CHAPTER 8 - Surrender

Sweat trickled down the planes of his back, as he continued to grind into that slick heat, desperately seeking the pleasure of release. Arousal simmered hot and heavy in the pit of his stomach, curling around him like a fleshy beast with its slick tongue wrapped tight about his writhing body. Remus bit down a groan, naked muscles straining when his long fingers gave a tug, and that sharp, overwhelming pleasure sent him over the edge. Remus's hips stuttered as release ripped through him like a whip cracking. Head tossed back, he rode out that wave of ecstasy with abandon, unrestrained moans tumbling out of his mouth before he collapsed into a pile of quivering muscles and shame in his bed.

Sweaty, and with his chest still heaving, he slowly opened his eyes to the familiar sight of his bed canopy. Remus groaned, throwing his covers back, looking down to examine the aftermath of his sinful indulgence. He scrubbed his face frustratedly. Fuck. But she was his student. Her place was in a classroom, not in his fantasy. Not that place between sleep and awake where he still remembered her hazel eyes lit dark with euphoria, as he pressed his desire into her willing flesh…

Incendio.

Wordlessly, Remus set the pile of paper by his bedside bursting into flames, watching the half written article slowly turn to cinder with grim satisfaction. There was no point trying to finish this fortnight's issue. The research institute's question pitched to him: the expert—oh how he loathed the term—was whether lycanthropes were at a greater risk of endangering loved ones closer to the full-moon. The answer was a resounding yes; fuck you too. So was there any point in him slaving away to write an entire paper for it?

'Morning,' drawled an uninterested voice.

Remus's head snapped to the tea table from whence the sound came. There, by the windows, sat Sirius Black, aristocratically arrayed in his finest robes and giving Remus a knowing sidelong glance. 'I must say, I was not expecting a show when I decided to drop by for a visit.'

Tongue-tied, naked and still more than a little aroused, Remus's mouth hanged open as he watched the Black Patriarch continue to calmly sip the Yorkshire Gold that he undoubtedly pilfered from Remus's cupboard.

The man finally met his incredulous gaze, only to raise a brow. 'What? Nothing I haven't seen before.'

Remus drew a fortifying breath, reminding himself that this was Sirius Black he was dealing with. Conventional common sense did not apply. 'Forgive me, I sometimes forget that your shamelessness knows no bound.'

'True.' Padfoot took another unbothered sip of Remus's tea. 'I tested it enough times.'

'Anything I can assist you with?'

'Oh I'm just here for company. Anything I can assist you with?' The Animagus grinned, unabashed. 'I do so adore chivalrous deeds, and you certainly look like a damsel in distress.'

'It's rare I get suitors come calling,' said Remus blandly. 'My delicate constitution is as fragile as that of an untouched maiden. I fear you've sullied my reputation, Lord Black. There is only one thing that can be done to remedy this'

'Name it,' said Sirius grandly, magnanimously, 'and consider it done.'

'Anything?'

'Anything.'

'Then come hither and suck my cock or get thee gone!' Remus chucked an inkwell at his friend who yelped like a wounded dog when it hit him in the head. The ink spilled all over his white, Italian silk shirt. Sirius shrieked.

'This was Gucci!'

'I don't care if it was made in Dante's Inferno—fuck off, you shameless shit!'

'I'll get you for your crime against fashion, Moony—'

'Try me! I'll be the criminal you condemned and put you back in Azkaban myself. Take that mug with you and wash up!'

Remus groaned when he flopped back into bed after Sirius fled the room. Full-moon was two nights away, and he was teaching her class first thing in the morning. It was not shaping up to be a good day for Remus Lupin.

—

The December morning came with a flurry of snow, but with the sun locket encasing the eternal flame to keep her warm, Hermione was not too bothered by the weather. Hogwarts was buzzing with life, and the house-elves had their hands full as more people were staying over Christmas this year for the Yule Ball.

Hermione woke to the smell of mince pies permeating the air. It was Christmas eve. She hopped from bed and quickly headed for a hot shower. Finally feeling clean and refreshed, she met with Harry and Ron in the common room before the trio made their way down to the kitchens.

The house-elves clearly could do with some help. Dobby and Winky were both whizzing around with platters of roasted nuts and dried fruits, cinnamon and icing sugar balancing precariously on their heads. Even Kreacher was somehow there, muttering under his breath as he sat making stuffing next to a team of elves manoeuvring a large turkey around. Ron quickly stepped in to help prepare the Christmas puddings, while Harry busied himself slicing up oranges for a massive pot of mulled wine, and Hermione found herself making Yule Logs.

There was a lot of excitement surrounding the upcoming Yule Ball. Hermione wasn't even sure what the event was hosted for this time since there was no Triwizard Tournament. Although she did hear a rumour that it was Dumbledore's idea to throw Lucius Malfoy what he dubbed a débutante ball, for his formal introduction to society as a decent person to stop civilians from hexing him on the streets. True to form, the Headmaster was almost giddy with joy about his own machinations, and made sure to host tailors and dressmakers from Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley throughout December, to accommodate those who needed last-minute adjustments on their dress robes and ball-gowns. Hogwarts also had a monthly custom of bringing in a volunteer from St Mungo's long-term resident ward for permanent spell damage to cut hair. Hermione always thought it was a lovely way to involve the community, and the activity was a source of pride for patients who were not too ill but were unable to hold down a full time job. It did mean that younger students who couldn't yet go to Hogsmeade could get their hair seen to throughout the year.

It just so happened that this month's volunteer was none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, and thus collective reticence was at an all time high. Absolutely nobody wanted to hand their life over to the ex-professor, but Dumbledore urged every teacher to all put their best foot forward.

'It could be fun,' he said amusedly. 'And we should show solidarity.'

'Albus, no,' said a long-suffering Minerva McGonagall who was not paid nearly enough for this.

To Hermione's surprise, it turned out that Lockhart was rather nifty with a pair of scissors and hair products. It was probably courtesy of his own vanity, but nonetheless, he gave the Headmaster a fashionable goatee, and Professor Sprout a smart pixie cut that de-aged her by about half a century.

