Author's Note: Oh dear. It's come to my attention that for some reason, I've been portraying Hermione as sixteen in this fic, when in fact we know that in canon she is already seventeen by the time she reaches the summer before her seventh year. Therefore, for the rest of the fic, she will be seventeen, and I will go back and correct the mistakes in the previous chapters ASAP, so that the story corresponds as well with canon as is possible.

I also apologize tremendously for the long delay. I have been having a nasty time of it with that ever-present real life thing, but I'm back now.

Thanks for being so indulgent!

Menolly

Chapter Thirteen: Something Sacred

For the rest of the day, Hermione left Lupin alone. It took a great deal of self restraint for her not to go rushing into his bedroom and demanding to look over the mysterious book that Fred and George had entrusted them with. Still, they'd come to give the book to Lupin, not to Hermione. That made sense, after all, seeing as he was the expert in the Dark Arts, and an older, experienced wizard to boot. She would just…wait.

Hermione did just that. She waited for the rest of the day, and then she waited into the next morning. By lunchtime, when she and her mother were clearing away the remains of their light meal from the kitchen table, Lupin still hadn't emerged from his room, and Hermione was starting to get just a little bit annoyed. Surely, she told herself, after everything they'd been through recently, he wouldn't continue to insist that she stay out of it, and "keep herself out of trouble."

The hours stretched on. The sun went down, and Mrs. Granger took herself and her husband off to bed early for once, leaving Hermione feeling awkwardly alone in the house. After rattling aimlessly in and out of silent rooms for several minutes, she finally found herself outside the door to Lupin's bedroom, and entered quietly, without knocking.

Remus Lupin was bent double, his elbows perched on his kneecaps, his chin in one hand. All of his attention was fixed on the volume which he cradled in his lap, and Hermione had no doubt that it was in fact Paolini's book. One of his hands seemed plastered halfway through his silvery hair, and his eyelids kept drooping as he attempted to focus. When he heard Hermione's footsteps, he looked up, and frowned apologetically.

"I'm being reclusive," he murmured, shrugging and beckoning for her to join him. "I've been looking through this nightmare of a novel trying to find something that will give us an insight into how Paolini is controlling the Ministry of Magic, and to be completely honest, I can make neither head nor tail of half of the explanations I've been pouring over." He paused, and then, looking thoughtful, thrust the book out towards Hermione. "Here," he said, "maybe you can see something that I can't."

Attempting not to show the surprise she felt at being trusted with the contents of Paolini's masterwork, Hermione dutifully sat down next to Lupin on the bed, and took a quick look at the page he'd opened the book to. The heading, in curly, italic letters read "To Make a True Memory False."

"That's ridiculous," muttered Hermione, more to herself than to Lupin. "You can't make something true that isn't, or make the truth anything other than the truth. I don't care what she claims she can do, she can't change the facts of time by performing a memory charm."

"It might," murmured Lupin, with a low chuckle, "be simply a creative chapter heading."

Hermione didn't respond. She was conscious of Lupin's eyes on the back of her neck as she attempted to make something of the complex procedures listed under the offensive chapter title.

The mind, wrote Paolini, is a terrible thing to lose. For that reason, we like to preserve as much as we can of our memories. But is it really necessary that we always have some of those painful memories close to the surface, where we can easily access them? There's no need for this. With the use of modern magical formula, it is perfectly possible to reconstruct the framework of your memory so that you can be free from embarrassing and unfortunate recollections, while not ever losing them completely.

Fascinated by what she was reading, it took Hermione several moments to realize that Lupin had stretched one arm around her waist, and was pressing his lips against the back of her neck. She shivered involuntarily, and he drew back at once. She turned on him, and reached up with one hand to cup his face in her fingers.

"Well," he asked, somewhat awkwardly, "did you get anything out of it?"

She drew him down against her and kissed him, answering the tenderness of his lips with a confused mix of urgency and softness that she hadn't known herself capable of. Lupin's arms were around her again, and then they had fallen back together on the bed. One prematurely gray tendril of his hair hung down in front of his eyes, and Hermione absently pushed it away, so that she could see the alarmingly clear emotions battling within them.

Memory, thought Hermione, using her last vestige of analytical concentration, shouldn't be tampered with. It's something sacred that you keep with you, even when it's partially painful.

Finally, Lupin began to respond with more confidence to the passionate restraint of Hermione's fingers, and she closed her eyes, letting him rove his hands over her body, undo the buttons on the front of her blouse, and slide it over her shoulders. She arched her back, drawing her shoulders against his chest, and, even as she heard him let out a sigh of desire, he stopped, and let he fall gently back against the cushions.

"You," he said, in a voice that was no doubt a valiant attempt as his usual gentle, matter-of-fact tone, "are-!"

But Hermione wouldn't let him voice his doubts. She wouldn't believe for a moment that he could still deny his feelings for her, and any other protests he might have wanted to make would have fallen on deliberately deaf ears.

