Author's Note - Please excuse Professor Lupin. I've made him into pervert. Don't blame JK. Blame me. ;)

Galleena - I know, but I had to use that word.;) I couldn't resist.

Dragons-pain - Here's more! ;D

Rinny08 -Lol. ;) Well, I'm a big supporter of HG/SS. I think you'll find out a little more about that later on. ;)

----

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"I said no."

"I said yes."

"Ronald."

"'Mione."

"I just said no."

"'Mione!"

Hermione slammed down the cup, sending specks of tea flying across the table.

"No, Ronald!"

Ron reddened, stabbing at a piece of sausage with his fork. "Just because I'm not your little secret boyfriend..."

"How many times must I tell you? I do not have a secret boyfriend!"

It was two months after the incident and Hermione could still not hear the end of it. Little progress had been made in her search to discover the purpose of the earrings-even littler, still, was the progress made in discovering the giver. She knew, from her research, that the jewelry would protect her-from what, though, she had not the faintest clue.

"The Christmas Ball is only two months away, Hermione," Harry remarked casually. "I'd have thought you'd already scheduled a date by now." He turned to give her a wry smile. "You were always one to plan ahead."

"I haven't even thought about it," she answered, truthfully. The research for the artifacts, studying for her NEWTs, and, surprisingly enough, the occasional dinner of sandwiches and tea with Professor Lupin had occupied the whole of her time-after she finished her month's worth of detention, that is. Ruefully, she studied the lines on her hands from the numerous hours of non-magical cauldron scrubbing. I wonder if Remus might know how to get these off.

Beneath the brim of her tea cup, Hermione positively beamed. She was quite aware that her feelings for her DADA professor had...substantially changed over the last two months. One might call it a little crush. Hermione toyed with the idea of her infatuation. From a logical standpoint, it was not, all together, unexpected. Considering the amount of time which they had taken to spending together and the ease with which Hermione could talk intellectually with him, it seemed a fair match. Of course, Hermione did not delude herself that Remus had any sort of interest in her other than friendly-he was, for the time being, her professor.

She could only hope that in six months, Remus might be willing to re-evaluate their relationship.

You're thinking about it like it's some sort of potions experiment, she thought bitterly.

"Change your mind?" Ron asked, watching the Head Girl smiling into her cup. "I knew you'd want me to take you to the dance, 'Mione. I'm not dense."

Harry looked at the red-head. "Actually, Ron, I believe that's just the point."

----

"I'm running out of books, Remus," she said, pacing around the study once more.

Lupin clenched and relaxed a fist. Letting her call you by your first name, old boy, he mused. Very intelligent.

"Perhaps you should look to other means of research," he suggested before taking a bite of cold sandwich. He could no longer deny to himself how much he looked forward to their evenings together. "Speaking of which, have you ever thought about apprenticeship?"

Hermione paused in her walk, a strange little look on her face. "Apprenticeship?"

"Yes, of course," he said. Almost immediately, he gave a warm and hearty chuckle. "Sometimes I forget-you hardly see past your NEWTs, don't you?"

The Head Girl blushed. How pretty she looks without those damned robes, he thought. This particular evening, she had chosen a rather simple Muggle attire of jeans and a sweater.

"Have you ever considered...teaching?"

She seemed genuinely puzzled by the idea. "Teaching? Well...there isn't any position open here."

"There will be after this year," he replied, standing to refill his tea cup. "I've decided to take an early retirement. Actually, it won't really be retirement. Dumbledore has asked me to take a position training Aurors." At this, he smiled. "I suppose that shall mean more of Ron and Harry."

Hermione laughed. He now loved the sound! "Of course. Those two have never wanted to be anything else." Hesitantly, she crossed over to an arm chair to sit, one finger sitting idly on her bottom lip in thought. "I've never really considered being a Professor," she admitted, pulling consciously at her pant-leg. Quickly, she blushed. "Thank you for considering me, Professor Lupin."

Remus! he corrected, mentally. "I'm quite serious, Hermione," he replied, moving to stand in front of her chair. He looked down to her, awkwardlyshifting his knees in a nervous manner. "I would like to offer you the position...after you graduate, of course. I've already spoken to Albus."

