Author's Note: What better to do on a lazy Saturday afternoon than update twice?

And thanks for continuing to read and review to everyone. Special thanks to Cadence Black for her recent review. It made my entire week.

FIC REC – Everyone should read Gueneviere's "Coward." You will love it. Really. And maybe if you all go read it and review she'll update. (Please?)

That will be all for the moment!

Menolly

Chapter Eight: Breathless

When Hermione awoke, everything was dark. She tried to open her eyes, but found that she couldn't, as when she did so, something wet and cold trickled down into the corner of her eye, making her wince. She reached up and snatched at whatever it was that was obscuring her vision, pulling away a cold, wet compress. Droplets of water sprinkled all over her face as she held the compress above her, confused. She couldn't understand what she was doing with this thing on her face. Had she fainted? That was certainly unusual. Hermione wasn't prone to fainting.

Blinking the water out of her eyes, Hermione took a look around at the walls of the room she was lying in.

Pictures she'd done as a little girl, full of smiling stick-figures that vaguely resembled herself and her parents hung on each of the four walls, and she immediately recognized her bedroom. She cast her mind back and tried to remember how she'd gotten here. She'd been in Diagon Alley…no, she'd been at Remus Lupin's house, locked up in his basement guest room. Then they'd left to see her parents…because her parents were in danger. Danger…like Death Eaters. Death Eaters were dangerous. That's how she'd gotten here, she realized. They'd been attacked by Death Eaters. Where was her mother? Where was Lupin?

Hermione rolled over on one side, attempted to sit up, and immediately sank back down on to the bed. Every bone and every muscle in her body ached and throbbed with a vengeance, as if she'd been thrown hard against a wall and broken each of her limbs. Unable to move, she cast around for some way to make herself heard, or to get someone's attention. Only then did she notice the man kneeling at the edge of her bed.

Remus Lupin was crouched, crumpled-looking at her bedside, his head buried in his hands, his elbows resting on the bed's frame. She couldn't see his face, but his very posture and attitude made her terrified that something horrible had happened. She tried to speak, but found that no sound would come out of her mouth. Frustrated, she cleared her throat forcefully, and Lupin's head snapped up.

He gazed at her for several moments, his eyes wide, his breathing shallow. Hermione reached out a hand to him, and he took it in both of his, pressing her palms with his, as if that contact was the most reassuring, precious thing to him in the entire world. "You're awake," he said, very hoarsely. Hermione realized that his hands were shaking against hers.

"Yes," said Hermione, unsure of what else there was to say. He looked so tired, so desperate.

Lupin nodded wordlessly, and then, quite suddenly let out a groan of relief, and drew himself up on to his knees, wrapping both of his arms around Hermione's shoulders and burying his face in her hair. She felt her breath catch in her throat as his lips brushed accidentally against the nape of her neck. Forgetting for a moment how frantic she'd been the minute before, she attempted to deal with the totally unexpected onslaught of pleasure that his closeness brought about in her. This didn't make sense, she told herself. She was still asleep, knocked out from the fall, or the blow, or whatever it was that had happened to her in the battle against the Death Eaters. She didn't want to wake up, she wanted to stay like this, in this rapturous state forever, and that was wrong…wasn't it?

Then Lupin's lips had found hers, or maybe hers had found his, she wasn't sure which. The drawn skin of his cheek pressed against hers as she kissed him, and he drew her even closer o him, so that she was almost sitting on the edge of the bed, her limbs screaming with pain that she couldn't' bring herself to pay any real attention to. He buried his lips in her throat, against her collarbone, his head resting on her chest, and she tried hard to breathe evenly, and failed.

Then, finally, the searing pains in her body overcame her, and she felt herself sinking back into sleep, irritated even as she did so that she had to pass out at a moment like this.

"Hermione? Professor Lupin told me that you were awake earlier. Can you hear me?" A voice intruded on Hermione's unconscious state, and she opened her eyes a second time to peer up at her mother's worried face.

"Mum," she whispered, and was pleased that she seemed to have mastered the ability to speak once more. "You're okay….I'm really glad. Where's…what happened to the Death Eaters? Where's dad?"

