Warning: I'm adding an extra warning on this chapter because it's the one I get the most pushback for from my readers. Let me state for the record that, at this point in the story, however they may feel about one another, Ron and Hermione are *not* in a committed relationship, nor, in fact, in any formally declared kind of relationship, and what Hermione decides to do with her body is no one's business but her own.
It was always a gamble. Sometimes the drink kept the ghosts at bay, but at other times they clustered close about him, filling him with memory, regret, and crushing sorrow. Tonight was one of those nights.
They haunted him, populating his mind. James and Lily, gone these many years. Sirius, whose death was still a raw wound on his heart. And tonight they were joined by new shadows. Severus Snape smirked at him, lurking in a gloomy corner of his mind, and behind him, the pale face of Sirius's brother Regulus.
That had been a shock, but the diary left little room for doubt. Remus had taken it from the blackened hand of Severus's corpse, and had spent the last few hours exploring a life to which he had barely given a thought to before tonight.
Regulus had loved Severus, beyond doubt, beyond reason. And it was clear from the fact that Severus had kept the little book by him all this time that the feelings Regulus had confessed therein were not unreturned.
"You win," Remus said to the lurking Presence with grim humour. "You had the most tragic romance."
Lily and James had had two years of happiness - enough time in which to marry and have a child. In death, they had become celebrated heroes. Their son had somehow defeated Voldemort as an infant, and might just manage to do so again tomorrow. None could argue that their lives had been wasted.
Remus and Sirius had had five years from the beginning of their own romance until tragedy had torn them asunder. And then, miraculously, they had been given two unexpected years together. They had had the privilege of seeing the young man Harry had become. Sirius had cleared his name and died a hero.
Regulus and Severus - what had they had? Any joy had existed in secret, stolen moments, and had been cut short by Regulus's death at the age of barely eighteen. Whether Severus's own death would remove the tarnish from his blackened reputation remained to be seen, but he surely deserved it. Voldemort had killed Regulus, and the only other love Severus had known - Lily Potter nee Evans - and Severus had spent nearly twenty years exacting slow, subtle vengeance. He had earned his rest a hundred times over.
We were the lucky ones, as it turns out, Sirius and I. Remus laughed bitterly. Who would have thought?
He rested his forehead against the rough wooden surface of the table as the room spun around him, the figures in his mind swaying sickeningly. He could not remember how much he had had to drink. He should try to get some sleep before morning came. But the spectres of his past would not depart.
"Go away," he mumbled. "Leave me be."
When the knock came at his door a moment later, he considered repeating himself, but the company of a living person might help to dispel the shadows from his mind. He hoped it was not Tonks; he did not think he could deal with another tearful, pleading confession of love in his current state. No, Tonks would be stationed with the other Aurors, already awaiting the morning.
"Who's there?" he called, squinting blearily toward the door.
By the time the door frame came properly into focus, Hermione Granger was standing in it, looking uncertain.
"Hermione? I thought you were at the Burrow?"
"I was," she said, twisting her fingers together. "But - may I come in? I sort of hoped - I need someone to talk to."
He waved a hand toward a second chair before carefully pouring another measure of firewhiskey and pushing it across the table to her.
"Drink up," he suggested. "You look like you need it."
"You're not having any more, Professor?" she asked, gingerly taking the glass from him.
He shook his head. "I've had more than enough already. And I haven't been your professor for a long time. You can call me Remus, you know. Everyone else does."
For a long moment, she stared into the glass, saying nothing. Then she burst into tears.
"Hermione!" He moved around the table to put an arm around her, patting her comfortingly on the back. "Hush, now. Don't worry about tomorrow. You've heard the plan. Everything should be fine."
She shook her head through a couple of gasping sobs before she was able to speak. "It's - not that - Prof - Remus," she managed at last. "It's - it's Ron. Ron and me. I - we were - well, we could die tomorrow, couldn't we? I just - wanted to -"
"I understand," Remus said gently. "It's all right. Did he not want -?"