Still, she found herself quite worried as she watched Lockhart cut Remus's hair, not liking the look of sharp scissors and blades so close to him in the hands of an ex-criminal who nearly left Ginny for dead and would have made Harry and Ron amnesiac. Only, it turned out she didn't need to worry. Lockhart gave a spectacular haircut and Remus looked even more attractive than she thought was entirely possible; that, in itself, presented a different problem altogether. His wavy hair was styled back from his face, the front curling slightly to give him a windswept, aristocratic air that made him look like a distinguished gentleman from some period drama.

Lockhart smiled cheerily into the mirror as soon as he was done. 'You look almost as good as I do, Professor!'

'Thank you,' said Lupin amusedly.

'Which subject do you teach?'

'Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

'Huh, that's… funny.' Lockhart's eyes suddenly gained an edge of what was possibly—alarmingly—recognition. 'I could've sworn I—hm… You know, they say I even authored a book called 'Wanderings with Werewolves'. Can you believe it? Me. Vanquishing dark creatures! I certainly can if I do say so myself.' He stage-whispered into Lupin's ear, gesturing dramatically at Professor Dumbledore. 'Do you think he'll hire me if you resign?'

Instantly, Harry and Ron tackled Remus and hauled him out of the stylist chair before the ex-criminal could get more ideas.

A few brave souls later, Lockhart put down his scissors, smiled vacantly at his latest customer and said, 'There! Now that wasn't so bad was it, Professor Snape?'

The minute an unamused Snape turned, gasps rose around the Great Hall.

Hermione was reluctant to admit it, but Snape looked… presentable.

Well, no, the professor looked great.

Because Lockhart had somehow de-slimed the Potion Master's hair, trimmed it back tastefully, and Severus finally looked the part of the House of Prince's heir that he was born to be.

Justin Finch-Fletchley's mouth fell open, his breath sharp. 'Yes, Dadd—'

Ernie Macmillan slapped a hand over his housemate's mouth and along with Susan Bones, bodily dragged the Hufflepuff boy from the Great Hall. 'This is not going in the Prophet, Justin, or I swear to Arthur, Merlin and Morgana I will fellytone your poor mother and have her transfer you to that Eton school once and for all!'

Back in the kitchens, the morning bell rang and Dobby squeaked. He started pushing the trio out of the door. 'Out! Out! Dobby thanks you for the help, but you shall be late to class!'

Hermione hastily wiped her chocolate covered hands and sped off to class with Harry and Ron. They made it to the Defence classroom just in time, and the three skidded to a halt in front of the open door when they saw that Professor Lupin was standing there, waiting.

'I was starting to think you three had got into trouble somewhere,' he said with an amused smile, one arm braced on the top of the door frame, the other hand in his pocket. 'Come.'

Hermione's throat went dry.

Harry and Ron filed in first, but when it was her turn, Professor Lupin was still standing there, hip cocked against the doorframe. She made herself as small as possible when she skittered past him, avoiding eye contact when she drew her wand to cast the Disillusionment Charm, but his hand touched her elbow lightly. 'There won't be any need for that today, Miss Granger. We're having a practical lesson.'

'Oh,' she managed, having no choice but to look up at him. Godric; he was so tall—and the maddening way he was leaning against that damnable doorframe made her want to raze every bit of Hogwarts's architecture to the ground. His eyes fell on her, and the golden light that streamed into the corridor shifted, reflecting the shades of green that had her utterly captivated. 'Of course, Professor.'

Self-consciously, Hermione raised a hand to brush a stand of hair behind her ear, but as soon as the act was committed and she realised what she had done, it was too late. Professor Lupin's nostrils flared, his eyes turning a vivid shade of amber when the scent of chocolate mingled with hers pervaded his senses. A soft growl that emitted from his throat sent Hermione pelting into the classroom with a hammering heart, quickly casting a scourgify to purge her hands of any lingering traces of chocolate.

She slammed into both Harry's and Ron's backs when they drew up short.

'Ow!' Hermione rubbed her nose. 'What are you waiting for? Let's get to our seats.'

But Harry did not budge, and neither did Ron. She peered around them, and finally understood why.

In front of the classroom stood Snape.

Also rather unfortunately, the only open seats were at the very front of class. Hermione swallowed as they meandered their way in. There was definitely no chance she could get away with disillusioning herself even Professor Lupin hadn't said so, and full-moon was two days away.

Fuck.

'Now that we're all settled,' began Professor Lupin, who wore a set of silver-grey robes perfectly tailored to fit his toned chest and to torment Hermione's sensibilities, 'I think I should address the elephant in the room.'

'Rude,' drawled Professor Snape, flicking his newly attained good hair.

'You will be learning how to fight the Imperius Curse today, so I thought it prudent to have Professor Snape as the Slytherin Head of House here to ease your worries.' He addressed the Slytherins, who looked relieved at the announcement. 'Now, as I was saying—'

'Professor Lupin is a werewolf two days from transforming,' interrupted Snape. 'I am an ex-Death Eater who still gets called by the Dark Lord every fortnight. Both of us will be casting an Unforgivable Curse on you today. If you do not consent, get out.'

Nobody dared move a muscle. Snape's lips twitched. 'And if anybody lets it slip beyond these walls that I am a spy, it won't just be the Imperius Curse that hits you.'

The serene atmosphere of the airy classroom brimming with holiday jubilation and winter crispness was suddenly stamped with a layer of tension.

Professor Lupin cleared his throat, slanting a slightly irritated glance at the Potions Master in a way that had no business looking that attractive. 'Moving on. Professor Dumbledore has kindly lent me the Mirror of Erised.' He gestured to the tall, covered mirror that stood in a pool of golden sunlight that streamed through the mullioned windows. 'You will take turns looking into the mirror, acquaint yourself with your deepest, most desperate desires, and try your best at the Occlumency we have been practising. When someone is performing the Imperius Curse on you, they will most likely also be performing Legilimency. It's much easier to bend you to their will if they know you. Shield those desires from them.'

