long."
"We're not," Lupin agreed, "not far at all, actually. Hiding in plain sight, if you will. No one's likely to suspect that I'd set up camp this close to the most packed wizarding settlement in London."
"I wouldn't call this plain sight," replied Hermione, with some respect in her voice.
Inordinately pleased with that, Lupin straightened his shoulders, and picked up the broom. He pointed his wand at it, and said, "Abscondo," watching it dissolve into the side of the house before striding forward towards the door. Hermione followed.
The inside of the house at least was considerably less of a mess than the outside. Lupin was a very clean person, and he was relieved to discover that nothing appeared to have moved in and disordered the place in his absence. The few pots and pans that he owned were perched on counters, or hidden inside cabinets, and his scratched wooden table and three plastic chairs, if not particularly ostentatious, were at least in good enough condition to be used. His and Hermione's footsteps echoed a bit too loudly against the floorboards, and he turned to see her peering around at the blank walls and counter spaces with a slightly anxious look on her face. He wondered suddenly if she was afraid to be alone with him.
"The guest room," he said quickly, "is downstairs in the basement. I mean, there is a basement, although you can't see the entrance from up here. It's hidden the same way I hid that broom. I can show you where you'll be staying right now, if you like."
Staying?" Hermione looked blankly at him, as if digesting that word very slowly.
"Yes," he repeated, "where you'll be staying, until we're sure that it's safe for you to go back home again. You know that they'll probably go looking for you at your mother's house. I can't allow you to go back there for the moment."
Hermione opened her mouth, and then closed it again soundlessly, her eyes widening as she finally began to understand the real reason that he'd brought all this way away from home. "But," she stammered, "I don't understand. What about Mum, and Dad? I can't just leave them there at the mercy of the Death Eaters…why, it's all my fault if something happens to them. Professor, I can't stay here, I have to go home. I have to!" Her eyes pleaded with him to understand, and his heart went out to her, even as he shook his head firmly.
"I can't allow that," he told her, as gently as he could. Her lip began to tremble, and he saw the calm that had come from being back on solid ground begin to evaporate from her eyes. Lupin sighed. "No," he insisted, "listen to me. Your parents are in just as much trouble whether or not you're with them. I know you don't want to hear that, but it's true. It's much better for them and for you if you stay out of the house. If you stay with me, The spies will tell whoever's hunting you that you haven't come home, and that you're clearly not at the Granger residence. Then they won't look for you there anymore."
"But what if they go after my Mum and Dad anyway?" cried Hermione. "What if they decide that they want to use my parents to lure me back there, just the way you think they might want to use me to lure Harry to them? It won't matter whether or not I'm actually there, as long as they can get my attention by…" she trailed off, not wanting to finish that sentence, and wrung her hands helplessly, looking away from him, and letting out a deep, frustrated, desperate sigh.
"There is always," began Lupin, very carefully, "that possibility." Hermione glared at him. "However," he continued, holding up a hand to forestall her protests, "we'll be posting guards, subtle guards, mind you, around your house so that we can at least try to prevent the worst from happening. They have a lot more chance if you're not with them. They're les likely to be targets if you're not seen around the house."
Lupin knew that there were other, much more intensely personal reasons that he didn't want Hermione to be caught at the Granger residence. Surrounded by unsuspecting muggles, she'd stand much less of a chance there, even with members of the Order keeping watch when they could. She was much safer here, with him, where he could protect her personally from any Death Eater invasion, and he wanted her to be safe, more than he wanted anything else at this moment. He had to admit to himself that it mattered a good deal less to him what happened to Hermione's parents than it did what happened to Hermione, and selfishly disturbing as that thought was, he couldn't deny it. She had to stay here. She had to be safe.
"We can't let you fall into the hands of the Death Eaters," he told her, "because you know things about the Order, about Harry, about the plans that Dumbledore had, and the plans that we have that Voldemort would love to get his hands on. That can't be allowed to happen, Hermione."
Hermione fixed him with a stare of the deepest incredulity, tinged with a loathing that made something horrible and thick catch in his throat. Without speaking, she turned away from him, and strode a ways down the hall. He saw her point her wand at a wall near the stairs, and say "Ostendo." The wall peeled away, and there was the door to the basement level.
Clever girl, thought Lupin, as she opened the door and hurried downstairs towards the guest room. His limbs felt heavy, and he sank into a chair, the image of Hermione's disgusted look fixed in his mind's eye. Of course, he reasoned with himself, it was normal that she would hate him for something like this. He had essentially told her that he was willing to sacrifice her parents for the sake of the Order. How could she feel any other way? He'd have been alarmed if she hadn't reacted like that.
She's braver than me, he thought, because I'm afraid to lose her.
From the basement, Lupin heard Hermione shout. He started up, concerned, but just as quickly realized what she must have tried to do. Lupin had made very sure that no one could apparate in or out of this house, and no doubt Hermione had just discovered that piece of spellwork. He half expected her to come running upstairs in a rage, to demand that he release her, but she didn't. There was silence for several long moments, and then he heard her begin to move around in the basement, her footsteps tapping audibly from one side of the guest room to the other. Eventually, the steps ceased, and she went completely quiet. Maybe, he thought hopefully, she'd decided to go and lie down and get some sleep. Maybe she'd understand in the morning, would see the reasons why this was so very important.