"No," she sniffed. "He did. But then when we -" She pressed her lips together, unable to say the words. "It was so awful. I wanted it to be good. I did all kinds of research -"
Remus suppressed a laugh and pulled his chair around beside hers to sit down again. "It's silly to think you know what you're doing the first time," he told her. Taking both her hands in his, he wrapped them firmly around the glass of firewhiskey. "Drink up. You'll feel better."
This time she did not hesitate, but drained the glass in a single swallow. She made a face.
"I didn't know who I could talk to. And I couldn't bear the thought of how awkward it would be, us waking up together in the morning."
"What about Ginny? Not that I'm not pleased to have company, but surely another girl -"
She laughed. "No. She's - busy. With Harry. I didn't want to interrupt."
"And so you came to me for advice?" He laughed aloud at that.
She scowled at him. "We're all people; the theory should be the same, regardless of - Anyway, it is a man I want to do it with."
"You're right and you're wrong," he admonished, suppressing a chuckle at her assessment. "Yes, people are people. But your approach is wrong. You're treating it like a problem you need to solve."
He poured her another drink, which she dealt with as swiftly as the first.
"What you said about the theory being the same -" he continued "- you can't treat it like that. There's no theory or equation or predictive model that you can apply to love, and always come up with the right answer. It's just about two people and the things they need."
She sniffed again and nodded, reaching to pour herself another drink. She sipped it slowly this time, regarding him over the rim of the glass.
"It's just - well, I want it to be good," she confessed. "I guess I mean I want to be good at it. But I don't know what I'm doing, do I? I don't even know if I like it. I mean, I know I like Ron. I l-love him. But, well, sex."
She tossed back the rest of her drink, abruptly slamming the glass down on the table.
"If I could just know!" she burst out. "If I could just try it with someone more experienced than, well, Ron. Then I would know if I like it or not, and at least I wouldn't have to worry about that, on top whether I'm doing everything wrong!"
He was torn between laughter and sympathy until he caught the look she cast him as she poured a fourth drink. It was a speculative look, and it made him decidedly uneasy.
"Maybe you should slow down with the firewhiskey," he suggested cautiously.
She settled back in her chair, cradling the glass between her hands, eyes fixed on his.
"You were one of our best teachers," she said slowly. "I always liked you. Maybe you could tell me what I'm doing wrong."
"Tell you?" he asked warily. "Or show you?"
She set down the glass and leaned toward him earnestly, face intent. "Professor Lupin - Remus. I know I'm not exactly your type. I realised that when we were staying at Grimmauld Place - how it was with you and Sirius - I'm not blind to the obvious like Harry and Ron, you know."
He looked away from her and considered refilling his glass despite the fact that he almost never drank with company.
"Well, that was -" he cleared his throat. "We went back a long way, me and Sirius. I don't expect you'd understand what that's -"
"I'm eighteen years old, Remus; I'm not a child," she said sharply. "I know you and Sirius were lovers."
"And I am more than twice your age, Miss Granger," he replied, matching her tone. "And as you have so keenly observed, gay as a maypole."
"You're not old, though," she said. "And as for the rest, it just means you're no threat to me and Ron."
She was very close. He could smell the firewhiskey on her breath.
"I know I'm not him - not Sirius -" she was saying, "- and you're not Ron. But at least we wouldn't have to be alone tonight."
He drew back slightly. "What you're suggesting - you said you wanted someone with experience," he reminded her. "Mine hasn't exactly been with women."
"People are people," Hermione repeated dismissively. "I bet you know a lot about how to kiss and how to touch so it feels nice."
He found he was staring at her mouth. That full, wide lower lip was the only feature she shared in common with his dead lover. And yet she shared it. He knew exactly how the sweet curve of it would feel sliding over his -
He shook himself. She was half his age, not to mention female. What was the matter with him? But he knew the answer to that perfectly well. The full moon was only days away. Liquor and the wolf rising within him were always a dangerous combination. He was not a reckless man by nature, but he had his moments, and they usually started something like this.
What if they did die tomorrow? Did it matter, in that case, if they took a little comfort in one another? That was all she had come to him for, after all. Ultimately, it was Ron she wanted, not him. Unlike Tonks, it was within his power to give this girl the thing she wanted from him.
