Chapter 115: Tuesday, October 22, 2002

"After being in prison, it is the small things that one appreciates [...] the simple act of being able to control one's person."

-Nelson Mandela


It was nearing three in the morning when Remus woke. He had slept nearly the entire day, only waking once when Hermione forced a meal and a few more phials of potions on him. She laid curled into his side, her hair tickling the underside of his jaw and her breath deep and even against his chest. He turned his head, pulling away slightly to look down at her. Knowing Hermione, she probably hadn't gone to sleep but an hour or two ago and she looked peaceful.

You might be willing to move the heavens for her but I will unleash hell.

Moony's words trudged up a strange feeling.

Since he was young, Remus struggled with the restlessness the wolf brought with it. He often felt jittery and anxious; constantly needing to expel energy physically to calm himself. Running helped. And then, of course, Hermione had introduced him to the absolute wonders of sex before the full moon. And while Moony had always been present, simmering just beneath the surface of his skin, Remus very rarely gave up control of himself.

However, Moony was right. Feeling Dolohov's bones break beneath his fists had been exhilarating in a way he hadn't experienced. The moment he heard Hermione scream, he was too weak to stave off Moony's , although he would never admit it out loud, he had folded to the pressure of the wolf without much thought about it. He couldn't focus on the task he had been given because the only thing he felt was the raw energy of Moony pulsing through him, snarling and snapping teeth. And it felt good.

He knew Hermione was capable—how could he not? He'd battled alongside her so many times now. He'd seen her lay waste to a room of Death Eaters with little help. She was quick on her feet and sharp with her wand; switching between offence and defence at an impressive speed. Regardless of her capability, the need to protect her and only her was constant. He wondered if they hadn't mated, if he would still feel the need to beat the shit out of anyone who dared to come near her.

He wanted to think he was more civilized than that.

Carefully, he disentangled himself from Hermione and crept down the few flights of stairs. He needed to turn his mind off, to do something with his hands and lose focus on these intrusive —and frankly— startling thoughts.

When he reached the kitchen, he was happy to find it empty. Often, in the early morning hours, there was someone awake making tea or hot chocolate and trying to comfort themselves enough to get a few hours more of rest. He flicked his wand, lighting the room with a low glow, and began perusing the cabinets for ingredients.

Fifteen minutes later, Remus began working a loose dough against the flour dusted counter top. Kneading hard with the heel of his palms as he folded it in on itself, continuing the motion over and over. His side twinged, his newly healed ribs still working against him. But, seeing as the repetitive motion quieted his overactive mind, he found the ache didn't bother him too terribly.

When the dough was springy and soft and no longer sticking to his fingers, he set it in a bowl with a gentle warming charm to speed up the process of letting it rise. It was a trick he had figured out early on that had always made his mum laugh and call him a cheat. He smiled at the memory of her and proceeded to make the filling, closing his eyes to take a long inhale through his nose— the smell of cinnamon and currants instantly comforting him.

While he waited for the dough to rise, he put on a kettle and hummed a few bars of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds to himself, enjoying the little slice of quiet and calm before the other inhabitants of the Shack began to rise. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the quiet time to himself and the ability to shut his overworked mind down. He thought of his mum again, his eyes prickling a bit as he recalled one of the last private interactions he had with her.

"Don't look at me like that, Cariad," Hope said, struggling to sit up in her bed.

Remus rushed forward, hastily setting the tray of tea and pastries on the nightstand. He slipped his hands beneath her frail body and helped to bring her upright.

"Like what?" he whispered, guiltily averting his eyes.

"Like I'm already a ghost."

He turned to meet her gaze, shaking his head, "Don't say things like that."

She smiled, her soft green eyes still twinkling despite her sallow complexion. "We all have to go sometime, my darling boy."

"I don't want you to go," Remus admitted through a small whisper.

"No, I imagine you don't," she chuckled. Her eyes left his face and flitted to the side, landing on the tray beside them. "Trying to convince me to stay with sweets?"

This was the most absurdly morbid conversation he could ever recall having with his mother and Remus shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "No, of course not! I just thoughtyou don't have to eat them if you aren't hungry, mum. I just needed to do something with my hands."

Hope pushed out a weak laugh, wheezing slightly as it spilled from her. "You've changed so much and yet you're still worried about upsetting your mum."

"I'm sorry, I didn't...did I upset you?"

"The only thing that upsets me is that Remus Lupin's chelsea buns cannot cure everything."

"Mum, I...this isn't about the buns, is it?" He asked, lamely. He motioned toward the tray, feeling his cheeks flush with a slight embarrassment.

