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Hermione and Remus had been dodging around their obvious mutual attraction for weeks prior 'the kiss'. So it wasn't exactly a big surprise after all the subtle gestures they had been sharing.
They were mostly simple things really.
A gentle brush of a hand, seemingly accidentally as one reaches for the potatoes at dinner.
Waiting on each other, to walk between classes, both forgetting that they are actually due in opposite directions.
There would always be a spot open between Remus and Sirius at the Gryffindor table, even when the Great Hall was exceptionally full and Hermione running absurdly late.
When Hermione would occasionally spend a late evening in the Gryffindor common room with Lily, Emily and the boys, she would always end up sleepily resting upon Remus' shoulder by the end of the night.
More than once she had fallen asleep on their lounge by the fire and had woken to find herself in her own bed without memory of walking up the stairs.
Their relationship was never spoken between them and, as far as she knew, never spoken openly of by the group at large but had somehow developed into a comfortable more-than-friendship.
Remus to Hermione was unlike any crush she had ever experienced. The more she thought about it the more her chest swelled.
She thought him more gorgeous, more charming and more caring and overall perfect than anyone she had ever met.
She knew that if she could look at herself abstractly she should laugh and scorn her swooning counterpart as one of the stupid love-obsessed girls like Lavender Brown that would keep her up at night with her declarations of true love for this weeks guy, but at the same time she didn't care because even just spending time with the young werewolf felt… right.
Right. There wasn't any other word to better describe it than right.
In contrast, only a few rooms away, Remus was feeling guilty.
He awoke the next morning and instead of feeling the rush of endorphins that Hermione's body exuded he felt ashamed and utterly disgusted at himself.
Fortunately for our heroine, it was not from the act of kissing Hermione per se but rather the time and circumstances that he had chosen for the act.
Unlike Hermione, Remus understood what it was, and he loathed himself for it.
From the first moment he met Hermione he was obsessed with her smell of fresh strawberries and cinnamon. It wasn't the overwhelming repugnant smell that emanated from most as a result of their mixed cosmetic soaps and lotions but a unique intoxicating scent that seemed to exude from her very skin itself.
His werewolf senses had always influenced his human form especially in with regards to scent. James and Sirius had once even had to change their aftershaves when Remus refused to keep less than 10 feet between them.
It also helped that their sickly aftershaves had mysteriously gone missing from their shared bathroom.
The girls however were often even worse.
Their shampoo combined with their scented moisturizers, soaps, hand creams, clothe freshening charms, hair spray, and their excessively applied perfumes more often than not meant Remus always went dateless to balls and Hogsmeade weekends, not being able to spend more than five minutes at a time in close proximity to one of the walking scent bombs.
Hermione had been the one and only exception.
And it scared Remus.
He liked her. He liked her a lot.
And that scared him too.
He knew that his lycanthropy would always control his life, its extent far reaching and all-encompassing but he wished he didn't have to subject the ones he cared for to his curse as well.
His werewolf self liked Hermione, it accepted her and its possessiveness was what had triggered that kiss.
He had been waiting for her to return to the Gryffindor common room last night and when it had reached half an hour pass curfew he had decided without thought to go and check on her.
He had found her closer than expected to the Gryffindor tower and not a moment too soon.
He was surprised he hadn't ripped the boy to shreds.
He knew he might have.
He had been fully ready to follow the scampering Slytherin, stopped only by her soft call.
He hadn't left her. He couldn't have.
But he shouldn't have kissed her, or let her kiss him.
She had just been attacked and he had taken advantage of her vulnerableness.
She didn't know how dangerous her rescuer was and he even doubted if in the end he would cause more damage than the other ever could.
He didn't think he ever wanted her to know.
He thought he could stand the rejection that ultimately would meet him in life; he would never be able to keep his secret hidden from everyone in his life.
But he doubted he could ever stand rejection from her.
He shouldn't have kissed her.
Not then anyway.
Hermione woke early, excited and nervous about breakfast that day.
Lily and Emily who had no idea why one would be so enthused about toast in the Great Hall at 7am on a Saturday made her wait while they both showered and dressed, taking, in Hermione's opinion, entirely too long to dry their hair.
At an amazing only three outfit changes from Emily the girls finally made their way to the Great Hall, now at the more reasonable time of 830.
Hermione, who had been thinking of ditching her companions when Emily had insisted on a ten minute discussion of what perfume Sirius would probably like more, was infinitely glad that she hadn't when she entered the Hall.
Her usual reserved seat at the table was horrendously and obviously obscured, Remus wedged tightly between Sirius and James. Even Lily and Emily who had been snugly asleep last night and with no idea of the new development looked questioningly at Hermione.
Hermione had difficulty hiding her hurt expression.
Remus had looked up at the approaching girls but once seeing who was coming resolutely looked downward apparently finding his half eaten oats far more interesting.
The girls stopped short of the table by only a metre, Hermione whispered her excuses to Lily and Emily before hurrying back out of the hall, appetite completely diminished.
Not knowing where to go she ran towards the front doors, yanked them open and stepped out into the cold.
It was freezing, and she immediately regretted not brining her cloak down with her.
She had almost turned back towards the doors to go back inside when they opened behind her, revealing the person she had come out her to get away from.
Frustrated that he would refuse to sit with her but follow her immediately into the snowy grounds she turned resolutely away form him and made her way down the stone steps, adamant to put distance between them.
"My!" he called out pleadingly.
"Go away" she sniffed; hoping that he would assume it was just the cold.
"My?" he called more softly, coming up behind her.
Damn the snow, she thought. All she wanted to do is get away from him. To her it was obvious he regretted everything, she didn't need to hear it as well.
"No," she said more weakly than she had anticipated.
She felt warm arms wrap around her, pulling her around she fell into his chest, defeated and embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he muttered into her hair.
"What?" she sniffed again, her voice muffled by his robes.
He pulled her away from him enough to see her eyes.
There were tear tracks running smoothly down her cheeks and he felt his arms begin to shake as he reached to brush them away.
He had thought stupidly, the tears inspiring much more guilt than the cherished kiss ever could.
"Nothing," he answered her, before he brought his mouth down to hers.
Both forgot the cold air that whipped around them, their embrace enough to keep them warm against the blizzard cold.