When she awoke, evening was falling outside the bedroom window. It took her a few drowsy moments to recall the events of what could only have been a few hours before. Hermione rolled over, and found that Remus Lupin's slim arms were still clasped around her waist, pressing her to him even as he slept. She kissed the top of his head, and he didn't move. With an inward laugh, Hermione recalled how sound a sleeper she had found him to be when she, Harry, and Ron had met him for the first time on the Hogwarts Express.

Thinking of her two best friends made her miss them very powerfully for the second time in as many weeks. Glancing down at Lupin, she wondered if he had any news of the two boys, and berated herself soundly for never bothering to ask him. He, on the inside of the Order of the Phoenix, would no doubt have all sorts of information to which she was not privy.

And then again, she thought, Lupin had spent so much time in taking care of her, that perhaps he'd lost all communications with the Order, and hadn't heard a thing, other than what Fred and George had told them on their recent visit. She was holding him back, then, from legitimate work and fighting, and yet it didn't seem as though he was at all displeased with the arrangement.

Paolini's book caught Hermione's eye from where it had fallen onto the floor next to the end of the bed. She stopped to retrieve it, and paged through it for several minutes, trying to figure out where she'd been reading from when she'd been so…pleasurably interrupted.

The room was very dark, and she had trouble making out the chapter headlines. She thought of going and switching on the light, but didn't want to risk waking Lupin, who was sleeping so peacefully. Squinting down at the book, she mouthed the words silently to herself, trying n vain to make out whether one letter was a t or an l.

At that moment, a shaft of light shone in from the window at her back, and she could very clearly read the line, -is necessary to be careful with experimentation on mental faculties. For a moment, she continued down the page, pleased at the good fortune of having such natural light. Then, all of a sudden, the message sent by that beam of light struck Hermione forcibly, and she whirled around to face the window.

Shimmering with merry menace just at the level of the bedroom window was the moon, large, full, and gleaming, shining it's evening light in on Hermione's frightened face. She dropped the book unceremoniously on the floor, and reached over to grasp Lupin's shoulder. There was no need.

Lupin was wide awake, although he'd been sleeping not a minute before. His eyes were fixed on the moon as well, and his mouth was working wordlessly. Hermione took his hand, but he threw her off with such force that she fell to the floor, bruising her elbow. Even as she watched, his arms began to sprout thick, brownish bristles of fur.

As he sat there on the bed, shaking and wincing while he slowly transformed from man into wolf, Hermione didn't move. Her first instinct was not, in fact to run. Instead, she reached out towards him, and took a step forward, wanting to somehow ease the pain that she could see writing in his wolfish eyes. With a snarl, he threw out one arm, and Hermione barely avoided being caught and clawed in the shoulder.

There was a tense moment in which Hermione hesitated, poised by the end of the bed, the book still clutched in one hand. Lupin rose to his feet in one staggering movement, and Hermione, releasing the book, took off running.

She grabbed the handle of the door, and swung herself around it just as Lupin leapt at her back. He struck the door with a huge amount of force, and she heard him clatter back on to the floor behind it. No longer lingering, she tore down the hallway, wondering desperately where she could hide herself that he wouldn't find her. She ran into the nearby bathroom, and Lupin, apparently having sufficiently demolished the door, came crashing down the hallway after her. She could hear him sniffing around outside the door, apparently unclear on where she'd gone.

The two of them stood there, uncertain, for several seconds. Hermione barely dared to breathe, as she felt the werewolf getting closer and closer to her hiding place. Then, all of a sudden, he entirely changed his direction, and his footsteps started off towards the other end of the hall, where the bedroom of Hermione's parents was. No doubt he' smelled them and had decided he'd do best to go somewhere in which he could take multiple victims at once, rather than continue to search for Hermione.

There was nothing for it. She burst out of the bathroom, and, reaching into the pocket of her robes, pulled out her wand, pointing it at his retreating back. "Hey!" she called out, although her own voice sounded timid and pathetic to her in the face of the ridiculous thing she was about to do. Lupin turned on her, and, leveling her wand, she shouted "Petrificus Totalus!"

A jet of green sparks flew out of her wand, and bouced harmlessly off of the werewolf's shaggy shoulder. Hermione swallowed hard.

It was then that she heard the voices coming from her parents' bedroom, and realized that she'd woken them with all of the noise. They couldn't' come out into the hall, she thought in a panic. If they came out into the hall, Lupin would undoubtedly be able to pick them off. "Muffliato!" she shouted, pointing her wand at her parents' door. "Claudo!"

The lock of the bedroom door clicked shut, and no more sound issued from within. Satisfied that she'd managed to at least temporarily protect her parents from the madness in the hallway, Hermione lowered her wand for a moment, and Lupin's claws came slicing down across her face. She let out a shriek and fell backwards on to the floor, her cheek oozing blood out of a jagged scratch. "Petrificus Totalus!" she screamed again. "Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus!"

The very last time she spoke the spell, her magic hit it's mark. Lupin, rigid and petrified, tottered on his hind legs for a moment, and then thudded down on to the floor beside her. Struggling against the grip of the spell, he tried to roll over, and managed to throw himself across Hermione's frame before becoming completely frozen. He hit her across the chest, and she, stunned by the force of the blow, finally let her consciousness slip away from her, and descended into the relief of darkness.