"The…Death Eaters are gone," Mrs. Granger informed her, lingering on the words "Death Eaters," as if she didn't like the taste of them in her mouth. "Your friends drove them all off, or got rid of them in one way or another. Your father's here and he'll come up and see you if you like. We weren't sure if too many people should come in at once, but I daresay he's hovering outside the room on tenterhooks to find out how you're doing."

"Okay," murmured Hermione, nodding. "Then…where's Professor Lupin?"

"Hah." Mrs. Granger let out a little chuckle, and shook her head, speaking airily, although not unkindly. "I put him in the study to rest. He needed it. That man was sitting on the floor next to your bed for das. He didn't even look up when I came in to ask him if he wanted anything to eat; he acted like he was in some sort of a trance. I thought that the…the Death Eaters had done something to him at first, but I don't quite think that they're the trouble with him." She gave Hermione a searching look, and Hermione felt her heart doing an odd cart wheeling dance in her chest as she thought back to what she thought had happened earlier the last time she'd woken up. What a shame, she thought, sighing inwardly. It was such a wonderful dream…

"He told me that you'd managed to speak and sit up a bit this morning," Mrs. Granger continued, "but that I should probably let you sleep and not try to wake you again for a while. He'd know best about magical injuries, I suppose, so I took him at his word…and you do look a lot better."

Hermione turned those words over in her mind. Professor Lupin had seen her this morning; he'd been at her bedside for days. He'd spoken to her. Did that mean that what she thought had happened had been real, and not a dream at all?

"I'll get your father," Mrs. Granger was saying, turning away from Hermione towards the door. "When you're feeling better, you can come downstairs and have something to eat."

"Mum," whispered Hermione, holding out a hand to her mother. Mrs. Granger bit her lip, and tears sprang into the corners of her eyes. She reached down and very gently hugged her daughter close, whispering as she did so, "Never, ever scare me like that again, Hermione, do you understand? I don't care what we have to do to keep you out of harm's way; I don't ever want you hurt like that again."

When Mrs. Granger looked into Hermione's face again, her eyes were dry, and her mouth set in a forcedly pleasant expression. Hermione watched her leave the room, feeling suddenly guilty for having caused all of this apparent worry. Of course she'd scared her mother half to death, especially if she'd been out cold for days, as Mrs. Granger had implied. She'd scared Lupin, too. Again, Hermione's mind wandered to what she now couldn't be sure was a dream. Lupin had looked so pleased, so relieved to see her. And he'd kissed her, not like a paternal figure, but like a man discovering that the woman he loved was alive after a horrible ordeal. The woman he loved?

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by the abrupt arrival of Mr. Granger, who swept over to her bedside and kissed her on the forehead and cheeks in an exuberant excess of emotion. "My little girl," he said, "my little clever girl, you gave us the most horrible fright we've ever had. How are you feeling? The Professor told us that you were going to be in a lot of pain. Does it still hurt?"

Hermione thought about that. She did feel a bit achy, but not nearly as badly as she'd felt before. "Not really," she told her father, smiling. "I'm mostly better now. I think I can even get up." To tests this statement, Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and struggled awkwardly to her feet, relieved that she didn't feel those same twinges of startling pain.

Mr. Granger reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't push it, Hermione," he told her, "there's no rush. Your mother and I can bring anything you need up to you, don't strain yourself."

"I'm fine, daddy," Hermione insisted, wobbling slightly as she spoke. "And I have to talk to you…I have to tell you about-!"

Mr. Granger shook his head, "there's no need," he promised her. "Your friends have explained everything, and your mother helped. I understand what's going on."

Hermione thought that her father didn't look nearly scared or concerned enough to really understand what was going on. "Well," she said, hesitantly, "then…you and mum aren't going to stay here, are you? I mean, now that you've seen what Voldemort's followers are capable of, you're not going to wait around for hem to come back. You're going to leave with us, aren't you?"

Mr. Granger shook his head. "Your mother and I have discussed it," he told her bracingly, "and you know how she feels about the whole thing. I agree. I don't' think we should put you in any more danger, and seeing as we're not familiar with any of the…magical incantations or…or…whatever it is that you do, we wouldn't be a great deal of help to you or your friends. I don't want to put you in any more danger."