"No, cariad."

He swallowed and nodded, "Okay."

Hope reached out, wrapping her cold fingers around his hand. "I want you to make me a promise, Remus."

"Yes, of course, anything."

She smiled briefly and took a slow breath, coughing a bit. Remus scooted closer to her, still grasping her hand like an anchor as he rubbed slow circles on her back. When she finally regained her breath, she angled herself slightly, placing her empty hand against his cheek.

"Promise me that no matter what happens, no matter what grief and anger you may feel one day...that you, cariad, will choose who you become. We are not destined to be anything other than who we choose to be."

"Mum, it's not...if it was truly as easy as just choosing—"

"It is as easy as that. Wolf inside your head or not, my sweet boy. You are one in the same and it is you who gets to make that choice."

This is who he wanted to be. Not some man-turned-monster who allowed himself to revel in the feeling of hurting others. He wanted to be calm, collected. He had never had the bravado that Sirius or James had—had never wanted it. He was comfortable in his worn jumpers and old Beatles t-shirts. He was happy sipping tea with a book and Hermione across from him. He never wanted the gore or the glory of war. He had simply wanted to do what was right.

Once the dough was flattened and the filling spread, Remus rolled it up and sealed it. After cutting the roll he placed the pieces in the oven and finished his tea.

"Is that cinnamon I smell?"

Remus looked up from the counter he was wiping down, a small smile on his lips. "It is."

"You haven't made these in ages," Hermione said, walking over to the pot of tea and pulling a mug down from the cabinet.

"Thought we could use them."

She hummed, "Remus Lupin's chelsea buns cure all."

Remus chuckled, "I'm not sure that's true."

"Wouldn't it be lovely if it were?"

Remus bent to check the window in the oven, making sure the buns were rising properly. A sad smile pulled at his lips, his mum's words still in his mind. "I wish a lot of things were cured so simply," he murmured, more to himself than anything.

Her hand rested between his shoulders and he turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow in question.

"I meant what I said before the moon. Please don't shoulder all of the responsibility of The Order."

"I'll stop when you do," he said, simply.

Maybe it was cowardly. But, he couldn't look into her beautiful, round eyes and tell her that he had enjoyed slamming his fist into Dolohov and that he would do it again in a heartbeat. And the more he thought on it, he didn't regret giving Moony the control. Perhaps his mum had been right. Regardless of how estranged he felt from Moony most of the time, maybe they really were one in the same. Letting Moony take control had felt liberating in a way that he hated to admit he liked.

He felt horrible about Seamus. Regardless of how Hermione tried to take on the blame or say they couldn't have known what would have happened had Remus not gotten off task, Seamus' death was preventable. And, as he pulled the chelsea buns from the oven, he decided that while the freedom had felt good, he knew how to navigate guilt. So, accepting fault for his actions, living with the weight of the war on his shoulders was safer than accepting that he might be more like Moony than he cared to admit. It was his choice to be who he wanted to be, after all.

Wasn't it?


"Remus, mate, it's a travesty that we haven't had these before now," Ron said, around a large mouthful of chelsea bun. "This is the best thing I think I've ever eaten."

"That says a lot, coming from you, Weaselbee. Considering you never stop stuffing your face. It's a wonder your broom can still hold you up," Draco smirked.

"Oi! Fuck you, Ferret."

"Don't let mum hear you say that," Ginny laughed, ignoring her boyfriend and brother's squabbling. "She'll go spare if she thinks someone has out-baked her."

Ron shrugged, "Mum's treacle tart will outweigh anyone else's. She can't be good at making everything."

Hermione watched the exchange between siblings, a small smile on her lips as her eyes landed on a blushing and embarrassed looking Remus.

"It's nothing," he mumbled, taking a sip from his mug.

Harry entered the room looking more exhausted than Hermione had seen him in quite some time, but still sporting a determined glint in his eye. He fell into his usual seat between Blaise and Ron and murmured a thanks to Blaise as he passed him a cup of tea.

"How's Tonks?" Harry asked, looking over to Draco and then, Hermione.

"Not great," Hermione sighed. "We've had to put her under a magically induced coma for the time being."

"What? Why?" Ginny asked.

"While Tonks' blood is ideal for blood replenishment potions because of its ability to be accepted by any person's own blood type, it makes it difficult for us to create a potion for her. Her body isn't accepting any other blood."

"Can't you make a synthetic?" Remus questioned, "I've seen you make them before."

"We could," Draco chimed in, "If she weren't a Metamorphmagus. She needs her own blood type, in order for her body to accept it. And synthesizing Metamorphmagus blood is dangerous. One small cock up and we'll kill her."