What the hell? he thought, mentally shrugging off his reservations. I could use a little comfort, too. Someone warm to be close to tonight. We can't hurt one another; I haven't got what she needs any more than she has what I need.
She saw the decision in his eyes, and he saw her resolve waver for an instant before he kissed her.
He had been wrong about her mouth. It felt a little like Sirius's, and he had certainly tasted firewhiskey on those lips a hundred times or more, but Sirius had never kissed so hesitantly, not even the first time. Sirius's lips had always tasted of certainty.
"The first lesson," he said softly, breaking their kiss, "and the most important, is that you have to relax to enjoy it. Don't think; just feel."
He kissed her again, running a hand down her back. He felt the tension leave her body as her lips parted before his gentle assault.
"You see?" he said a moment later. "That was better, wasn't it?"
She nodded once, looking slightly stunned.
"The second lesson," he continued, rising from his chair and shrugging of of his outer robes, "is that unless you are sleeping with a powerful Legilimens, you must say what you want in order to get it." He held out a hand to her. "Will you come to bed with me, Hermione?"
Eye wide, she rose, awkwardly shrugging off her own robes. He saw that she was wearing only a thin nightgown underneath, and noticed a red stain near the hem. He realised that his sensitive werewolf nose had picked up the scent of blood on her, along with her fear and natural feminine scent and - Ron. He could smell the traces of Ron's desire on her, heady and masculine, and felt the first stirrings of arousal uncurl inside him.
Taking her hand, he led her to the unmade bed and sat down beside her. He watched her covertly as he unbuttoned his shirt and shucked off his trousers and pants, seeing that her hands trembled as she drew the nightgown up her slender body and over her head.
She was slim of hip and small of breast, but there was no mistaking her for anything other than what she was: a woman in the flower of her youth - everything a man was supposed to desire. But not him.
She, on the other hand, was staring at his body in round-eyed wonder. Raising a hand, she traced the curve of a scar.
"Does it bother you?" he asked, suddenly hesitant. It was over twenty years since he had felt so self-conscious of his body.
"No," she said softly. "I mean - it does, but not - Does it bother you?" She looked up into his eyes.
"Not for a long time," he said, taking her hand and laying if flat against the scripted "S" over his heart. "They're part of who I am. Lesson three, by the way, is 'never criticise a naked man'."
She giggled nervously, and he let go her hand, leaning to grab his wand from the nightstand.
"Do you mind if I -?" he inquired, pointing the wand between his legs. "Only, I don't think I'll be much good to you otherwise."
She blushed. "No. I mean, if you need to -"
"Priapus." Golden sparks prickled against his skin, and a sensation that was not quite arousal stole over him. It was odd, but not unpleasant, and it did the trick.
Hermione licked her lips nervously, then seemed to realise she was staring, and blushed still more deeply.
"You understand it's only tonight?" he reminded her. "I can give you this, but nothing more."
"I understand."
He hesitated a moment. "Are you - er - protected?"
She looked away, embarrassed. "I took a potion."
"All right. I just hope to God your potion-brewing skills are better than mine."
That got a smile out of her. "They are," she assured him.
"Right," he said. "That's the last thinking I want you to do tonight. Understood? You can tell me to stop any time, but from now on, you follow my directions."
"I understand," she said again.
"Good. Come lie down beside me."
She did as he bade her, but seemed reluctant to allow too much contact between them. Without a word, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her body close against his, and kissing her soundly once more. Her skin felt good; warm and soft, and her mouth opened under his. But even when he closed his eyes, he could not ignore what she was. Still, he had always been fond of Hermione, and she deserved the best he could give her.
"Touch me," he said softly. "Explore my body. Learn my reactions."
Her touch was light and quick - almost ticklish. She traced his scars and the shadowed curves of his bones and the muscles of his shoulders. It had been a very long time since anyone had touched him, and it felt good. Her hands were smaller and softer than the ones he remembered, but as they moved lower, he found himself responding to her touch more than might be warranted by the spell alone.
When the tip of her finger brushed against his cock, he gasped and pressed against her hand. She drew back as if burned. Opening his eyes, he found her staring at him, hands clasped to her breast.
