Chapter 31
Remus gave the two bags containing Teddy's things one each to Hermione and Orla to carry through the Floo to Shell Cottage, before cradling his tiny son under his jacket and stepping in the fireplace to take them through the secure connection between the two Secret-Kept homes. He hated hiding the child like this, but really, there was no choice. Almost every day the Prophet carried the names of previously-unknown werewolves who had been captured by Snatchers and culled by the Ministry under the Destruction of Dangerous Creatures decree.
He had no doubt that one Edward Remus Lupin would be top of their 'hit list', after himself, of course. As such a high-profile lycanthrope, and one that'd had the audacity to breed, it was likely that his son Teddy would not only be eventually culled, but the thought of the experiments that might be carried out on a child of mixed lycanthropic and metamorphmagic parentage prior to that fate … he shuddered to think. No, to stay hidden in safety was the best thing for Teddy at present.
Emerging in the neat sitting room of Shell Cottage, where the girls were already passing the bags over to Charlie, and Garth was pottering around the furniture in great excitement at the prospect of visitors, Remus unwrapped Teddy from inside his covering and pronounced him none the worse for his first time travelling by the sooty Floo.
Fleur was at work, and would be returning home in a couple of hours. In the meantime, Charlie Weasley was in charge, apparently. Remus had already left discreet instructions with Orla as to Teddy's requirements, since she was learning the baby's routine quite well in the few days she'd been at Grimmauld Place, for want of anything else to do, he supposed. Teddy seemed to like her, too. Hermione was pleasant, but kept a discreet distance from anything 'hands-on', especially at nappy-changing time, whereas Orla always seemed keen to help out, whatever the task. She really was a sweet girl. Tonks would have liked her, and would have taken the younger Hufflepuff under her wing, he was sure of it.
Orla took the baby from his arms, and Teddy already seemed to recognise her. Good, he felt somewhat better knowing that she was here, however competent Charlie and Fleur might be.
Remus felt tired, ill and cross, as he always did just before his monthly transformation. He'd looked in the mirror that morning and seen his face marred with a waxy pallor, his eyes tense and a grim determination in his jaw. The final night of the cycle was always the worst, knowing that when he returned he would have something to eat, then magically seal himself in the cellar, concealing his wand, before laying down on the makeshift bed he'd placed down there to await the inevitable. The physical pain of transforming and the mental anguish of having his own, sane mind ripped from him and replaced with … well, he knew not what he replaced himself with, having no memory from the moment the transformation was complete until he awoke where he had fallen, usually scratched and exhausted.
This would be the first month that he had been in sole charge of Teddy and had to cope with the transformation at the same time. Thank Merlin for good and loyal friends that he could rely on to care for his son whilst he was incapacitated. Even if Orla did, by some miracle, and he had no faith, manage to brew Wolfsbane at home, he would still be transformed and not able to look after a baby, despite retaining his own mind and becoming merely a harmless wolf that would sleep through the change. The lack of pain would be greatly appreciated, though.
He set up the cradle in Charlie's room, since the tiny room that the girls were to share was not big enough to accommodate it, and it would be unfair to expect a pregnant Fleur to care for Teddy throughout the night, when she was working all day. She'd offered, of course, but Charlie would not hear of it. As the second-eldest of seven children, Remus presumed that he may possess a certain level of capability with babies, one only had to look at the pampered Garth to see that. The tiny Longhorn would probably have adopted Teddy as his own personal plaything by the time this visit was over.
Kissing his son goodbye, he grabbed up a handful of Floo powder and returned to Grimmauld Place, now as empty and bare of life and company as it had been when he'd first begun hiding here. Lupin disconnected the Floo from the fireplace, knowing that Charlie would do the same at his end. He would open it again … after.
Later that evening, as the first strands of dusk began to thread their way across the sky, he could put the moment off no longer. He used the toilet, and then headed reluctantly towards the cellar, knowing that what was to follow was inevitable, as it always was, as it always had been since he'd first been bitten, all those years ago.