Fuck, no.

Hermione had a good idea what she might see in the mirror, and she had no desire whatsoever to let Snape—a highly accomplished Legilimens—in on that. She had half a mind to ask Ron for a Puking Pastille she was sure he always carried on his person, but that would make everything seem even more suspicious.

Harry was a menace.

He was the first person to look into the mirror and, with a sad smile, said, 'I suppose it's fortunate that some things don't change. I still see myself with my parents; they're alive.'

They weren't supposed to advertise their desires, but now that he'd gone and set the expectation, it was peer pressure of the worst kind. It also didn't help that Neville was second, and he merely shrugged and said, 'So do I. They're well, and… they remember me.'

And who the fuck was going to beg off from declaring their own desires after that kind of start?

Daphne Greengrass saw her sister living free of their family's blood curse; honourable. Blaise Zabini saw his mother finally settling down with the love of her life; surprisingly sweet. Ron saw himself as an Auror apprenticing under Mad-Eye; ambitious if a little self-destructive. Draco Malfoy stood, looking confused for a whole five seconds as he glared into the mirror.

'Gold,' he whispered, almost to himself. 'That's a soulmate colour, is it not? Lightning. And… green, as green as the Killing Curse.' His brows furrowed. 'No, they look too familiar. Eyes. They're as green as—' He quickly whipped around from the Mirror of Erised, and suddenly the colour drained from Malfoy's face. He backed away hurriedly and refused to elaborate.

'Eyes as green as what?' shouted Nott with a grin.

'A fresh pickled toad,' muttered Malfoy, mildly alarmed.

Harry blinked. 'Why did he look at me?'

Ron shrugged.

Hermione's heart was beating like the wings of a Griffin when it was her turn to step up to the mirror. Next to her, Professor Lupin suddenly paled, as if just now realising what he'd orchestrated. Yes, fuck you and your perfect face and that hypnotic voice of yours, Professor. Their gazes locked for a fraction of a second, before Hermione drew a deep breath and looked into the mirror.

She met her own eyes, and blinked.

There was no Remus in the mirror, no scene of debauchery and delirious, naked flesh that she feared. Instead, Hermione saw herself—fully clothed—happily stirring something in a cauldron. Next to it stood rows upon rows of glass phials, each labelled with the drawing of a wolf's head.

Then suddenly, it hit her.

'I'm a Potions Master,' she whispered, astonished. 'I've made a Wolfsbane Potion that doesn't taste awful.'

'Imperio!'

Before Hermione even knew what was happening, Professor Snape had raised his wand and pointed it at her. The Imperius Curse hit her in full force, sending Hermione into a state of dazed bewilderment. She felt herself swaying on the spot, just as she heard Snape's voice, echoing in some distant chamber of her empty brain: Take my hand, and bind yourself to an Unbreakable Vow.

The command would have worried Hermione, had she not been Imperio'd out of her mind.

As if in a dream, she felt her feet carrying her towards Snape, who stood with his hand outstretched. There was a pinprick sensation at the base of her skull, telling Hermione that this was a stupid idea, but she ignored it, and took his hand.

'Will you, Miss Granger,' started Snape, amidst the perplexed looks of her classmates, 'swear upon your magic that you shall never seek to usurp me as Potions Master of Hogwarts?'

It was ridiculous. Dimly, Hermione realised in the back of her mind that she should never agree to such terms, but the Imperius Curse was coaxing her, and she replied, 'I wi—well, rather—' said Hermione, brows furrowing as that pinprick sensation grew. She struggled against the curse's lulling pull. 'I'd rather not swear on my magic, but you needn't worry, Professor. I have no designs on the slimy things pickled in your dungeons.'

Suddenly, the effects of the Imperius Curse were gone, and Professor Lupin's laughter could be heard from behind her. Hermione's eyes widened when they lit on Snape, who sneered. 'That was the Imperius Curse, Miss Granger, not a Veritaserum. But good effort.'

Remus made Seamus imitate Mrs. Norris, which he did alarmingly accurately. Millicent Bulstrode and Crabbe tried to resist Snape's attempt to make them do a slow Foxtrot. Lavender ended up brewing a pot of tea for everybody. Theodore Nott recited a limerick. And Professor Lupin was pointing his wand at Parvati, when the girl sneezed from the floo powder that Pansy accidentally spilled, and the curse sailed around her only to hit Hermione full in the chest.

It was the most unbelievable feeling… Hermione felt a floating sensation as every thought and worry in her head drifted away like clouds, leaving nothing but vague, untraceable contentment. She had no awareness of being hit with the spell, unlike when Snape cast it. She felt like a puppet; her limbs were not her own, her mind was not her own, and she absolutely did not care. She had zero awareness of anything else going on around her, just this mindless contentment. Was this what Ron felt when he got hit with the Patented Daydream Charm?

Then she felt it, a small tug of magic at the very core of her soul. It was golden, luscious, and tasted like peppermint lozenges. Hermione was drawn to it like a moth to a flame; she would have done anything it wanted, anything at all. So caught up in her own feelings, she did not see her puppeteer who stood across the room with wide eyes, did not know that Remus Lupin was struggling to keep his own mind closed off, for fear that if he opened a channel of communication to give her a command, his own desires would pour into their connection.

She did not know that the thought of him slaking his thirst with her name on his lips that morning was rising unbidden in his mind's eye.

But Remus Lupin had never been a very accomplished Occlumens, at least not where Hermione Granger was concerned. He would later realise how fortunate it was that Professor Snape was keeping the rest of the class occupied.

