There is a little bit of a skip-ahead here (too short to be a time-jump, but significant enough given the events currently taking place in the backdrop [the funerals]), so take it with a grain of salt that the characters have had their hands so full with everything involved in the Second War's aftermath that they are only getting to deal with the fallout from Hermione's slip up now, weeks later.

And I'm sorry Severus doesn't make more of an appearance in this chapter, the timing just wasn't right to really integrate him with the rest of the group just yet. He will have more of a presence in the story moving forward.


Chapter Eight

The Guilty Silence

James was . . . beyond reticent, Hermione observed, over the course of the days that followed. Well, over the course of the funerals that followed. He forced a smile for greetings and farewells, but other than that he spent the time staring at the ground with a scowl on his face. Of course, the unpleasantness of his expression was lost on the majority of the other mourners, but aside from Hermione, Harry was aware of his father's state, as was Remus, Ron, and—bizarrely enough—Severus, though he never stayed for the gatherings that followed, only putting in an appearance at the services and then leaving again before anyone could speak with him.

But several times Hermione had noticed the direction of Severus Snape's gaze. It lingered on James, and after a moment of appraisal, he would frown and shake his head before looking away again.

At the receptions afterward in the homes of the fallen's loved ones, James would listen and nod along to conversation, but he never had input.

This was a troublingly long stretch of time to hold onto something so negative without any sort of release.

Finally, the last night—the night before they were to finally move out from beneath the cloud of constant grieving—Hermione pulled Remus aside. She knew the timing of James' descent into silence meant it was likely brought on by Harry revealing his traumatic childhood to him.

God, she felt awful. Harry was trying so hard to pretend like everything was okay, too, which only made her feel worse. If she'd only kept her bloody mouth shut . . . .

"Has he said anything to you?"

Remus' brow furrowed as he shook his head. "No. I think it's obvious what's going on, though."

"It is?" She shook her head right back at him when he looked at her as though she'd just spoken complete gibberish. "I mean, yes, but . . . he's really . . . it's like he's a completely different person since that talk with Harry."

Sighing, he shrugged. "No. It's all part of the same man. James is . . . was and so probably still is, someone who was used to being able to attack the thing that was wrong. He's always been a person of action. Nearly drove him mad when he found out he had to take his family into hiding, because he wanted to fight to protect them and it felt like he was being forced to run away. After hearing what Harry went through, and having his hands tied by the promise he made, he's got nowhere to put his anger at the Dursleys. He's trying to manage that rage and it's not working well. The longer he goes without being able to resolve it, the harder it hits him."

Her shoulders drooped and she found herself drifting over a little, quite naturally leaning into Remus' side. "It's not just anger, though, is it?"

"No." He sighed deeply, the feel of that heavy breath in his chest rumbling against her. "But then you knew it wouldn't be. It's the guilt, too."

Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes as she watched Harry sit down beside James. As she watched him start talking to his dad. James looked up, meeting Harry's gaze. He nodded and forced a smile, murmuring some response. He was finally talking, at least. That was new. She hoped it was a step in the right direction.

"Maybe you should talk to him."

Remus tipped his chin down to look at her. "You're worried about him, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. I'm worried about both of them."

When Remus didn't respond, she leaned back her head against his arm, meeting his gaze. The way he arched a brow at her spoke volumes.

"Okay, yes. I am worried about James, but I'm also just as concerned for Harry. They've both been through a lot, more than I can rightly relate to with my stupid, happy upbringing." She paused to draw a breath as Remus snickered at her choice of words. "And I'm worried that this anger and guilt he's feeling is going to wreck the bond he's forming with Harry if he doesn't find some way to vent it."

The werewolf's leaf-green eyes narrowed in suspicion. He'd been trying to be subtle about it—that her concern was more than just what she was saying. It was because she—in spite of herself, he knew—was starting to care about James Potter in a way she understood she shouldn't.

Harry stood and crossed the room then, coming to stand before Hermione and Remus. His expression was bleak.