"No, that was good," he said hoarsely. "It feels good, having you touch me. Do you want me to touch you?"
"Yes," she whispered, eyes falling to his hands.
"Look at me, Hermione," he said, lifting her chin with a finger. "You told him what to do, didn't you? Try saying what you want instead. There's a difference."
The molten gold of his eye held her. Slowly, she let her hands fall away from her bosom. "I want - I want you to touch me, Remus. Please."
Holding her gaze, he let the finger beneath her chin brush gently down the length of her throat, following the sweeping line of her collarbone before tracing around the curve of her breast. Her eyes fluttered closed.
"Like that?" he asked, a hint of amusement on the edge of his voice.
"Oh, yes," she sighed. "That's nice."
"And this?" He placed the tips of all five fingers below her breasts and drew them slowly downward over the sensitive skin of her belly until they rested against the nest of curls between her thighs. "Do you want me to touch you here?"
She nodded wordlessly.
"Open your legs."
He felt a tremor run through her, but she obeyed. He did not move his hand as he spoke, letting her lie for a moment, open to him, waiting.
"If he's nervous and doesn't get it right the first time, be patient with him. Tell him what he can do differently, not what he's doing wrong."
Slowly, he let his fingers drift downward, stroking the outer petals of her feminine mysteries.
"You have to trust him to be guided by your reactions. Do you trust me, Hermione?"
"Yes," she gasped. "I t-trust you, Remus."
"Okay. Now, you're going to have to help me here. I've never done this before." He drew one fingertip up her moist, pink slit, eliciting another gasp. "Show me how you touch yourself, Hermione. How better for a man to learn how you like to be touched?"
Eyes still closed, she drew her knees up slightly, letting her hand fall between her thighs, brushing his aside. He watched as she found that exquisitely sensitive nub and began to stroke it in tiny, rhythmic circles. Every now and then, her fingers would glide down and dip inside her for a moment, stroking in and out to the same rhythm.
Remus found it vaguely mesmerising. When her breathing began to come in gasps, he laid his fingertips against the back of her hand.
"Show me," he said. "Show me how."
She took his fingers in hers and rested them against her, moving them in the same rhythmic circles, not pressing, but gliding over the slickness of her flesh. After a moment, her hand fell away and she arched her back, moving her hips against his fingers.
"Mmmm - that's good," she sighed. "I think -"
"No thinking," he reminded her.
"It feels -" she amended "- better when you do it than when I do."
"Good," he said approvingly. "It's good to say how it feels. Offer him encouragement. Make him understand what you want. What do you want, Hermione?"
"I want you to - to put your f-fingers inside me," she breathed. "Please."
"Like this?" Keeping up the rhythm with one hand, he brought the other to her entrance and carefully slid one finger inside her.
"Oh!" she moaned. "Oh, that's good."
He could feel her body pulsing, hot and tight around him. It was an incredibly odd sensation, especially since he felt completely detached from what he was doing. There was no passion here, and no attraction; only the closeness of two bodies. He watched with an almost scientific curiosity as his finger slid inside her and she squirmed against his hand.
He licked his lips. "Do you want me to taste you?" he asked, unsure what he hoped her answer would be.
Her eyes opened at that. "Oh, but - you don't want -?"
"What I want is immaterial," he reminded her. "This is about you learning to say what you want."
"Oh. Well then, yes. I - um - I think I would. If you don't mind."
"Thinking again," he admonished. "You know that's not allowed."
She managed a tiny smile. "I want you to taste me, please, Remus."
He returned the smile. "See? That wasn't so hard."
Settling himself between her thighs, he inhaled her heady, feminine scent. It was not bad, he decided; just not what he wanted. He rested a hand on her thigh, and continuing to stroke her inside with the other, bent his head to his work. She tasted strange and slightly salty in a way that he was not entirely sure he liked. But she seemed to enjoy it, if the whimpering coming from the pillows was any indication.
"Please, Remus," she cried a moment later. "Please, I need more!"
"Tell me what you need," he said, raising his head.