His desire hit her like a freight train. Hermione doubled over with a gasp, gripping the edge of her desk, white-knuckled. Raising her head, she glanced wide-eyed across the room. Her professor's deep green pupils were swallowed by black, darkened with unbridled lust, and he was breathing heavily through his mouth. Hermione shivered, unable to help the smallest of moans when she felt his broad hands on her skin, ravenously claiming every bit of her they could touch. Slick, hot arousal flared at her core, and she crossed her thighs, rubbing them together uselessly. In their shared connection, his warm mouth replaced those fingers, kissing, tasting, devouring her, leaving possessive bruises in jealous patterns across her skin. Hermione bit her lip to stave off a moan; she was going to burst. Underneath it all, she heard his thoughts, chaotic and wild and obsessive: she smelled like chocolate, like home, like his.

Fuck. Fuck. She couldn't. She was going to—

Hermione mustered her resolve through a shudder, drew her head up and looked right into Remus's eyes. She retaliated, pushing forth her desires of quivering flesh and feverish touches, of delirious moans and naked skins, laying everything bare until there was nothing between them but glorious, glorious deliverance. Of lustful bodies writhing entangled, sweat-slick muscles straining as they rocked together, chasing that divine rapture, until they reached the pinnacle of carnal ecstasy that united their flesh, their souls, everything.

A discreet Finite Incantatem thrown non-verbally at them was what finally pulled Hermione and Remus from the torment of their own making. Hermione collapsed to the floor, chest heaving as she drew in large gulps of air. Across the classroom, Professor Lupin tried his best to retain his composure, but with one hand braced on the wall, he was not in full command of his faculties either.

Thighs quivering and slick with lust, she'd never felt so aroused, and Hermione suspected neither had Remus.

Fleur Delacour swept into the classroom with the grace of a queen, silver-gold hair glimmering like gemstones and starlight. One look from her and Hermione's breath froze in her throat. Fleur knew. She was the one to cast the Finite. Oh, they were so fucked.

'Valiant effort, Hermione Granger.' The part Veela smiled celestially at her, before turning an even sharper smile on Professor Lupin. 'You were trying to get her to jump on that table.'

'I—'

'Weren't you, Remus Lupin?' pressed Fleur in a tone that brooked no argument.

'Yes.'

'And she fought the curse. Well done.' The French aristocrat winked at Hermione, who nearly collapsed with relief and gratitude that she was covering for them and nipped what could have been a catastrophe in the bud.

'My name is Fleur Delacour.' The part Veela turned to address the room. 'Most of you will remember me from the Triwizard Tournament. I am today's guest lecturer for the theoretical portion of this lesson. Now, who can tell me why cousin Remus extended me this invitation?'

'Er… because you're part Veela?' said Neville dazedly; he had just come out of Snape's particularly vengeful Imperio which got Neville summoning and putting on a hideous vulture hat. He froze. 'Cousin?'

'Second cousin.'

Neville's jaws went slack, his eyes widened. 'So Professor Lupin is—'

'Not part Veela,' growled Remus. 'Second cousin on the other side. Honestly, I don't even have the look.'

'Well, according to Justin Finch-Fletchley's newest sonnet about you in the Quibbler…'

'Mr. Finch-Fletchley can go and get himself a—'

'I don't think you want to finish that sentence, Remus,' Fleur breezed on. 'And precisely, Mr. Longbottom. Since today's topic is magical manipulation, I'm here to tell you about the guiles of magical Beings. It's not only curses and potions like Amortentia and Veritaserum that you need to beware. There are several Beings out there that you need to watch out for. Veela being one, Siren being the other, and…'

'Werewolves before the full-moon,' whispered Professor Lupin.

Hermione could still feel that slow desire simmering hot and heady within her, but her heart gave a stutter when he said that, and her eyes fell on him. Remus avoided her gaze.

'Veela and Siren are born with instruments of temptation: their beauty and their songs,' said Fleur. 'These creatures are not evil, but you will do well to be mindful in their presence. Some—just like humans—entertain dishonourable intentions, but they have the advantage of their looks and voices.'

'Werewolves, on the other hand, are dark creatures,' continued Professor Lupin in a sombre tone. 'We become more guileful before the full moon. Lycanthropy compels us to ensnare innocents and make more of our kind. Which is why you should always be wary of befriending one.'

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, she felt her heart racing, and knew that she was not going to like what was next coming out of Remus's mouth.

Fleur shrugged. 'Friendships with Veela and Sirens can also get messy. My grandfather found his soulmate in a Veela, but he spent years not knowing if she was his soulmate, or if she was manipulating him for his wealth.'

'There are rumours that Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was betrothed to his Merperson soulmate who died,' said Snape, offering no further explanation.

'And there are absolutely no records of werewolves ending up with their human soulmates,' said Lupin sharply. 'There's too high a risk of us endangering our loved ones through this ingrained manipulation. The heightened intensity we feel in the days leading up to the full-moon compels us to manipulate our soulmates; infecting them with lycanthropy is almost unavoidable. Unlike Veela and Sirens who can not condemn you to a cursed life, werewolves are diseased. I am certainly not promoting the culling of lycanthropes, but you will do well to stop my kind from putting you in danger, so that one day the world might be rid of lycanthropy for good. Let us live with dignity and let us die out.'

Hermione's blood boiled.

'Objection.' She stood, planting both hands on her desk and glaring at Remus Lupin. 'Werewolves deserve companions as much as other Beings do.'

'Until we can stop infecting others, werewolves should continue to fight for their place in society, but we also need to be aware that sacrifices are expected,' said Professor Lupin—not unkindly, but full of certainty. 'We are not to enjoy too close a companionship.'

Hermione hated it, hated it because, at least to some degree, she realised that he was right. It just wasn't fair.

'It sounds like you're defending injustice, Professor,' she debated. 'By taking this stance as a teacher and one of Britain's most high-profile lycanthropes, don't you think you're subjecting the werewolf community to societal segregation?'

'Society isn't meant to shun us, only to be wary and keep a distance where personal relationships are concerned,' explained Remus patiently.

'As contributing members of society, they could learn to be careful.'

'As you are aware, not all werewolves are careful. Some are evil, like Fenrir Greyback.'

'Greyback is dead,' she seethed. 'You know I made sure of it.'