"Harry, I'm so sorry. I wish I'd never said anything." She reached out, latching her hands around Harry's wrist. That it had happened weeks ago yet they were only just now getting to discuss the matter as though it had happened yesterday was a testament to how much everyone was trying to take on amid repairing the war-torn areas, tracking down escaped Voldemort supporters, and mourning their dead. It was just as well, as they'd all needed the time to simmer down a bit, anyway.

Well, all except James, apparently, who seemed quite reluctant to do anything save for continuing to simmer.

"He was talking about this spider family, the Willowsbys, that shared his cell and it never clicked that you hadn't said—"

"The Willowsbys?' Remus echoed with a brow arched in curiosity.

Harry and Hermione both looked up at him, shaking their heads as they waved dismissively. "Look," Harry said with a frown, "it's not really your fault. You couldn't have known I'd been keeping it from him. Maybe it's better it came out now rather than somewhere later along the line. And I mean, someone was going to end up mentioning it at some point, it's not exactly a secret my Muggle family aren't the warm, fuzzy, 'yay, he's got magic!' sorts, anyway. Still going to hold it against you if there's ever a reason to in the future, though."

Hermione and Remus both snickered at that.

Remus felt the weight of a gaze on him then. Searching for the source, he found James looking at them. There was no readable expression on his face and that was startling. He wasn't exactly known for hiding his feelings.

"You know what?" he said abruptly to Harry and Hermione. "I think I will go talk to him about all this. What he's going through . . . I think any father worth his salt would feel the same; maybe he just needs to vent to a sympathetic ear. Excuse me." He clapped a hand over Harry's shoulder with a nod and looped his arm around Hermione's shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze before he stepped away.

In his absence she noticed Harry and Ron were having a silent exchange across the room, full of nods and pursed-lipped looks. She didn't dare let her gaze follow Remus—Hermione didn't need to watch the private conversation, just as she didn't need her gaze to linger on James as Harry stood before her.

And the recent weeks of hugs and closeness and quite literally leaning on one another, she did not need another reminder that she was starting to appreciate Remus' tall, wiry frame. So what if he constantly radiated a soothing warmth and it was evident each time he held her in even the smallest measure that he was stronger and sturdier than he appeared? She did not need to watch his gait as he strolled cautiously over to sit beside his friend. The last thing she needed right now was an appreciation for the movement of the werewolf's hips.

Dear Lord. This mess with James had really opened up some sort of flood gates in her mind when it came to noticing males who might be wildly inappropriate for her, hadn't it?

"Hermione," Harry started, oblivious to her internal struggle. "We need to talk about something."

Her heart dropped into her stomach as she kept her eyes locked on his. This did not bode well. Swallowing hard, she nodded and braced herself. "Okay. What is it?"

"Ron and I were talking, and we . . . we've noticed you and Remus seem close." He winced and his tone had come out wary.

Her brow furrowed as she gaped at him. This she hadn't expected. "Harry, we've always been close. Well, there was the whole mess when I thought Sirius wanted to kill you and I was furious with Remus for appearing to side with a murderous lunatic, but you know, that moment aside, yeah. Close."

Honestly. When she had the actual moments of leaning on Remus, of spontaneous hugs, of his arm resting around her shoulders, it simply felt natural. It was only in the brief seconds after they were removed from one another that she noticed the things she'd already so-what'ed about to herself barely seconds earlier.

"No." Again, Harry winced. This was clearly an uncomfortable subject of discussion for him—for Hermione it was a weight off, as she'd immediately assumed he might've noticed something about the way she looked at James. She didn't exactly want to feel the way she did when her gaze met that now-familiar hazel one for a fleeting heartbeat, but they were just her feelings. Her butterfly-stomached, weak-kneed, skin-tingling feelings. She could keep them bottled up. They'd do no harm to anyone stuffed away as she was keeping them. "We mean . . . closer than you were before. As in since . . . since War's End."

Hermione's mouth pulled into a little O and her eyebrows drew upward. That was . . . that was rubbish! They were always and only as close as they'd been before.

