Author's Note - ;) Enjoy.

----

rinny08 - Why have it if I don't use it? ;)

snapedreamer - Thanks. :P Glad you like it.

AlexandraKathleen - Here you go. :)

To all my regular reviewers...I love you! Thanks so much for making this worth while. ;)

----

Remus peered out from behind the stained-glass pane, watching her in the empty garden ruins. At one time, during the days of a youthful Professor Sprout, this particular section of Hogwarts ground had run rampant with all kinds of exotic and powerful plants. Remus recalled briefly that Sirius had dishonored many a young girl in the startling stretch of land between the Many-Colored Rosebushes and the Serenading Sapling. He smiled at the memory of hearing pleasant screams in between the lines of "Hex Me, Sugar, With All Your Love".

Hermione sighed as she turned the page of her book, resting the cover against her knees at she sat on a small, checkered blanket. Her back lay against an old oak tree, the limbs overgrown and sheltering her from the sun like a protective womb. She looked to Remus like a garden sprite or some sort of beautiful pixie that lounges on tall blades of grass with the wild wind tamed in the tresses of her hair.

He knew that he must approach her, though he was loath to do it then. His face was painted with fresh scars, flesh torn and mended and re-mended like a patchwork of beggar's cloth. The white of his eyes turned red and the sagging, dark skin beneath them told of sleepless nights and miserable existences. Still, he could let the silence between them stale no longer—to regard her as if she didn't exist was worse than any physical pain his other creature could expose him to. Embarrassment became, more and more, a fragile hurdle.

With the stealth that the beast had left in the residue of his existence the night before last, Remus stalked towards her. The previous day, that he had spent recovering, she had been in his head, scratching around like a caged thing. But at that moment, Hermione seemed so placid and lovely. He was sure it was what the book did to her.

"Hello," he said, watching her skin jump from her body.

"Professor," she stammered, placing a hand over her heart.

Are we on such formal terms again? Professor? His heart clamored a war-cry against it. Remus! Remus!

"Remus," he corrected gently, kneeling beside her. His hand reached for her, pleasantly surprised that she did not move away, and lifted the book up to reveal the gold lettering on the spine. "Potions and Their Truth-Defining Qualities. Hardly a light read, my dear."

She blushed faintly, closing the book and placing it to the side. "How do you feel?"

He gave a haggard sigh. His eyes closed in surrender. "Terrible," he said, then chuckled. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

"You shouldn't have to." Lazily, Hermione let one finger reach out to trace a new scar on his cheek. Remus almost wished for more scars so that she might continue over each one—her touch would be worth any pain and the opportunity to slip one of those fingertips into his mouth gave him a thorough shiver.

She must have realized what she had allowed herself to do because she recoiled quickly, as if he had been fire.

"You don't have to... I mean..." He sighed, closing his eyes to collect himself. It was difficult to keep himself from begging for more of that touch. He could smell her soap on his face. "I... I wanted to come here to apologize for... the evening. I know that it might not have been... appropriate... to..."

Something caused him to stop. He looked at her. He saw that thing burning in the back of her eyes and it gave him measure to do something almost worthy of Sirius.

"But," he said, "I'm not going to apologize. All I am going to do is to tell you... tell you that it has been quite a long time since anyone has ever allowed me to hold them like that and that it meant s-something very wonderful to me."

She seemed to study him, like the page of a book. He imagined his words were the dialogue of text to which she was so familiar. If only he could open her so easily to read what she felt and see the dialogue in her mind. "It... it was wonderful for me, too," she admitted with a smile.

He felt his heart catch. He hadn't really expected that.

"After you had told me about my parents, it meant everything to me that you gave me such comfort. I'm sorry for being so awkward about it," she admitted, biting her lip that Remus so wished to taste for himself. "I suppose, given all the time I've had to think about it, I'd like to... well..."

"Perhaps, you might have a bit of tea and sandwiches?" he offered.

Hermione gave him a wondrous look—how beautiful her lips turned to express joy. "Yes," she said. "I would love to have supper with you. Is six o'clock all right—I'm meeting Harry in Hogsmeade this afternoon?"

Remus nodded. He moved to stand, but thought better of it. There was something to do, yet.

His fingers reached out to her once more, not in search of a book, but in search of those perfect lips that she was content to nibble. He touched them lightly with a bright flicker in his eyes. "Until tonight."

----

Severus watched the potion simmering slightly on the fire, a transient gazed fixed upon the flame, then the cauldron, and up into some non-existent wonder of his mind in the space between the bookcase and the nearest worktable. He worked in his classroom, something he did not do often, but only for the sake of time while grading the newest batch of worthless essays.

Damn you, Severus, for losing your temper and assigning eight-foot-long parchments on the properties of lavender roots!

He sighed and slumped over the table, placing an ancient forehead against slender fingers. They, the delicate fingers, were stale from the turnings of page to page—if only they were to be soothed by the cashmere skin of a particularly insufferable little girl! How he wished to touch the aching, sensitive skin between her thigh and the sweet center...