'And some', continued Professor Lupin, looking pointedly at her, 'are not evil, but they lose control.'

And what could Hermione say to that? She herself fell victim to a barely-in-control werewolf casting the Imperius Curse on her not a quarter of an hour ago. This close to the full-moon, Remus could easily charm her into his company with but a few words, or even lure her with promises of a more… carnal pleasure. Hermione was no saint. Could she truly resist his persuasion?

But it still wasn't right. It couldn't be.

'You have no right to decide that,' she whispered, voice trembling with rage and sadness. 'Your cowardice will condemn many more, and you're doing a disservice to the people whom you've vowed to represent.'

Immediately, she knew that she went too far.

His eyes lit up in anger just as the bell rang, and students sprang up from their seats, eagerly bolting towards the exit to escape the suffocating tension that had the classroom in a chokehold. 'Fifty points from Gryffindor for disrupting the lesson, Miss Granger. And stay where you are.'

Finally, the door slammed shut, and it was just the two of them in that oppressive silence. Professor Lupin was taking long, quick strides towards her, his eyes shining with a cold fury.

'How dare you challenge my authority?' He advanced upon her in the front of the classroom.

'How dare I?' Hermione fumed, stepping into his space. 'You are irresponsible and hypocritical. Hogwarts did not welcome you back just so you could perpetuate this discourse and isolate an entire community that you're meant to stand for.'

'You make a foolish accusation', hissed her professor, his voice dangerously low, and Hermione was forced to tilt her head back to look up at him. They were standing so close now. 'My kind aspires to contribute to society and defy the stigma that has haunted us, but what's truly irresponsible is if we were to forget our place and endanger others. There is a fine line.'

'You draw that line and you deny a people their right to a civil life,' she grasped the lapel of his robes with both hands.

He seized her wrists. 'We are not civilians, Hermione.'

'What are you, criminals?' she hissed into the air between them. 'Are you breaking laws by living and breathing.'

'We are diseased!' Professor Lupin growled.

'Would you condemn the ill in St Mungo's to a life of solitude and pariahdom?'

'The infectious are contained.'

'They can't control who they infect, werewolves can!'

'Not with those around whom we lose control!' He exploded, tugging hard on her wrists, causing Hermione to fall against him. Her breath caught when she looked up into his now wild, amber eyes, feeling his heart hammering under her fingers.

'Not those whom we spend every breath desiring… Who haunt our dreams,' he whispered, one hand trailing up to caress her face. 'Not those whom we can barely look at for fear of succumbing and doing the unnameable, those before whom we would fall to our knees in supplication. Hermione, do you understand?'

'You are not manipulating me,' she whispered, voice small.

His eyes grew dark. 'I don't think you really believe that.'

'You're as much a victim of this maddening attraction as I am.' She rose to her toes, fingers brushing his cheek and watched Remus's eyes flutter closed. 'I sensed your panic through our bond in the Imperius Curse.'

'You smelt like chocolate,' he whispered hoarsely, still not opening his eyes. 'You were wearing my jumper. You felt like mine.'

'I miss the summer.' Hermione confessed quietly, her breaths soft on his neck. 'What happened to our easy friendship, Remus?'

'I did not want to fuck you over the summer, did I, Hermione?' The way he bit out the word sent a shiver running wildly through her.

Remus gripped her chin and tipped it up, his other hand still tight around her wrist. 'You want me to be honest? I will be. You make me insatiable.' His words rolled over her skin like the ravenous caress of a lover, and Hermione trembled in his arms. 'The way your eyes light up in indignation and joy and fury make me feel like the Earth could shatter around us every time I look into them and I wouldn't even care. Your voice, your words, the way they make mockery of the world make me want to lay down my heart and let you trample over it as you see please. Your mind,' he hissed into the small pocket of air between their parted mouths, 'and its glorious brilliance, make me want to do unspeakable things to you.'

'And what if I do too?' She breathed, eyes dropping to his mouth. 'What if I want you to do all those things to me?'

'Hermione—'

But suddenly, a strangled moan tore from his throat. Hermione lifted her gaze from his mouth to his eyes, and saw that they were gazing over her shoulder at something behind her. She whipped around, only to see that Remus was looking straight into the Mirror of Erised.

But before she could even get a proper look at the reflection, her professor tugged sharply on her wrist and his mouth came crashing down on hers with a wild urgency that ripped the breath from her throat. Remus claimed her lips savagely, desperately, his tongue forcing her mouth to part, plunging in, hot and slick and absolutely filthy.

It was unlike any kisses they ever shared.

Arousal flared sharp and hot in her, and Hermione moaned, throwing her arms around his neck as Professor Lupin's tongue hungrily plundered her mouth, taking, devouring her like the world ended at their kiss. 'Professor…' She breathed, tilting her head back to let him deepen the kiss. And he did—lips claiming, feasting—hurling her world off its axis as she clawed at him for more. Oh, deeper. She wanted to slip her fingers under his skin and curl them around his beating heart. She couldn't breathe. She did not need to. 'What did you see?'

He stepped back into his desk, perched on it and pulled her into his lap, finally breaking their kiss to whisper, 'Hermione.'

She gasped when he closed his teeth around the shell of her ear, fingers tightening on the back of her thighs as he pulled her deeper into his lap until their hips pressed flush together. And she felt him: hard and thick and throbbing in his trousers, rubbing deliciously against her. Hermione choked, trembling with white, hot want as she yanked off his robes, pulling at his shirt buttons, desperate to feel his bare skin. Professor Lupin groaned when her fingers dragged down his naked chest; he latched his mouth to her throat, claiming it with teeth tongue, nipping, biting, breaking skin. Hermione arched back with a cry when he sucked hard at the juncture of her neck, leaving a bruise welling in the shape of his jealousy, before he surged up to claim her lips again.

'Professor—' She sank her fingers into his hair. The pleasure was blinding, garbled words falling from her lips. The way he was pressing against her was maddening, and she wanted something—anything—to ease that ache.

'Please, please, Professor.'