Getting a grip on herself sooner than she could start to wonder if there were any truth to the observation, she said, "I think you two are letting your imaginations run away with you."

Harry frowned, shrugging and giving her the look he knew she read as I hope so. "All we're saying is . . . be careful, you know?"

"Careful?" she repeated the word as though it were foreign to her. As if Remus would ever harm her! Well, barring that full moon when he'd forgotten his wolfsbane potion and mistaken her for prey, of course. But that was only one time! "You've got to be joking."

"It's not that he's older, or because he was our teacher once, and it's certainly not because he's a werewolf." He didn't seem like he was hearing her as he went on. "It's that he's still getting over losing Tonks."

"Oh my God, Harry, listen to yourself!" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. And Ron was with him on this, no less! Ron probably just hoped she was expressing interest in someone new so he wouldn't have to feel guilty for how fast his relationship with Luna was developing. Not that that wasn't stupid—Luna made him happy, and they were friends before anything else, why would he think he should have to feel badly or that Hermione wouldn't understand?

She had loads of understanding for these things!

Hermione took a breath and let it out slow, centering herself a little. Okay, so perhaps she was getting a bit touchy, but it wasn't anything to do with Ron and Luna, and everything to do with this idea of her best friends insinuating something between her and Remus! As if it wasn't enough she was internally fretting every day about constantly having to see James.

Perhaps now that the funerals had drawn to an end, she could get the space she needed to not have to face anyone for a few days.

"There is nothing 'new' between Remus and me. Okay? Really."

He looked doubtful, but nodded. "I just don't want either of you to get hurt, is all. I think we've all been through enough as it is."

Her shoulders slumped. That's what was making him think along these lines. What they'd all been through. Of course. Under any other circumstances, he'd probably be speechless with disbelief over what he was suggesting, but he was trying to be understanding of people finding comfort where they could in the aftermath of the War.

Letting out an airy laugh, she placed her hands on Harry's shoulders. "You don't need to worry about anything, okay? Nothing's changed."

"Okay, all right," he said, holding up his arms in surrender. "I just wanted you to know I'd understand."

Again her brows pinched together. "You would?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply but closed it again and shrugged. "I'd try very, very hard to, anyway."

She snickered in spite of herself, shaking her head as a half-smile curved her mouth. Same old Harry—she was glad the tense situation she'd accidentally created between him and James was not having any lasting negative effect on him.

Whether or not it was having a negative effect on James—lasting or otherwise—beyond his very evident stewing, she hadn't a clue, and she was afraid to pull him aside to ask privately for obvious reasons. She hoped the chat with Remus was helping.


"You two seem all sorts of cuddly of late," James remarked as Remus seated himself beside him on the sofa.

Remus only looked at him for a moment. Yes, he'd noticed, but noticing wasn't the problem. No, the problem was that it didn't feel bizarre or wrong. Not until afterward, and even then it was a concept he had to make himself think. He'd consider all the conventional reasons to keep Hermione at arm's length. Then he'd remind himself they were friends and to force a distance between them when there was nothing 'wrong' might damage that friendship. Then they'd be around one another again, touches of familiarity and comfort would happen, and afterward the doubts would start once more. Vicious cycle and all that.

He knew perfectly well why they found each other's presence soothing. "She and I are—"

"Friends, I know." James closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business who that witch does what with, is it?" He smiled bitterly. "I suppose I'm just looking for reasons to be angry, but you don't deserve that."

"She can't help that she finds comfort in being near me."

The regret in Remus' voice weighed on James instantly. He knew the idea of being close with anyone right now was torture—he did not mean to add to that—yet this seemed more significant somehow than the simple risk of letting someone new into his heart too soon.

"What do you mean by that? She can't help it?"

Remus looked about, frowning. No one was close enough to overhear them, but it was not a pleasant point for him. Nor was it the reason he'd come over here, so he supposed the sooner they got this out of the way, the sooner they could move on to discussing James' feelings over what absolutely terrible human beings the Dursleys had proven themselves to be.

"She . . . she has the curse in her blood."