A knock perturbed his thoughts and Severus shot up from his desk, ready to hex the bastard six ways from Sunday. "Yes?" he inquired saltily.

Remus Lupin pushed through the entrance, one hand lazily stuffed in his pocket as the other slid the old door shut. He gazed solemnly down his awkward nose to the dark figure, back curved and gangly, clothes sagging in shambles down his clammy skin. He looked like a lanky teenage boy shoved inside a man's old carcass.

"I'd like a word with you, Snape," he said, the articulation in his voice biting.

Severus casually raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do make it brief," he replied and smirked nastily for good measure. "I have certain potions to monitor."

Remus visibly stiffened at that. "I've just come from a talk with Albus—seems that you've taken on quite an interesting... project as of late." Casually, as a man strolls without purpose, he began down between the rows of tables towards the desk behind which Severus stood. "Why should you make it any of your business about Hermione's affairs?"

Snape's snarky little smile grew across his thin lips, stretching the wrinkles on his face. "Why should you make it any of your affair what Miss Granger chooses to indulge herself in? I do believe you're making quite a nuisance of yourself, Lupin. You do spend much time with the girl."

The other man's face darkened, his hand pulling from his pocket and resting menacingly by his side. "What, exactly, are you insinuating, Snape?" he asked through his teeth.

It's almost too easy to be amusing, he thought. "Nothing, of course. Although, I do believe it is rather inappropriate to spend so much time alone with a student. What have you been doing with her, Lupin? I have heard tell there has been at least one evening that Miss Granger had not left your apartment until the wee hours of the morning. Peculiar."

Remus advanced on him quickly, wand in hand, though not so quickly as to deter Severus from drawing his own black weapon. The men stood, then, separated by a desk, wands at the other's throat.

"You will not make assumptions regarding Hermione's honor," Remus barked.

"I only make assumptions on your capability to control yourself, Lupin. Young Miss Granger has developed into quite the woman, hasn't she? I have watched your eyes devour her more than once."

"And have your eyes also taken the liberty?" Remus demanded hoarsely, his hand threatening to quiver with the intensity of his heartbeat.

Severus gave a dark chuckle. Such Gryffindor tactlessness, he mused. You show yourself too well to your enemies. The darker professor could see Remus struggling to control the beast within himself. You're just a cage, you worthless, pathetic git. Severus' thoughts came unbitten. How could Hermione ever love a soulless creature?

"Where my eyes move is my concern. Does she know how possessive you've become of her?"

"She does not belong to me!" he snapped.

"Pity," Snape countered. "Of course, it's better for her that way. How could anyone ever love what is less than human?"

Remus paused, his eyes filling with darkness. His breath stilled and the wand shook noticeably in his hand. "How could a heartless bastard know anything about love?" he managed through his anger.

Severus paused. Damn.

"Touché," he muttered.

His hand stayed patiently raised a second more in the heavy silence, then slowly withdrew back to the cavern of his robes. "Was there a purpose to your visit, or did you simply desire to bother me as usual?"

"I only came to warn you," Remus said, his wand slowly retreating down from its post. "I do not want to see Hermione upset by you. She's been through enough—more than anyone her age should. Albus assures me that you are capable of brewing the necessary potions..." He paused, his eyes narrowing. The slight, red moustache twitched in anticipation. "...though I do fail to see what this situation yields you."

Severus smirked, then, his eyes simmering like two pools of black cauldrons. Even Gryffindors are occasionally perceptive, he thought. "It is Albus who... insisted I perform this task, through no decision of my own."

The haggard professor seemed to study this a bit, then found little room to disbelieve. Perhaps he was still under the assumption his bastard friend Sirius had made in their seventh year—Severus Snape, though not bitterly, was certainly not homosexual, no matter how many times the Marauding twits saw fit to etch 'Faggot' on Severus' schoolbooks.

Remus sighed and placed his wand in his tattered pocket. "Perhaps," he said and turned on a dilapidated leather heel, leaving Severus to stand idly in a lonely classroom chamber.

The potions' professor pinched the bridge of his profound nose between a thumb and forefinger, trying to bide back the vile headache creeping down between his eyebrows. He took a breath and held it, diluting the oxygen with intense frustration before exhaling it in one, great blow. Wearily, he sat. The whole process was taking its toll on his tired body. More than just brewing an extra potion, which was worthless and wasteful, of course, considering Severus' preexisting knowledge of the artifacts—such wastefulness vexed him beyond repair, but his entire conditioning was ineffectual with matters regarding emotion. It weakened him immensely to love Hermione, and even more so, it weakened him to pursue her.

Once he had her, he determined, he would allow himself time to rejuvenate. The question was, however, how much time would Hermione allow him?

----

Hermione paused at the entrance, brushing non-existent dust from her blouse. She fiddled with her hair, her belt, anything her small hands could latch themselves around and fuss over. She was nervous. The warmth that had filled her that night as she lay against Remus' chest haunted her. Was she supposed to feel that way? Of course not. Not about a professor. It was unfair to herself, to want a man she could not have. It was unfair to Remus to want him. Did she want him? Of course she did. Only a fool could deny it after the thoughts Hermione had allowed herself to have after that night. She wondered what it would be like in between his lips—in that dark, cool space she hoped to taste of Spanish wine. She had only ever allowed herself to kiss Ron. It was a chaste, passionless kiss that made her feel dead inside, like a dry book with few, uninteresting pages. He kissed like a boy eating broccoli. He did not desire seconds.