In response, his fingers sank into the flesh on the back of her thighs and he parted them, deepening her straddle on his lap. Hermione's eyes rolled into the back of her head as white starbursts went off infinitely inside her skull. Professor Lupin ripped off her school tie and flung it across the room, hands coming back to squeeze her arse as he ground her down harder on his cock. 'Hermione…' he rasped when they both threw their heads back, hips bucking faster against each other as she rode him through the fabrics of their clothes, 'Hermione!'

The feeling of him between her thighs, hot hard and rocking against her just right, was too much. Hermione teetered right on the edge, on the verge of shattering; just a little more—

Professor Lupin growled, batting away her hands that fell to the front of his trousers. He gripped her hips and spun her around in his lap, hooking his knees under hers as he forced her thighs apart.

'You are dripping,' he panted over her shoulder, one hand tilting up her chin. 'Look into the mirror. Look at yourself, Hermione. Look.'

And she looked, deep into the mirror of Erised. Her eyes lit upon her own delirious face, her parted lips drawing in shaky breaths, her jaw held firm in his grip. It was so lewd. Her desire was seeping through the layers of their clothes, soaking into his trousers. In their reflection, she saw his nostrils flare and knew that he could smell every bit the potency of her arousal.

'What you see in the mirror…' he said into her ear, kissing her jaw down to her throat. His hands trailed up under her white shirt to her breasts, where he slipped his fingers under her bra, splaying them over the tender peaks, kneading, stroking, making Hermione beg as she thrashed about in his lap. '—is what I saw,' he hissed. 'It's what I see now.'

Her professor rucked up her skirt over her waist, baring her soaked knickers to the cold winter air, and Hermione shuddered. The sight of her school uniform rumpled and twisted in the mirror sent reality crashing into her that he was her teacher, she was his student, and they were in a classroom. But instead of dampening her desires, the depravity aroused her beyond the imagination; Hermione moaned, hips bucking. She was being defiled by her professor in his classroom where anybody could just walk in. It was obscene; it was glorious.

'This morning I woke up with your face in my dreams and your name on my lips,' he murmured into her ear. 'Do you know what I did? I gave in. I sought release in my own hand with perverse fantasies of you in my mind. Do you like that, Hermione? Do you like it when I tell you that the absolute control you have over me can drive me to such a height of depravity?'

He mouthed at her neck and sucked another bruising mark into her skin, as his hand dipped under the soaked fabric of her knickers. The moment his calloused finger brushed against her clit, she screamed; pleasure unlike anything lashed through her in a burst of ecstasy. He held her firmly while she thrashed about in his lap, forcing her legs even further apart with his knees. Her soaked knickers bunched up in the centre, rubbing deliciously against her while their hips continued thrust, and Hermione was gasping her professor's name, begging, begging for him to do something—anything .

'Be a good girl, Hermione. That's it …' His lips were on her ear as he continued to tease his finger on her clit. 'Look down, look at yourself.'

Hermione was so, so slick with arousal, she could feel herself dripping onto his desk. She rolled her hips with a cry when his fingers dipped into that wetness and dragged up to toy over her clit. She threw her head back against his shoulder, but Professor Lupin's hand was firm on the base of her skull, and he forced her to look down.

Hermione had no choice but to lower her head. The sight before her was erotic; her core flared pink and slick with desire, fluttering under his touches, gushing onto her professor's trousers, his desk. He stiffened his finger, rocking it hard against her clit and Hermione spasmed, high moan cutting off when she felt a pleasurable pulling at her scalp that made her open her mouth to him. Remus yanked her head back and surged down to capture the pleas and cries falling from her lips.

Next to them, one of the classroom's tall windows was opened and, far in the distance, she could see a Quidditch training taking off. Hermione's fingers dug into Remus's arm. 'Professor,' she pleaded, but for what, Hermione didn't know. 'Professor, someone might see—'

'Then let them see.' His fingers dipped low, dragging more of that wetness over her clit which he rubbed mercilessly. 'You like it, don't you? The thrill of being caught. Don't lie.'

Her cries climbed in pitch when he doubled down on his efforts. Delirious with pleasure, Hermione's limbs were beyond her own control, and all she could do was grip hard on his thighs to keep herself in place.

'Ah—ah! ' she moaned, legs spreading wider, hips lifting to grind against his finger, seeking another burst of pleasure.

He grabbed her ruined knickers and ripped them off her. One hand on her jaw, Professor Lupin forced her to look into the mirror once more. There, Hermione saw them, her legs spread wantonly apart, herself flaring pink and wet and aching with arousal, trembling with want, her need wetting the fabric strained over his crotch. She felt his hardness digging into her and rocked her hips against it. Remus hissed, hand catching her hip in a bruising grip. 'Sit still!' His other hand was firm on her jaw, tilting her face as he said into her ear. 'Look at yourself, look what you're doing to me,' he said, grinding into her.

Hermione felt herself climbing to the pinnacle, swaying on the brink of release. Then suddenly his hand left her jaw, travelling downwards, and spread her wide, exposing her quivering flesh to the cool air and whoever might see through those clear windows around them, Hermione fell apart. 'Professor!'

His other hand descended on her glistening flesh, spread so lustfully apart before his hungry eyes. His finger stroked relentlessly on her sensitive clit, and when he dug his fingertip right under the hood of her clit, blunt nail scraping her most sensitive spot, Hermione finally burst over the edge. She convulsed, the blinding pleasure of release wracking through her as she rocked herself on his hand, crying at the top of her lungs when ecstasy ripped through her with the force of a hot, lashing whip. His other fingers pumped mercilessly into her and she shattered around his hand. The rippling, white-hot pleasure overtook Hermione's vision, and with her head thrown back over his shoulder, her chest heaving, it took her a few eternities to come down.

Her breaths were ragged, and she drew in big gulps of air. Behind her, Remus went still. Hermione turned herself around in his lap, ready to return the favour. Her hand fell to his trousers, and she started undoing his fly. 'Professor…'

Remus caught her wrists, and gently drew her hands away. 'Would you have stopped me?'