He closed the heavy cellar door behind him, locking it manually and then sealing it with his wand, adding a hex that would sting his werewolf form if he tried to open it, which he presumed he would, since last month the inside of the door had been full of deep, desperate scratches. It was pitiful enough to make him feel almost sorry for the creature he became every full moon, locked up and unknowing, no means of escape, no way of understanding.
Remus then hid his wand in a box and tucked it at the back of a cupboard. The werewolf would not look there, and even if it did, it would not be able to use the wand, only destroy it. He had done all he could to secure himself and safeguard others. With a resigned sigh, and a few frustrated tears of regret and fear, he descended the cellar steps, into the dank room deep below number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and lay down upon the tattered mattress on the old wooden frame.
Would he sleep, or would he still be awake when the transformation began? He never knew.
-xxx-
Severus was in his reclaimed office at Hogwarts, having just seen off the new Charms professor that he'd hired to replace Filius Flitwick, hopefully temporarily. He had regular updates from Fleur Weasley that Flitwick was managing to keep his head down at Gringotts, keeping the goblins on his side and making himself useful until such time as the law released him to return to his professorial position.
Well, it was unlikely the law would release him, the plan was more to remove the harpy who had ordered it being passed in the first place, and Severus would take full pleasure in doing so.
Professor Malbus had stormed in earlier that morning, complaining about the plumbing in his private chambers that had been supposedly fixed by Filch, but was still apparently spewing dirty water in his bathroom. Severus had sighed heavily and promised that the problem would be addressed by the end of the day, rolling his eyes as the skinny little wizard stalked out, his nose high in the air and leaving Severus wondering why he didn't just get his own fucking wand out and mend the plumbing, seeing as he was supposed to be a highly-qualified Charms professor. Still, Malbus wasn't a Death Eater, nor a follower of the Dark, and that had been the main reason Snape had appointed him.
Minerva had been relieved to see Severus return apparently unharmed, since he'd opted not to share with her about the severity of the friction sores to his tortured dick, and had happily vacated the heads' office and private chambers to return to her own. She'd actually done a fine job of keeping everything in line, and there seemed to have been no major incidents since he'd been gone.
The well-timed application of a soothing salve that he'd invented himself, years ago, made from camomile and knotgrass to his nether regions was bringing slow but blissful relief from the damage he'd inflicted with his own hands whilst compelled. He felt his cock twitch with anticipation of fucking Miss Granger again, when she next desired it, and tried not to think about how damn lucky he was, since that would mean he needed to be grateful to Voldemort, and that was unthinkable.
No, he needed to concentrate on how to kill the bastard. There was an Order meeting planned for when Lupin had recovered from the transformation stage of his cycle, and now that the snake was gone they needed to press ahead with getting a real plan in place to eliminate the Dark Lord and reclaim the country from the grip of the Death Eaters, and from the clutches of the pink nightmare that was Dolores Umbridge.
-xxx-
The full moon shone brightly through the windows of Shell Cottage, the sky clear and cloud-free over the dark sea beyond. Hermione stood at the window looking out over the bay of Tinworth beach, eerily silhouetted in the silvery beam, wondering how something so naturally beautiful could cause Remus such pain and suffering. He was voluntarily locked in the Grimmauld cellar, in mental and physical agony, whilst she was here looking at the beauty of the full moon, with his tiny son sleeping in the room upstairs. It was so unfair.
Charlie had cooked an amazing supper of chicken pie, filled with gravy and shallots, and piled up their plates with vegetables. Fleur put away more than any of them, her pregnancy now at the beginning of its second trimester and giving her a huge appetite. Garth had been given his own bowl full of pie, laid on the floor in the kitchen, although with great dignity the little dragon had picked up the bowl in his mouth and half-jumped, half-flew up to the table top and placed his bowl there in a spare spot, and began to eat with the others, his beady eye trained on Charlie as if daring his master to disapprove.
Orla had insisted on bathing Teddy, whilst Hermione did the washing-up and Fleur sat on the sofa with Garth on her lap like a house-cat, tickling his flappy ears and letting Charlie massage her sore and aching feet. After Teddy had been put to bed, a combination of the skills of Orla, Charlie and Fleur (Hermione had stayed in the sitting room, more than happy to play 'Fetch' with Garth and a small ball of string, rather than participate in the babysitting) they'd sat and talked for a while before Fleur headed off for a bath, declaring herself exhausted and that she would go to bed afterwards.