"She is healing," Hermoine interjected. "It's just at a much slower rate than either of us would like to see."

"Can you use my blood?" Justin asked, "I've got so much of hers in me, you'd think it would—"

"It's not that simple," Hermione explained. "We don't know if the curse will affect the ability for your blood to be used. And, honestly, I'm just not willing to risk it. The odds of it working are slim to none, and while I can agree that in some circumstances, slim odds are better than doing nothing...it would put you at risk as well. You aren't exactly healthy enough to be giving away the amount of blood we need."

Justin looked as if he wanted to say something else, but then thought better of it. He simply nodded in understanding and snatched a bun from the tray in the center of the table.

"But, she'll be okay?" Harry's eyes remained on Hermione, a familiar question in them. Are we going to lose another person?

"We think so, yes."

Harry let out a slow breath and dipped his chin toward his chest in acceptance of the answer before draining the last of his tea and reaching for the pot to refill his mug. After a few minutes of idle chatter, he cleared his throat and the table fell silent again.

"I believe we have a lead on Dolohov's main headquarters," Harry stated.

Hermione's eyes grew wide and she looked at Remus, who had a similar look of shock on his face.

"What?"

"During the ambush, while Charlie and Justin were inside the tent, Pansy found a Death Eater who was all too keen to loosen his lips in exchange for his life. Bill and Theo have been questioning him over the last couple of days," Harry said. "He gave up a handful of locations, and Bill is confident that one of them is the main headquarters."

"If we captured someone so willing to talk, it's a little suspicious that they'd just give up their main headquarters like that, isn't it? Are you certain it's not a trap?" Hermione asked.

"No," Harry answered, honestly. "No, I have no idea if it's the truth or not. But, given who was captured, I'm inclined to believe that they would know where Dolohov's headquarters are."

"Who was captured?" Remus asked.

"Amycus Carrow," Harry admitted.

"Where is he now?" Ginny asked, her eyes suddenly lit with fire behind them.

"Probably being used as dragon chow, if your brother had any say in it," Draco said, under his breath.

"That'd be too kind for him," Ginny spat.

"It doesn't matter," Harry interrupted. "What matters is that we have a list of locations that we weren't aware of. Bill and Fleur have secured some help in France, should we need it, but I think we'd be stupid not to look into these locations."

"You plan on just charging into other camps," Hermione whispered. It was not a question. Knowing Harry, that was exactly what he was planning.

Harry met her eyes briefly before casting them down to the table, his hands fidgeting around the mug in his grasp. "If we have to, yes."

Hermione felt her blood boil.

She could understand the want—the need—to investigate. To take these locations and pick them apart one by one. She knew that they were becoming desperate for information as more and more people went missing. As more muggleborns were reported as vanished or killed, the rise in sightings of werewolves out of cycle, the blatant over take of the Ministry… None of this was particularly shocking or unexpected. It had been slowly happening for months and now the Death Eaters were gaining the upper hand...again.

Hermione understood the need to do something proactive. To be out on the field and doing something besides botched rescue missions. To further their intelligence and try to gain some sort of strength in knowledge since their strength of numbers had long since dwindled. But, to admit to just charging forth, knowingly putting them all at risk of being captured or killed? They couldn't afford to do that. It was stupid and it was reckless.

As Hermione sat, barely listening to the meeting as it continued on, she seethed. She needed to talk to Harry. She needed to beat some sense into him. He had to see that requesting anyone to investigate any of these locations was a request for them to die willingly for The Order.

The meeting finally came to an end and the room cleared out. Hermione hung back, taking her time to collect her thoughts before approaching Harry. This was a bad idea. He had to see that!

"I'll be up in a few," she said to Remus, "Will you check in on Charlie for me?"

Remus gave her a strange look but nodded, "Sure."

"Thank you."

Finally, as Remus closed the door behind him, Harry looked up from a small stack of parchment that laid before him on the table.

"Hermione…"

"You're sending people to their deaths," she snapped, yanking the chair out from the table and falling back into it. "You're doing the exact same thing Dumbledore did. The thing you swore you would never do."

"I am not asking anyone to die for me," Harry hissed. "I am bringing forward important information that I was presented with. I am telling them the truth!"

"Layered in classic Potter optimism and talk about what we can gain by finding Dolohov!" Hermione argued.

"Classic Potter...what does that even mean? If we apprehend Dolohov, we end this."

"It means you have a way of talking that makes people believe you, whether or not you're right!" Hermione hissed.