The change in the atmosphere and the quietness of his voice confused her, but with her head still clouded in the aftermath of such an intense orgasm, Hermione could only glance up at him blankly. 'Remus?'

Slowly, he slid off his desk, forcing Hermione to find her own feet and take a step back. 'Would you have stopped me, had it been an evening on the cusp of a full-moon and not today?' he asked, eyes intense but gentle as they met hers. 'Would you have been able to stop?'

He let go of her hands, and Hermione took another step back, a chill settling over her heart.

'No… I can't—was that all it was?' she asked, voice low with disbelief, her eyes searching his face for a hint of a joke, for anything to convince her she was wrong. She found her volume rising with incredulity. 'Remus, was all of that just to prove a point?'

She waited for him to tell her no, waited for him to say that what had just happened between them was just as meaningful and intense as she'd felt it. But Remus remained silent, his face closed off and the emotions in his eyes brittle. 'Do you see what I mean now, Hermione?'

She whispered desperately, hating that it sounded like a plea, 'You cannot take that choice from me.'

'But you would make me live everyday with regret?'

'It's not carved in stone!' She yelled, rage and frustration burning the rims of her eyes. 'You haven't infected me, and there's a good chance you never will if we are careful. But do you know what is destined? Us.'

'Should there even be an us, Hermione?' he asked, voice tormented. 'Destiny has doomed you to be my soulmate—'

'Do not revere me, Remus.'

'Do not condemn me to a lifetime of guilt, Hermione.'

'You won't infect me.'

'I am a werewolf!'

'Yes you are!' She exploded, pointing at her own face. 'And I am blind in one eye!' She gestured to her chest. 'And I'll live for the rest of my life with only half a heart. None of that is going to change. You'll transform every month, and I'll never be an Auror or a Curse-Breaker, or a myriad of other things I've dreamt of being. We've accepted these things. I've brewed your potions, and you have done everything humanly possible to make my life an easier one. I'm not getting out of your life, and you're not getting out of mine. You welcomed all of this before; so what has changed?

'Our desire for intimacy is what has changed!' The ire in his voice was growing too. 'Imagine a life we would have had if I wasn't—this.'

'So you'd rather have nothing at all, than have a little bit of something?

'I'd rather have nothing at all, than risk you!'

It was like he'd speared an icy javelin through heart, and she felt more of that same chill spreading to her limbs, seeping into her bones. Hermione found a mirthless laugh escaping her, as she stepped away, feeling her eyes prickle with unshed tears. 'You're unbelievable, Remus Lupin.'

She reached up to pull the chains holding the sun locket over her head. The source of warmth that had kept the chill at bay all these months had gone cold as soon as those final words left his mouth. It felt like a sentence, an ultimatum.

Hermione placed his gift on the desk between them, and the locket cracked open.

There was nothing.

The eternal flame had gone out.

She looked up, seeing Remus grow pale as he drew a sharp breath.

'I take it you've made your decision.' Her lips stretched into a not-smile. Everlasting flames were born from an ancient magic, as mysterious and powerful as the creation of the Earth. Few things in existence could quell the imperishable, yet here they stood at the seam of the fabric of destiny being torn apart—a soulmate's rejection.

'Hermione—' He stepped forward.

She stepped back. 'I'll take my leave.'

Before Remus could say another word, she turned and strode out of the classroom. As soon as the door swung shut behind her, Hermione rushed down the corridor, her vision blurry, her mangled heart thumping so painfully in her chest she felt like it would cave in again. She could barely see where she was going and she did not care. Vaguely, she remembered that she had Arithmancy, but class would be near concluding now anyway, so there wasn't much point. She yanked the door to an unused classroom open and bolted in, running head first into Molly Weasley.

'Hermione!' cried the Weasley matriarch, taking in the state of her ruined clothes and blotchy face. 'Sweetheart, what happened to you?'

Hermione's lips trembled, and she didn't even pause to question what Molly was doing there in Hogwarts in the first place before launching herself into her arms, crying her heart out. Huge, racking sobs overtook her as she clung to the older woman. Though obviously confused, Mrs. Weasley's mothering instincts took over immediately and she wrapped her arms tightly around Hermione, petting her hair while she bawled, her entire body shaking in Molly's arm.

'What is it, dearest?' The Weasley matriarch enveloped Hermione in a comforting hug, running her hands up and down her back. 'What's the matter?'

'He—doesn't—want me!' she cried into Molly's blouse, heart seizing in anguish. Hermione didn't care how childish she looked. She was seventeen and she'd just had her heart torn to pieces by the one man who was supposed to love her the most. It hadn't hit her until now how much it hurt to be turned down by one's soulmate, it felt like her very soul was ripping apart.

Molly held her, whispering sweet nothings, being the mother whom Hermione needed most in that moment. Gradually, she sat Hermione down in a window nook, and took her hand. Molly didn't demand a thing, didn't ask her another question, she simply said, 'I'm here.'

And the dam broke. Hermione heaved, torrents of words, meanings unstrung, tumbled forth from her trembling lips: her feelings, his actions, their attraction, the confusion, the danger, how the whole situation was forbidden, unmentionable, off-limit. She unburdened all that was in her heart: his reticence, her understanding, their disagreement, the frustration, how she knew that he was somewhat right that they shouldn't be together, but she simply could not let it be that way. Confessions spilling in a deluge of words, Hermione told Molly how her soulmate wanted to protect her from himself, how—by rights—they were not meant to be. She bared her heart, revealing it all, saying everything but the name of the man whose destiny was carved in her soul.

Cradling Hermione's head to her chest, Molly stroked her cheek and whispered, 'Sweetie, I respect that you've already tried to talk some sense into him, and there's not much I can do to help this silly boy get over the load of codswallop he's put himself in, but his concern seems valid. I don't know what kind of danger he believes he poses to you, but if he's willing to sacrifice his own happiness for your safety—'

'He's—an—idiot,' sobbed Hermione, drawing quivering breaths. 'The biggest idiot. Soulmate or not, I was never going to leave him anyway! The risks were the same.'