A little voice in the back of Lupin's head told him that he didn't want her to understand all of the reasons why she had to stay here. If she knew everything about why he wanted her to be safe, she'd hate him even more, she'd even be afraid of him. He didn't know if he would be able to stand that. He didn't think so.
Dejectedly, Lupin ascended the stairs towards his own bedroom. He didn't feel much like sleeping, didn't feel much like doing anything, but that didn't matter. He was a working member of the Order, and he had important business that needed to be attended to.
Lupin had a small double bed, drably covered two uniform brown woolen blankets. Next to that was a beautiful full-length mirror, that looked so out of place compared with the rest of his furnishings, it gave the entire room a very odd air of contrast between affluence and deficiency. Coming up in front of the mirror, he tapped his wand against it, and, after several moments, the face of Mad Eye Moody swam into view, in all of it's distorted, deformed glory. Moody blinked at him out of his one real eye.
"Well," he growled, "have you got her?"
"Yeah," said Lupin, in a hollow voice. "Yeah, I've got her. Safe and sound."
"Good." Moody nodded curtly at Lupin, his magical eye rolling around in his head to point at the floor. Lupin had the strange feeling that Moody was attempting to see through the mirror and down into the depths of Lupin's own house. Apparently unsuccessful, Moody grunted in some satisfaction. "Nice work you've done on the place, Remus. Very well guarded, as it should be. Not taking any chances, I see. I like that. You've changed a lot since the first time we formed the Order."
Yes, thought Lupin, I've changed a great deal. He said nothing, but nodded, and Moody turned away from the mirror. After a moment, the picture winked out, and the mirror reflected only Lupin's own dour face and weary eyes.
The next morning, Hermione did not emerge, as Lupin had half expected she would. He thought that she'd probably have gotten hungry, or at least come upstairs to plead with Lupin a second time to release her. He felt like a kidnapper, detaining her, as he was, against her will. He thought he might have been a little bit happier, at least a little more satisfied if she had berated him, screamed at him, threatened him, at least spoken to him.
But Hermione did not appear, and, as the hours rolled b, Lupin began to wonder if she was actually all right. Maybe that sound last night hadn't been her trying to apparate, but had actually been her hurting herself in some way. Maybe someone had gotten in downstairs, after all. With these thoughts in mind, Lupin pushed through the door to the basement, and ran down the two flights of stairs, cursing himself for having jumped to conclusions the night before.
"Hermione?" he called, peering around in the darkened room. Lifting his wand, he muttered, "Lumos," and filled the room with a flickering magical light that illuminated all of the corners and crannies. It was then that he saw her, folded quietly onto a dirty sofa near the back of the room. She was playing with her wand, and had apparently been at this for some hours, as signs of magical meddling were evident all over the guest room. Where there had once been a torn set of spare blankets, there was now a very comfortable looking knitted purple throw, and pair of needles hovering in midair were in the process of creating a second one. What had once been an empty wine-glass now contained a spray of flowers, of a similar color to the knitted blankets.
"I fixed your writing desk," she said to Lupin by way of introduction, gesturing with her wand at a black wooden desk next to the bed. "Some creeper vines had grown over it, and they'd pulled one of the legs right off. I'm not sure how they got there. You must have left a plant down here before you deserted it for Grimmauld place, and it started to take over."
"Thank you," said Lupin, unsure of what else to say. "Yes, I used to have a few potted plants. I'm not sure where they've gotten to."
"I got rid of them," replied Hermione, with an apologetic shrug. "Sorry. They were absolutely rotten."
"Yes, they would be. That's quite all right." Lupin watched the needles moving back and forth with an odd fixedness. "I didn't know you liked to knit," he remarked.
"I do," said Hermione, unnecessarily. "I hope you like purple."
Lupin nodded. "Purple's fine,"
They sat there for a few minutes, both of them watching Hermione's needles finish off the ends of the blanket, before dropping it on top of the other one. Hermione waved her wand, and the needles vanished into thin air. Lupin realized that he was staring at nothing, and, starting, turned back to Hermione. "I wanted to tell you," he started, "how sorry I am, about this. I just wanted you to be safe. I wish I knew a better way to bring that about."
"It's okay," she told him. "I understand. Thank you."
Hermione smiled, and Lupin's heart, which had been nothing but a traitor to him lately, soared to new and unexpected heights of relief. Good, he thought, she did understand. "I'd love it," he added, "if you'd give me the pleasure of your company upstairs for a bit, although you've done wonders with the room down here already."
Together, they started back up the stairs, and Lupin wondered absently if Hermione would mind making him a couple of blankets to use in his own bedroom. They were certainly of a much higher quality than the brown ones that he'd been sleeping on for years, and they looked a good deal more comfortable, too.