"I need - please - I need your fingers - inside -"
"You mean like this?" he asked, slowly sliding a second finger into her tight passage.
Her only answer was to lay a hand on his head, pulling his mouth back down to her.
As his tongue explored her secret places, her cries became louder, more urgent, until with a shrill scream, she arched her back sharply, thrusting her hips hard against his hand. He could feel her muscles squeezing in steady rhythm around his fingers in a way he had not expected at all.
When she lay still and limp at last, he cautiously withdrew his fingers from her and looked up to see her covering her face with her hands.
"Hermione? Are you okay?"
"Oh, God!" she moaned. "That was so embarrassing! I can't do that in front of Ron!"
He eased himself up beside her, and took her into his arms, kissing her on the forehead. "Trust me," he said. "If you do that for him, he will think you're the most beautiful thing in the world."
She peeked at him from between her fingers. "Really?"
"Really. I always did when -"
"Sirius," she said with soft understanding. Then the look of determination was back in her eyes. "Teach me," she said. "Teach me the things he did for you. I want to learn something that you like. And - and Ron will like it, too. Won't he?"
Remus was touched by her obvious desire to prove herself, and to give something back to her teacher.
"All right," he said. "We'll start where we stated before, with touching. Don't be afraid of my reactions. If I need something different from what you're doing, I'll tell you."
More boldly now, she raised her hands to run through his graying hair, to stroke his cheek, caress his neck, glide over his shoulders and down the much-scarred expanse of his chest, skim feather-light along his sides, circle his waist, cup his buttocks, and - and she was kissing him. He had not expected it - had not even realised his eyes were closed - until her lips met his.
He felt her fingers run up his thighs, and whisper across his lower belly, making him shiver. A slight hesitation, and her hand wrapped around him, slowly and tentatively stroking the length of his cock. He wrapped his fingers around hers and showed her to squeeze tighter, helping her find the rhythm he needed.
She broke their kiss to look down and see what her hand was doing.
"Do you like it?" she asked nervously. "Am I doing it right?"
"That's - that's good," he told her, struggling for composure. "And taking the initiative like that is good, too. Shows a man you - you want what he's got."
"What should I do now?" she asked.
He took a steadying breath. "Would you - would you use your mouth on me?"
A smile touched the corner of her mouth, and she moved down the bed to position herself between his thighs, without hesitation engulfing the head of his cock.
"Christ!" he gasped as her tongue moved along the underside and he was catapulted backward in time to a different bed and a different teenager with coal-black hair lying between his splayed thighs. "Where did you learn how to do that?!"
She raised her head and gave him a grin, half sheepish and half smug. "This, I've done before. With Viktor. It was only a couple of times, and he seemed to forget how to speak English when we got to this part, so he wasn't very instructive. Am I doing all right?"
"Er - yes," he said, somewhat disconcerted. "You're doing very well, in fact."
"I thought maybe."
She bent to her work once more, and he let his head fall back on the pillow. If he closed his eyes and did not inhale through his nose, he could almost pretend that -
No. He shook himself sharply. He was meant to be helping Hermione. Drifting off into fantasy was not on the menu.
"Hermione?" he gasped through gritted teeth.
"Hmmm?" she murmured, not stopping what she was doing.
"Do you want me to come in your mouth?"
That gave her pause. She released him with a pop.
"What? Er - I don't know -" she said, disconcerted.
"Well, if you don't, you'd better stop now; I'm about five seconds from it."
"Okay," she replied, eyeing his cock nervously as if it might do something unexpected. "What do you want me to do? Oh!" A blush suffused her cheeks. "You don't want to - um -" She glanced over her shoulder at the smooth, pale curve of her buttocks.
"Not if you don't want to," he assured her.
"Er - I don't think I'm quite ready for that."
"And you're thinking again," he reminded her with a smile. "What did we say about that?"
"Not allowed." She bit her lip and stared speculatively at his swollen anatomy.
"What do you want to do about it, Hermione?" he asked gently.
She glanced up at him shyly. "You could - um - put it inside me. At least, I think you could. It looks bigger than Ron's, though."
He laughed at that. "Well, don't tell Ron that, all right?"