Hazel eyes shooting wide, James shook his head. "She's a werewolf?"

Remus once more glanced around before lifting a silencing hand. "No. If I'd meant that I'd have simply said that. It's buried deep, likely a recent ancestor; great-grandparent I'd wager, but she has the lycanthropy curse in her blood. She feels comfortable around me because . . . for lack of a better way of stating it, there is a primal part of her that recognizes me as being 'like her.'"

"Does she know?"

The werewolf only deepened his frown as he shrugged. "I know she suspects. She's too clever not to, and I'm nearly positive she already tried to ask me about it once, the day the war ended. I haven't had the heart to confirm it, but I can't deny it either, because I can't bring myself to lie to her. It's a bit awful if you think about it. The only examples she's had of werewolves are me and Greyback. Not exactly shining pinnacles of our species on either count, now are we? He's a psychotic monster, and I'm . . . well, let's call a spade a spade. I'm a self-hating train wreck."

A laugh sputtered out of James and he covered his mouth with his hand as he met Remus' gaze. The look in his eyes apologetic, he shook his head.

Clearing his throat, he lowered his hand. "I'm sorry. I've just never heard you be so honest about yourself before."

"It's all right." Remus shrugged. "You needed the laugh and I think everyone who's glimpsed that sour face of yours the last few weeks knows it."

James sighed, propping his elbow on his knee and bracing his chin against his fist. "I've been trying to get past this . . . this thing with Petunia and that dreadful husband of hers, but it's like every time I close my eyes, I see some picture my mind has drummed up to go with what Harry told me. If I'd known—if I'd had any idea—"

"You'd have what, exactly?" Remus wanted to leave James to his feelings—he had the right to be bitter and feeling guilty was only natural—but he needed to give him reminders, keep him grounded in reality. "Tried to break out before you could really do anything? Expose that you could perform wandless magic before you were practiced enough in it to really defend yourself and perhaps become the subject of some sick Death Eater experiment? At the very least endangered both yourself and Harry?"

Scowling, James dropped his gaze to the floor. He knew Remus was correct. Really, the only reason he'd not broken out sooner was because he'd had no idea if his wandless Imperius would actually work on a person, let alone a wizard of Corban Yaxley's skill and experience, and if he were discovered to have the abilities he possessed he might never have gotten free. When it finally came time that Yaxley was letting him out, it felt like a 'now or never' moment, and he still considered himself lucky that it had worked out as nearly flawlessly as it had.

Well, until he'd unknowingly shared a kiss with his son's best friend.

Wincing, he found his gaze lifting in her direction in spite of himself. She was engaged in discussion with Harry about something. Poor Harry. He wasn't meaning to make his son feel burdened, but moving on from how Harry's childhood made him feel was beginning to seem as though it just might be impossible.

She shook her head at whatever Harry was saying and smiled. Then she glanced over Harry's shoulder. The witch appeared to give a little start as her gaze caught James.'

For a breathless moment, she only stared at him. Her eyes drifted over to Remus and slowly back to him, her cheeks flushing, and she immediately snapped her attention back to Harry.

James' brows drew upward, but he shook off the notice. Until he turned back to continue his conversation with Remus. And he spotted it—the werewolf had seen that fleeting look, too.

Forcing the discussion forward, James said, "I know you're right. You usually are when it comes to the sensible way to see things. But . . . being sensible doesn't take away from that I want to just . . . hunt down that great, bloated sack Vernon Dursley and beat him bloody with my bare fists."

Remus' eyes widened a little at the visceral imagery. Yes, that would feel good. But no. That was a very, very bad line of thinking.

Instead, he decided there was one route that could either prove the best idea he'd ever had, or be the most absolutely terrible notion that had occurred to him in his entire life.

Clamping his hand over James' shoulder, he stood up. "C'mon. We should let Harry and the others know we're leaving so they don't worry you've gone missing again."

"Where are we going?" Despite the question, James climbed to his feet as well.

"I know just the place. It's quiet, no one will look for us there, and just so happens to have a bottle of Fire Whiskey with both our names on it."