"I am right!" Harry shouted, losing what little patience he had. "If we find Dolohov's headquarters, we find Dolohov. We can plan and go to him instead of him showing up at our missions and picking us off one by one!"

"The information came from a Carrow, Harry! Aren't you the least bit suspicious of that?"

"Of course I am!" he snapped, "But, what are we supposed to do? Have you got any better ideas?"

"Just wait until we get the map finished," Hermione begged. "We're so close to figuring it out! If Remus can—"

"We rely too heavily on his knowledge and abilities and you know that."

Hermione inhaled sharply. There it is. The topic she knew he'd be trying to find a way to talk about. Obviously, she knew they relied too much on Remus. She'd been waging war in her own head for months trying to figure out the right course of action. Trying to figure out when the best time to ask him to leave would be. Did Harry honestly believe she hadn't been thinking about it? That it hadn't been consuming her thoughts day and night?

"It would be a waste of him being here if we didn't utilize his strengths to—"

"He shouldn't be here at all, Hermione!" Harry hissed, shoving a hand roughly through his hair, ruffling up the already messy locks and causing them to stick up at even more extreme angles than they already were. "Do you not see what's happening?"

"What are you talking about?"

Harry shook his head, a sarcastic sounding laugh escaping his lips. "Have you already forgotten the Tale of the Three Brothers so easily?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and furrowed her brows together. "What does that have to do with Remus?"

"Everything!" Harry implored, "It has everything to do with Remus! Don't you see? The moral of that story was that you—"

"Can't escape death," Hermione whispered, frowning. "I know the story."

"We have lost someone at nearly every mission since Remus arrived. Justin is dying slowly, Tonks is barely alive… How many more of our people do we have to lose before either of you realize what's happening?"

"I don't understand where you're going with this," she mumbled.

"Death is claiming because he's been robbed of the soul he was promised. Remus is not supposed to be alive in this time, death has already claimed him and he's found a way to cheat."

Hermione scoffed, "You can't honestly expect me to believe that some—some made up entity is claiming lives in place of Remus'? That's ridiculous, Harry. Even for you."

"More ridiculous than a time-travelling werewolf? More ridiculous than muggleborns being forced to turn into dementors? More ridiculous than a twenty year long fucking war?"

Hermione swallowed, her arms dropping back to her sides, "Say what you mean, Harry."

He sighed, his shoulders slumping forward. He rounded the table and stood in front of her, taking both of her hands in his. "Hermione, I love you. You're my family. And I want nothing more for you than to see you happy and loved. But, he's not supposed to be here. And if there's even a slight chance that the both of you meddling with time is causing us to lose this war—don't look at me like that, we're losing and you know it—then he has to return to his own time."

Hermione sniffed, her nose beginning to sting and her eyes burn. She blinked rapidly, clearing the tears clouding her vision. "You're blaming all of The Order's oversights on Remus."

"I'm not blaming anyone for anything," he gave her hands a light squeeze. "I'm putting together pieces of the puzzle that are very clearly labeled. I know some of the others have talked to you about it. They're becoming frustrated and scared because things are not looking good for us."

"So, it's Remus' fault? Because that's what it sounds like. It sounds like everyone in this Merlin forsaken shack is angry and trying to point fingers at someone who has been helpful."

Harry shook his head, finally releasing her hands. "Remus is brilliant. He's skilled with a wand and he's brought some really good ideas to the table. No one is angry...least of all with Remus. But, they are upset with you."

"With...with me?" Hermione recoiled, yanking her hands from Harry's as she stared at him in disbelief.

Harry looked off to the side, his mouth twisted down in thought, the muscles in his face jumping as he worked his jaw. "Remus is a...a side effect of your time spent in 1980—"

Hermione reeled, pulling back her arm to deliver a swift smack to the side of Harry's face. She'd smacked him before, of course, usually playfully or to snap him out of some ridiculous spiral. But, she'd never smacked him in anger. And she was furious.

Harry's hand flew up to his cheek, his other righting his glasses which had been knocked crooked by the force of her palm. His mouth dropped open and he staggered back a few paces, staring at Hermione with wide eyes.

"How dare you call Remus a side effect. How dare you or...or anyone here say that we haven't put any thought into every single move we've made up to this point! I have spent months trying to figure out when to tell him to leave! But, he keeps proving himself useful—so how do you want me to handle this? Ask Remus to leave and lose the only fucking person here who understands what it's like out there?"