She grimaced. "Don't worry; if we do end up getting together, he's never going to hear about this."
"Probably for the best," he replied. "And I promise I'll be gentle with you."
He laid her back against the pillows, kissing her, and ran his hands over her body, gently teasing her thighs apart with his knee. Reaching a hand down between them, he found that she was still wet from his last assault. He found her sensitive spot and began making slow circles again, wanting to make her as ready as possible, hoping to spare her any pain.
"You tell me when you're ready, all right?" he said softly between kisses.
She nodded and let the breath she was holding out in a long sigh, but he could still feel tense expectation in her body.
"Relax," he whispered, face close to hers, a hand resting against her cheek. "Don't get so wrapped up in the mechanics that you forget to enjoy yourself. This is sensual, not intellectual. Trust in your body; it knows what it wants - what it needs. Now, are you with me?"
She nodded nervously.
He smiled. "Remember how you liked it when my fingers were in you? How you wanted more?"
She nodded, and he slid a finger inside her again, making her gasp.
"You'll know when you're ready," he told her. "Don't rush yourself."
"Do you - do you want to be inside me?"
"I do," he assured her. "I think you'll feel good around me."
She closed her eyes, moaning softly and pressing against his hand. "Okay. I - I'm ready."
He could feel his heart beating rather faster than he had expected. "All right," he said. "I'll go slow, and you can tell me to stop if you need to."
He rose up on his hands and knees, positioning himself over her. Taking her hand, he wrapped it around his cock. "Guide me," he said.
He could feel the wet heat of her as she pressed him against her slick entrance.
"Just there," she whispered, moving her hips against him.
Slowly, he pushed into her, watching her face intently for any sign of pain. Her eyes were closed, and she was biting her lip, but seemed to be in no great discomfort. He slid in a couple more inches, enjoying the warm pressure of her as she engulfed him. It was only when he was buried in her to the root that she moaned softly. He held very still.
"Am I hurting you?" he murmured, kissing her throat.
"No," she sighed. "No, I just feel - I don't know - full. It feels good." She arched her back, moving luxuriantly against him.
"You feels good, too, Hermione," he told her.
He moved inside her, pulling out a fraction, and then pushing back in. He went slowly at first, but as she began to meet his thrusts with her own, he began to increase his speed to match his rising need. He had not been sure that he would be able to finish like this, but he found the wet heat of her overwhelmed him after having only his own hands for relief these past two years.
Sooner than he had thought, his forehead was pressed against hers, his hips jerking as he poured himself into her.
"Sirius!" he sobbed, eyes shut tight.
He collapsed against her body, trembling, breath coming in ragged gasps. Slowly, tentatively, her arms came around him, and she held him to her until the shaking had passed.
Rolling away from her at last, he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what he had just done. After a moment, he felt her hand on his.
"Remus, are you all right?" she asked in a small voice.
He nodded, not looking at her. "You?"
"I'm fine," she said. Then after a moment, "Thank you, Remus."
He looked at her then, giving her a weak smile. "It was - my pleasure," he said ironically.
"Well, I hope you enjoyed it a little bit, at least. Did I do all right?"
His smile warmed at her obvious insecurity. "You did fine," he assured her. "If you can be for Ron the way you were for me tonight, I'm sure he'll be a very happy man. Even if it takes you some time to get there, I wouldn't worry too much about it. You'll have plenty of time to figure things out."
"If we live," she said, an edge of bitterness to her voice.
"If you live," he told her, "things will be very different after tomorrow. You may see your friends fall around you. You may know grief as you've never known it before. But once you've come through it, you will be amazed at how much it forces you to appreciate what you have. And I think you and Ron could have something wonderful if you'll just give him a chance to prove himself."
She looked at him sadly. "What about you?"
"Me?" he said, surprised. "I had something wonderful. I know what it's like. And I'll have it forever. No one can take Sirius away from me now, and the joy we had was worth the pain. All of it."
She laid her head on his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her.
"Remus?" she whispered a short time later.
"Hmmm?"
"Sirius was a very lucky man."
"Thank you," he said, touched. "I think maybe Ron is too."