It took Charlie half-an-hour to dissuade Orla from the idea of another run down the beach, stating that he needed to stay in the house to look after Teddy. She'd gone to bed soon after, in what seemed like a bit of a huff, and Charlie had looked nonplussed.
"I think someone might have a little crush," he whispered, and he wrinkled his nose.
"I doubt that, after what she's been through," Hermione replied. "More likely that Orla feels trapped, and wanted to get outside, to run free. Goodness knows, we all feel like that."
He looked slightly disappointed, and she laughed.
"Not liking a girl being immune to the charms of the great Charlie Weasley?" she teased.
"Oh, stop. How could she resist?"
Hermione swatted him on the leg and got up to fetch a bottle of wine and two glasses from the small kitchen, pouring one for each of them.
"Since her boyfriend was just killed, I'd say she's not in the mood for any wizard right now," she warned. "Although if she was, I'm sure you'd be first in line."
She smiled good-naturedly but mockingly at Charlie, who was sprawled on the sofa with his solid legs and arms akimbo, passing him the full glass of wine.
"And what about you, Hermione? Didn't you just lose your boyfriend too?"
Taking a sip from her glass, and then another one before setting it down on the small table, she collected her thoughts.
"Ronald was never my boyfriend. He … he was my best friend, along with Harry. There was so long, in our sixth year and maybe earlier, when we might have got together, but it never happened. Not until the night of the battle, near the end, there was … a moment."
"A moment?"
"He kissed me. Well, we kissed each other, really. We'd destroyed one of the Horcruxes, deep in the Chamber of Secrets, and the enormity of that moment just overtook us, really. It was a wonderful kiss. I didn't know then that it would be our first and our last."
"I'm sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have asked."
"It's fine. It happened, and I'm happy that it did. He died knowing that I loved him."
"Did you love him?"
"As the best friend in the world, yes, certainly. As a boyfriend? Well, who knows what would have happened, had he survived. We'd have given it a go, I'm sure."
"He was a filthy slob," Charlie said, grinning. "Ron's room was always the untidiest out of all seven of us, his socks smelt like rotting carcasses, he eats like a starving Hippogriff, and he's got ginger pubes."
Hermione couldn't help laughing out loud, in spite of herself, and then covering her mouth with her hand to silence it, lest she wake anyone sleeping upstairs, particularly the baby.
"I should have thought that the ginger pubes thing wasn't exclusive to Ronald," she retorted, moving her hand and raising an eyebrow.
"Want to find out?"
She opened her eyes a little wider in surprise, and Charlie put down his wine glass on the table, sliding down the sofa to sit close to her, too close, his leg touching hers.
"Charlie …"
"I can be there for you, Hermione. I can be whatever you need. I'm a Weasley, and a proud one at that, let me replace whatever you have lost when my brother was taken from you."
Without waiting for a reply, he leaned forward and kissed her lips, moving his mouth on hers, and his touch was warm and sure.
Drawing back to gauge her reaction, his eyes seeking her approval and consent, she found herself nodding, and he began to kiss her again, this time slipping his hand around to the back of her head, holding her against him as he gently opened her mouth with his own, tentatively seeking her tongue and slowly curling his around it in a slow swirl.
Her senses were assaulted on all levels. Charlie tasted of love, of familiarity, of safety and of home. His kiss was soft and surprisingly sensual, and made her stomach jump a little. As she felt Charlie take hold of her hands with his free one, it reminded her so much of Ron that her heart hurt.
But.
But.
She pulled back, and looked into his honest, open face, his blue eyes full of care and loyalty, his curly red hair bouncing on his shoulders and the healed scar prominent on the side of his neck. His large hand still held hers, calloused and scarred, his forearms tanned and freckled from a life lived outdoors. Hermione had no doubt that Charlie was earnest in his intention to take the place of his brother, to care for her as Ron would have done.
But.