If she was going to be childish, she would go all the way childish.

Molly gave a small chuckle, hand brushing her face. 'I'm sure he is. But give him a bit of time to reconsider things, dearest. He may soon realise that it is foolish to deny you both. And if he doesn't, well, you've got all of us to back you up. You have me and Arthur, your own parents, Ginny, Ron, Harry, Viktor; we're all here for you. Oh and Sirius and Remus of course.'

Hermione choked tearily. If only Molly knew.

She raised her head, taking in their surroundings. It was indeed one of the permanently unused classrooms, and it was barren except for the spools of yarns and threads, pins and needles and scissors that littered the desk Molly was sitting at before Hermione came barging in. Her brows furrowed when her gaze landed on swaths of fabric, but before Hermione could ask Molly why she was setting up a dressmaking shop in here, a pair of doors set further into the classroom banged open, and in stumbled a groaning Nymphadora Tonks.

'Molly, can you take the hem up just a little bit? Madam Malkin Made it this length and won't shorten it for me because: fashion. I don't care if it's a ballroom event, I will not trip and die during tomorrow's Yule dance—Oh! Wotcher, Hermio—WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOU?'

Tonks screamed, pointing at Hermione, just about managing not to trip over her violet ball-gown. 'Who did this to you!'

Hermione found her wand and quickly went to vanish the evidence of what happened between her and Remus, but it was too late. As soon as Tonk's cry left her mouth, four more people spilled from the antechamber into the main classroom. Molly rubbed her face tiredly as Ginny, Ron, Harry and Viktor Krum came in carrying the ridiculously long train of Tonk's ball-gown.

'Don't you have classes to be in?' asked Hermione wanly.

'It's the lunch hour,' said Ron, a worried look crossing his face. 'What happened to you?'

'Was this him?' asked Ginny, eyes searching her. 'Do I have a man to murder?'

'Ginevra!' cried her mother.

'He didn't hurt me,' answered Hermione quietly. 'Not physically anyway. He—well, this happened first, and then he rejected me.'

Viktor strode in, gaze murderous. He tilted up her chin to expose the one kiss mark on her neck that Hermione didn't manage to vanish. 'A man who make loves to you then leaves you crying is no soulmate at all.'

She turned bright red as a pregnant silence fell over the room and Harry's and Ron's eyes widened.

'You've found your soulmate?' cried Harry

'And you're shagging them?!' cried Ron.

It was good to see that at least her best friends' priorities hadn't changed.

'Not for much longer,' replied Ginny sweetly. Tonks nodded in agreement and added, 'I have fangs now, you know?'

'You two know who this silly boy is?' Molly turned her eyes on them. 'And no biting innocents.'

'He's not innocent!/I don't bite to turn, I bite to kill!' argued Ginny and Tonks at the same time.

'Do not bite him regardless!' groaned Molly. 'Get over here, I'm taking that silly train off your dress. Merlin knows, you might even make it through tomorrow's Ball without tripping once. Anybody else's dress robes and ball-gowns need adjusting?'

'Just the cuffs, please, Mrs. Weasley.'

'You can call me Molly, Viktor dear.

'Who is it, Hermione?' asked Harry, who then recoiled. 'Or is it best we don't know?'

Hermione would be forever grateful that her friends did not press for an answer. 'It's probably best that you don't know for now, but once we leave Hogwarts, I'll tell you.'

'So it is someone at Hogwarts,' murmured Ron. Then suddenly, his eyes widened in panic and disgust. 'Oh Merlin. It's Lockhart isn't it? Ugh. You absolutely fancied him back in second-year, and now he's back and this happens and—'

Despite herself, Hermione found herself snorting. 'No! Thank the heavens, no.'

As Molly continued to fix cuffs, trim errant threads, adjust sleeves and add lace, Hermione sat down amidst the bustle of activities around her and took a moment to compose her thoughts. She closed her eyes.

She knew little of soulmates, having never before cared about the subject until she found herself with one. But she knew full well how a soulmate rejection looked like.

The image of the died-out eternal flame in her mind manifested itself into the face of Lucius Malfoy, who had his soulmate's wedding ring thrown in his face when Narcissa marched out of his life, after all that he had done. At least he deserved it; she certainly didn't, but all the same, it frightened her.

Hermione remembered that one time he came around to Grimmauld Place, and she witnessed the devastation that befell Lucius. A dull whiff of a potted daffodil was all it took to crumble the cold facade of the Malfoy patriarch. A stray note in a familiar tune was what caused the once most influential man in wizarding Britain to do away with the ancestral grand piano in his manor that his love used to play. A ribbon, suede and black, looking like the one his wife favoured in her hair made Lucius buy out the entire shop in Diagon alley, and burnt it to the ground.

What of herself? Hermione thought. Would she end up broken like that pitiful man?

No. She was not going to let herself end up like Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione drew a bracing breath to get herself together. She opened her eyes, summoned her determination, and exhaled.

She had to be ready for what tomorrow would bring. Many times Hermione had faced and survived what most would deem the impossible; what was a measly rip in the fabric of destiny going to do? She was not going to let it destroy her.

'I'm calling in a favour with Kingsley,' said Tonks thoughtfully as she eyed Hermione, breaking her out of her reverie. There was something calculating in the Metamorphmagus's gaze that Hermione had never seen before. 'With your permission, of course.'

'Consider her permission granted,' responded Ginny, who was looking Hermione up and down, assessing. 'We are going to make you the most beautiful girl at the Yule Ball tomorrow night. Let that fool see what he's missing out on.'

There was a familiar gleam in her friend's eyes, the very gleam that mankind had learnt to fear. Hermione swallowed.

'We shall have carnage,' concluded Ginny, baring her teeth in a white-sharp smile that far too keenly resembled Sirius's. It was either a promise or a threat, perhaps both. 'I want to watch the light in his eyes die the moment he sees you.'