"I understand how it is—"

"No you don't!" Hermione roared, "We're just watching history repeat itself over and over! Except instead of it being Voldemort chasing down The Order to get to Lily and James, it's Dolohov chasing us down to pick us all off because we're causing him a headache. The first war was never simply about you! Dolohov has been creating these awful potions and curses for twenty fucking years and he's just gaining power! Voldemort was just the face of it; the voice of scared purebloods wanting to point fingers. This was happening before you were ever born, Harry!"

"Hermione, I know that—"

"Remus has been at the receiving end of hatred his entire life. I saw what he was like when I first got there! Do you think this confidence to voice himself came easily? It came written in blood like every other part of this war! And now we're being punished for being useful?"

"No!" Harry stressed, "No! Neither of you are being punished! But, Hermione, he's not supposed to be here! You knew the risks better than anyone when it came to time travel! Remus was my friend, too!" Harry's palm beat against his chest, his other hand waving around wildly in the space between them as his voice continued to rise. "And I am glad he has you—I'm glad you've finally found someone you can love! But, he can't stay and you need to face that. You need to acknowledge that him being here could very well be the reason we're fucking scrambling!"

Hermione took a slow, calculated breath, taking her time to blow it through pursed lips before sinking back into her chair. She was so very tired, both mentally and physically. She placed her elbows on her knees, cradling her head in her hands as she tried to breathe through the hot anger that was boiling beneath her skin.

After several minutes, she felt Harry kneel in front of her. He grasped her wrists, gently tugging her hands away from her face. His eyes—Lily's eyes—stared up at her and she could see this entire argument had taken its toll on him as well.

"I wish it could be different," Harry murmured. "I wish everything had been different. And I'm sorry that you have to lose another person you love because of me."

Hermione closed her eyes against the tears, biting into her lip as they slid past her lashes. "It isn't your fault. It's never been your fault. I knew the second I fell in love with him that our time was limited. That he could never be mine to keep. I'm just far too selfish to let him go without exhausting every possible option."

"You aren't selfish for falling in love with someone."

She sniffed and looked back down at his face, "I am. Because, I'm trying to keep something that I know isn't mine to keep. And I've ignored the consequences of that to you, The Order...Remus…."

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Me, too."

Harry lurched forward, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. "I love you, I don't want to argue with you or upset you. You know that, don't you?"

Hermione nodded, "I know."

"And I really wish there was a way around it."

"I know you do, Harry."

She clung to Harry for a long time, breathing in the warmth of her best friend's embrace. Thinking hard about the things he had said to her, trying to remove the frustration in the words to what he had been truly trying to convey.

The Order was beginning to fall apart again and everyone was scared. They were losing people left and right; losing hope with every wand that had to be sent to someone's mother because they had perished for a cause that no one could clearly see anymore. They had become stagnant, comfortable, in their false security for too long before Remus stormed in through the front door and they needed something to point fingers at. Remus was not supposed to be alive in this year, thus, he was the catalyst.

"I'm sorry I smacked you," Hermione whispered into Harry's shoulder.

His chest shook as he chuckled. He turned his head to press a kiss to the side of her face, "It's okay. I'm just glad you didn't pull your wand on me. A smack to the face from Hermione Granger, I can handle. Being at the end of your wand…? Not as confident I'd come out of that with my bullocks intact."

Hermione forced out a quiet laugh and finally pulled away from Harry, "We've talked about it, just so you know. He knows he can't stay much longer."

Harry nodded, "I really am sorry, Hermione."

"God, me too," she sighed.


Remus leaned against the doorframe, his forehead pressed against the rough wood. He had come down to ask if another Calming Draught for Charlie would be okay, seeing as the man was visibly in ruins—his hands shaking as he pushed the hair from Tonks forehead. Remus knew what it was like to sit beside the person you love more than anything and watch as their bodies fought to keep going. He knew that pain intimately and was assaulted with memories of Hermione laying, unmoving, on a bed. Leaves and twigs still twisted in her hair from the forest floor of which Remus had found her.

His ears perked when he heard his name in Harry's voice. His hand stilled on the doorknob when he heard a loud smack and then Hermione's rage was practically thrumming through him.

And now, as he listened to Harry and Hermione murmur apologies to one another, he felt his heart sink, his stomach churn. In his desperation to prove himself useful to The Order—to Hermione—he'd turned everyone against her.

Fuck, how he wished chelsea buns really could solve all his problems.

.


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a/n: I know this one was long af and there was quite a bit going on, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! let me know?

Just a heads up, I will be taking a posting hiatus from this story soon! I'm not 100% sure when just yet, but i'll keep you updated! And don't worry, I have a little some some up my sleeve for when the time comes. :)

xo