Frustrated, Hermione said some things that she regretted even as she spoke them. "Think for yourself, dad," she said, heatedly. "I thought you at least would see reason, even if mum can't."

Mr. Granger just smiled. "When you're in love with someone like your mother and I are," he said simply, "you learn that you don't always have to think for yourself."

Leaning down, he gave her another kiss on the forehead, and then strode from the room, leaving the door open in his wake. Hermione watched him disappear down the stairs, trying not to seethe with renewed irritation that her parents didn't seem to understand that she wasn't going to leave them alone to be torn apart by the Death Eaters. Surely Lupin would understand, after everything that had happened with the Order and the Death Eaters on her very doorstep, that the situation had changed. She would ask him to talk to her parents about it. He could make them understand, even where she couldn't.

Yet again, she found herself drifting off, imagining the moment when Lupin had taken her into his arms. She realized that the was blushing, even in the solitude of her bedroom, and swallowed hard, feeling more and more certain that their moment had been very real, and not at all a figment of her imagination. If that was so, where was her? Her mother had said that he was sleeping, but she was impatient to see him, to speak to him. The more she thought about seeing him again, the more excited she grew, so that it wasn't long before Hermione was padding towards the bedroom door, careful to be quiet so that her parents wouldn't come running to see why she was up and about so soon.

On careful tiptoe, Hermione minced her way into her parents' bedroom. On second thought, she decided unhappily, she was still in some considerable pain, if not nearly as much as she had been. She still couldn't remember what exactly had happened to her, but she was starting to think that it must be spell-damage. She felt all tingly in a weak sort of way, the way one did after they were attacked by a particularly powerful hex. She'd have to ask Lupin what exactly she'd managed to do to get herself knocked out for so long.

Lupin wasn't asleep. He was kneeling next to the fireplace, speaking in undertones to Nymphadora Tonks' head. Tonks' head didn't look too pleased, either. Her eyes were red and swollen, and one shaking finger kept emerging from the fireplace to point accusatorily at Lupin. When Hermione entered the room, Tonks gazed at her for a moment, then took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and disappeared from the grate. Hermione felt herself beginning to color, but with pique this time, rather than embarrassment. So, he was sitting in here talking to Tonks, was he? What was that supposed to mean? Well, Hermione reasoned with herself, it probably didn't mean anything. After all, Tonks had just helped Lupin and the others defend Hermione's house from attack. She should be grateful to the woman, not annoyed.

With those thoughts firmly in mind, Hermione turned her attention to Lupin, who hadn't spoken, though he was watching her from the floor. She wasn't sure what to say, or how to address the matter of what had happened that morning, but she was determined to speak to the man. She saw his fingers clutching somewhat nervously at the edges of his robes, and wondered what Tonks had been saying to him to make him so jittery. Or maybe it wasn't Tonks at all. Maybe it was Hermione's presence that confused him so.

"Professor," she started, stretching out a hand instinctively towards him.

To her surprise, he recoiled from her, wincing away from her touch. She saw alarm and revulsion in his eyes, and felt as though her feet were about to give out beneath her. He was disgusted by her. It was plain on his face.

She didn't know what to think. Just that morning he'd embraced her as if he'd never let her go again in a million lifetimes, and now it disturbed him even to look at her, or to feel her fingers on his shoulder. She stepped back, dropped her hand to her side, and shook her head at him, disbelieving. Lupin made as if to rise, but she backed away from her, turned from the room, and retreated back towards her own bedroom.

None of it made any sense, Hermione thought, her brain reeling. Only yesterday it would never have occurred to her kind, staunch, protective Professor Lupin could have felt anything more towards her than a paternal affection, and then she'd found herself in his arms, kissing him, being clutched against him in desperation and what she had genuinely thought was a real passion. Now, he couldn't look at her. None of it seemed to fit together in any way. Was she imagining things? If so, which part of the puzzle was imaginary, and which were real?

"Hermione," called Lupin from behind her, but Hermione couldn't' bring herself to speak to him. She didn't want to see that look on his face in reference to her ever again. Stumbling in her haste and pain, she hurried back into her own bedroom, flung the door closed, and lay down again on the bed, spent from exhaustion and too many unsettling thoughts.