She smiled up at him. Remus suddenly became acutely aware of how old he felt and moved to take a seat on the couch adjacent to her. He looked at her-watching her eyes struggle with something her mouth could not yet say.

Cautiously, he reached a hand to her and placed it over her own, small palm. "Speak whatever is on your mind, Hermione," he said.

"Do you ever miss...I mean...I know that you and Tonks were..." She stuttered, her cheeks darkening.

Remus smiled faintly-rather a trace of a smile that no longer existed and left only the lines of its ghost behind. "Tonks...I had always appreciated her, you know. But what she wanted was..." He stopped, scanning her face as the blush crept over it. He took his hand away from her, then. "We were friends, Hermione. Nothing more. And, yes, it is...revolting that she had to loose her life on the field, but I think that she would not regret dying for the cause. Her death gave others freedom, Hermione."

Merlin, Remus, why don't you just have a mental breakdown in front of the girl?

"Now, Hermione, I think it's time we discussed other means of discovering the use of your gift."

Her bottom puckered in towards her mouth, allowing the child better access to chew on it. Remus had since noticed the nervous habit. "What means, Remus?"she asked.

Remus!

"I admit my knowledge of this particular field is...limited. However, I believe that you may find your answer with Albus." Remus gave her a bright smile. "In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd say the tricky old man probably already has a good inclination as to who gave it to you."

----

The image of the little bitch haunted his dreams. Filthy mudblood. Her arms tugging at the precious Harry Potter, daring to bring the prat to the feet of the Dark Lord.

The muggle-born whore should be taught her place, he though, venomously.

"Eh. What are you doin' there, Malfoy?"

The dark figure turned towards a ruffled Mr. Weasley, sneering at the sight of the tattered robes and endless splashes of freckles. "I believe I'm within my right, Weasley," he snapped, slipping a sheet of parchment into his robes-his body shielding the movement. "I am, after all, still a Governor. You should do well to remember that."

Arthur crossed his arms, looking down the freckled nose to the dark wizard. "And you should do well to remember who's Minister now," he replied. "I don't want to see you in these offices again."

Lucius smirked. "Very well."

In a fuss of dark robes, the blonde-haired wizard vanished.

----

"Crookshanks! Crookshanks!"

Hermione dropped to her knees, groping desperately beneath her bed. "Where are you, you bloody beast?" she muttered, hand colliding sharply with a discarded pair of boots. "Ouch!"

Angry-blood swarming her face, Hermione stood, hold her throbbing hand gingerly against her chest. "I'm going to rip out your heart, you filthy creature!"

The evidence of a once-essay laying in shreds of confetti around the bedroom floor fueled her anger even more. Damn that cat! Little paw marks around an upturned vile of unused face powder turned sharply out of the room. Hermione, nearly jumping over the bed to reach the door spilling out into the Head Boy and Girl's common room, grunted and screeched out of frustration.

"You better pray to Merlin that I don't find you, you little fur-ball," she spat, "or I will-"

Crookshanks purred happily up at her, perching on a golden-colored armchair. Hermione froze, all thoughts of revenge spilling from her like rain down her fingertips. Not again, she thought as the animal, bored with such a human matter, jumped down from his bed to find other mischief.

There, were Crookshanks had sat, were two white, silken slippers adorned with silver sketches of vine-covered, exotic flowers. The parchment, tucked neatly between them, was scrawled with perfect handwriting: "For My Love".

----

He watched her, then, at the mirror as she had been two months prior. The pearls adorned her ears gracefully, dancing in the unobstructed air as the wild, honey curls lay piled atop her head. The slippers sat on the little vanity table.

"Won't you try them on, dearie?" coaxed the small table mirror.

Hermione nodded her assent. She stood, momentarily vanquishing the view of her face, and then reappeared, hunched over the small table to peer down at her feet. No doubt, the smile on her face had occurred as the slippers readjusted themselves to fit her perfectly.

She peered into her own reflection, eyes pooling something stilled in maturity and fear. "What am I doing?" she asked no one in particular.

"Becoming my own," replied the no one to himself.

He almost wished she could hear.

---

Author's Note - Dun, dun, dun!