For all his wonderful qualities, he wasn't … him. Not Ron, but a severe, black-haired wizard with a too-large nose, a lined face and ink-coloured eyes that were so endless you thought you might drown in them. He didn't have the musty smell of old parchment and even older castles, nor wore billowing black robes that could sweep around you like some kind of all-encompassing vampire bat. He didn't scare her and excite her at the same time. He was ruddy and glowing with health, with no ghostly pallor, no stress or worry behind his gaze.
Oh, Merlin, did she love him? Had she fallen, for Professor Snape?
Her heart beat faster at the thought.
"Hermione," he whispered. "I am here for Fleur, and I can be here for you, if you let me."
She needed to let him. She needed prove herself wrong, needed to know that what she felt for Snape, she could easily feel for another wizard, particularly one who was so worthy. Hermione stood, pulling Charlie to his feet, and allowed him to wrap his arms around her, to feel enveloped in his warm embrace, and kissed him again, this time deeper and longer.
It felt nice, but there was no other, more passionate, feeling, and she supposed the compulsion curse was responsible for that, suddenly surprised that it hadn't stopped her from kissing someone apart from Snape. Perhaps it was just the personal areas that the stinging jinx was confined to. She then, strangely, felt another hand on her back, softer and gentler.
"Charrrlie."
They broke off their kiss, to see Fleur standing beside them.
"I need you, Charrrlie," she said, quietly, removing one of his hands from around Hermione's waist. "I can share 'im with you, 'Ermione. We 'ave both lost those 'oo we loved, and Charrrlie is 'ere for us."
Fleur leaned forwards and placed a light kiss on Hermione's cheek, before turning to Charlie, who wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling Fleur towards him and kissing her as deeply as he'd been doing to her, just a few seconds before, keeping a secure hold of Hermione around her waist as he kissed Fleur.
She immediately understood what Charlie had meant when he said he was 'there' for Fleur. He was assuming the role left vacant by his brother's tragic death, filling the huge gap that the loss of Bill must have left in the life of his newly-pregnant wife. They were probably sleeping together already. They stopped kissing and looked at her, waiting for her reaction, wanting to see what she made not only of their relationship, but what she thought about joining it.
Fleur turned to her and took hold of both her cheeks, kissing her directly on the lips in a gesture that both invited and accepted. She was willing to share Charlie. She was offering Hermione a space with the two of them. Charlie was stroking her back whilst Fleur kissed her, the three of them making a strange triad on the hearth rug in the dark room, the light of the buttery, full moon shining through the cottage windows.
"Thank you, both of you," she croaked, not wanting to offend either of them. "I'm not in a place where I need anyone to be with me, but I wish you both every happiness."
She was sincere in her wishes to Fleur and Charlie, despite privately thinking that this would be a relationship built on what Fleur had lost, and not on who Charlie was. But that was none of her business, both were adults and free to make their own choices. Charlie's entire family had been viciously taken from him, it was no surprise that he would choose to hold tight to the only part of it that was left, both his sister-in-law and his niece or nephew that was yet to be born.
Hermione kissed them both goodnight on the cheeks, and turned to climb the small staircase without any regret. As she peered through the bannisters, Fleur and Charlie had resumed their kiss, and he was backing her towards the blue sofa, running his hands down her spine, making her sigh into his mouth as he lay her on the plump cushions before climbing atop her, and she received him. They had clearly done this before, and good luck to them. In this uncertain new world, happiness had to be taken wherever one could find it.
She slipped into the small bedroom with the twin beds, Orla already asleep and breathing heavily, her white-blonde hair spilling over the pillow like a golden blanket. Hermione quickly changed into her pyjamas and slipped between her own sheets, her mind not on Charlie, but on Professor Snape.
Severus.
She wanted to know the real person behind the scowl. Knowing him sexually was not the same as understanding what was inside his head. Would he ever consider a relationship with her? Did such a wizard even entertain such trifling things as relationships? One thing was for certain, that there was no way that question could ever be answered whilst her compulsion curse was still active.
Another reason to kill Voldemort as soon as possible.
Hermione fell asleep dreaming of murder, much to her own warped amusement.