She cleared her throat and knocked on the door.

"Yes?" came the muffled reply.

Hermione pulled the door open and entered the small study, the candlelight writhing shadows across the rows of books-the letters on the spines glittering like so many treasures. Remus stood over a bronze pot, pouring two generous cups of Earl Gray tea.

"I hope you're hungry," he said, plopping a sliver of lemon into his own drink. "I managed to retrieve a large plate of sandwiches and tea cakes from the house elves."

Hermione smiled and took her offered drink. She decided against any mention of S.P.E.W. that particular evening. She took a seat on the couch, curling her legs beneath her gracefully. "Any word yet on my parents?"

"Albus reports that they are doing splendidly," Remus said, taking a seat beside the girl. He gave his crooked smile and took a sip of the dark, steaming liquid. His eyes unabashedly took view of her slight, pretty form. "I... I spoke with Professor Snape this afternoon."

Hermione noted the change in Remus once Snape was mentioned. His eyes took a far-off sheen and his hands curled tighter against the old cup.

"Oh. What about?" she asked cautiously.

"I wanted to speak with him about the project—your project." His hand reached up to smooth the wild, shorn red hair. Hermione vaguely wondered what it might be like to the touch. "I warned him, Hermione, to treat you civilly."

Chivalry lives on, she thought, almost grimly. "Professor Snape is not... coddling, but I do respect his skill. I wouldn't breakdown under his callous methods. I have had six years of his classes." She attempted a smile, but Remus did not reciprocate.

What was it with men and their petty disputes? Granted, Snape was not the charming sort of man who attracted gaggles of friends and companions. He was not extroverted or even really conversational. However, Hermione knew that he was a brave man to have spied so long on Voldemort and dispatched his own reputation for slander after the "death" of Dumbledore. There were more dimensions to Snape, she decided. Oh, she had no delusions of this perfect, sunshine personality beneath his onion-like layers. She did, however, expect some glimmer of morality and ethics. Humanity. Love? That might be too far outside his boundaries, but it remained a possibility.

Remus, however, appeared to have categorized Snape as an open sore.

The older professor shifted closer to her in the proximity of telling secrets. She felt her skin stand from her body, erect and aware of his warmth.

"In our seventh year, Sirius discovered a new manner in which to torment Severus. It occurred to him how rare an occasion it was that Severus was seen with a girl. Apart from his... appearance, it perplexed Sirius. Even the girls from Slytherin refused to give him the time of day, and he was a credit to their intelligence house points." Remus paused then, massaging his chin as if to stimulate thought. "Sirius believed him to be... uninterested in girls, Hermione."

The girl raised an eyebrow. "He thought Professor Snape was gay?"

Damn you, silly boys, she thought. Hermione would never understand a teenage boy's way of thinking. What did it matter about sexual preference? The wizarding world and the Muggle world, it seemed, and for such depressing reasons, held too many similarities. "I don't see the value of that assumption."

"Neither did I," Remus replied, placing his cup on the floor before them. "But... you have to understand, Hermione. Sirius and Severus were at war. Any exploitation of the other's secrets and... Well, it's a nasty business. That was what Sirius tormented him with all year. And after graduation, when we parted ways, Sirius still refused to apologize or even acknowledge how cruel he had been. You see, what I'm worried about, Hermione, is that Severus is still incredibly bitter about it. And since Sirius... After he passed, I believe that Severus transferred this hatred to me. And to strike me, I fear that he might..."

Remus stopped. His face was white. His lips quivered with some inaudible disbelief.

Hermione, however, understood quite well what he had meant to stifle. Remus believed that Severus would strike at Hermione to avenge his hatred of Remus. And Hermione was the target because... because of the very fact that she tried to dissemble. Remus cared for her. How did Snape perceive it even before Hermione?

She didn't have time to think about that.

All she could think at that moment was how beautiful his lips tasted—Spanish wine and the slightest fleck of lemon. He devoured her, his tongue parting her red cavern wide, searching for absolution there and finding her perfectly willing. They held one another and searched. They discovered it and exploited it. His hand found her breast and claimed it. She shuddered. Her fingers moved through his hair, smoothing the wild bits of honey-red and mahogany. They knew each other for centuries.

"No," she managed, pulling her lips away. "Not like this. I can't..." She took a breath and watched him, his lips swollen and his hands refusing to return her body.

He sighed and pulled her against him. "I understand," he whispered as he rocked her.

Moments later, Hermione made her way towards her dormitory, pressing her fingers against her lips in disbelief. It was understood that they regretted nothing. They repressed nothing. And, most importantly, there would be no backwards steps. Only time would give Hermione the comfort she needed.

Through her happiness, one thought plagued her.

Sirius. What would he have said to Harry had he known about Draco?

Damn little boys, she thought.