Chapter 92: Tempus Edax Rerum*

9 June 1980

Greyback's Camp, Whinfell Forest

He left her.

Alone in the forest. Exactly where Greyback had first found them.

And he left her.

Hermione closed her eyes, an arm reaching out to brace herself against the hart-horn tree. Besides his words, Remus leaving her alone told her just how much she had hurt him. Hermione opened her eyes and looked at the plaque beneath her hand, the paw print just sticking out from under her thumb. Sirius. Gods, did Remus run right to him? Tell him the dirty truth and turn him against her? She'd been here before though, hadn't she? Alone at the edge of a forest, unknowingly about to seek comfort in a hostile Sirius Black. Only this time she wouldn't have Remus by her side.

Hermione took a shaky breath, glancing around her while simultaneously taking catalogue of her things. Purse. Wand. Check. She closed her eyes once more, and before she apparated away, she screamed into the evening air all the pain and frustration and anger and loss inside of her.

The Shelter

She apparated to the gate, as far as she could get from the door and just outside the wards. The night was only just starting to color the sky, only the faintest hint of stars winking down at her. She was too scared to face the house now, so she waited at the gate, waiting, just staring ahead at the cottage before her, lights filling the windows. She didn't know if Remus was there, but Sirius was home. He was there, just inside and she knew he'd missed her, but Hermione just couldn't bring herself to reach for shelter.

She just couldn't move, despite her anger disappearing the second she'd touched down. This was Remus. She knew him better than anyone at this point. This secret—because it was still very much a secret—was now his to carry, and it would take much more than its revelation for him to tell Sirius. In his eyes, the sword he now held above Hermione's head was double-edged and he could not cut her without killing himself. No, he wouldn't have told Sirius, not yet at least, and that alone gave Hermione a momentary burst of hope. She started up the path to the house.

The door flung open. "You're home."

And suddenly arms were around her and she smelled warm leather and whiskey and she could feel the heat of his body under her hands as she hugged him back and gods did he bring her back to herself. She almost cried.

"I'm home, Sirius." Except she wasn't. She was stuck and lost and broken and terrible and—

Sirius' thumb grazed her cheek, so soft her eyes fluttered close at his gentle touch, like he understood her fragility in that moment. "You've blood on your face."

"It's nothing." But her words did little to unfurrow his brow. She tried not to lean too far into his touch, feeling like she was stealing the last remains of her time, waiting for the drop. "Where's Remus?" Her heart in her throat, she breathed in the scent of the house, searching for him and answering her own question in the process.

"Just missed him, love. Said he was poppin' over to HQ to give Dumbledore the report." All at once, Sirius sounded nonchalant, relaxed, like Hermione's blood wasn't still on his hand. He smiled at her, swaying on his feet. Did he just wink? "So you can stay right here and you don't have to leave again." Oh, he was drunk.

Hermione noticed the extent of his inebriation as the noise and scents from the house fully filtered through her shock. There was laughter and music and people and they were loud.

"What—" Hermione tried to peek around Sirius where he held her. "Sirius, who's here?"

"Oh you know, just a couple of friends." He stepped back from her, hands still holding her shoulders. "Didn't know you two'd be coming home tonight, otherwise I'd have made sure the pack was here."

"That's not James and Lily?" Hermione moved around him through the open door. The house wasn't full per say, but for a little cottage a few people always felt like a lot.

Someone walked by Hermione and reached out to pat her back. "Hiya!"

Hermione turned but they were gone. She blinked, looking around the house. There were some faces she recognized from Order meetings, some she didn't. She blinked again. She didn't recognize this music. Turning to face Sirius once more, Hermione was caught by the look on his face. There was a solemn glow to him, like he was drawing in light from the laughter and noise around him, but it was a false feeding. His eyes were shaded and dark circles sat underneath like sentries. His hair was unstyled and wild. He wore a familiar black t-shirt, but his arms were spotted with some of the marks Hermione recognized only from his future. Two months. She'd been gone two months and he—Hermione saw a glimpse of the man he would become.

She closed her eyes, the noise swelling with the threat of crashing over her, pulling her down. Sirius' arm was hot around her waist, but he'd caught himself in a conversation with a man Hermione couldn't name. They were joking and laughing, and the man's cup shook in his hand as he gestured around, spilling sticky drops down Hermione's arm. Her jaw clenched. There were people sitting on her couch, rummaging around her kitchen, thumbing through her music. Hermione's throat started to close. She blinked and her eyelashes rose wet.

"Sirius." Her arms raised on their own to paw at his side until he turned, eyes glassy but fully focused on her.

"Yeah, love?"

"I'm—" She swallowed the tremor. "I'm just exhausted is all. I'm going to head up to bed."

"You just got home." His eyes turned round and open. "Stay a bit. I'll grab you a drink."

She caught him before he could slip away. "I know. I know, but enjoy the rest of your night. You've got all these people here. We'll catch up in the morning, okay?" She managed a smile.

"Okay." A playful grin slid back across his lips. He leant down to place a whiskey-infused kiss to her temple. "Night, love."

"Good night, Sirius."

Hermione stepped upstairs, slowly and carefully, her whole body focused on keeping itself together as she escaped to her bedroom down the hall. Once safe behind the door, Hermione silenced her room. Walking through the steps of the ritual for Dolohov's gifts reminded her of just another reason she'd lost Remus' trust. And it was all suddenly becoming too much. She ripped off her clothes, throwing them haphazardly wherever they landed before pulling out her wand. Repeated evanescos did little to truly clean the garments, but they did enough to rid them of Greyback's scent. And Remus'.

She tried not to think about it, about anything, as she climbed into the shower. Noise still hummed in her ears, but her thoughts spiraled on their own accord, repeating Remus' words over and over and over and over again.

"You're the worst thing I've ever done."

She choked on a sob. How had it all gone so wrong? How did she mess this up so badly? Why—Merlin, why had she never planned to tell him? She knew what this would mean to him, do to him. Remus' voice came back to her.

"None of it fucking matters. It never did."

She wanted to be angry at him for the things he'd said, for the way he reacted, but she couldn't. No matter how the truth came out, the blow would have always hit him hard.

"Everything's changed."

The water went cold, but Hermione stayed under the spray to shiver and suffer, some small form of penance. She shut her eyes, swallowing around the lump in her throat and blinking as her lips pulled down, her chin quaking unbidden. What was she supposed to do now?

She turned off the water, standing still for a moment to let the chill set in before she stepped onto cold tile, dripping puddles under her feet. She reluctantly grabbed a towel, drying herself only enough so her clothes wouldn't stick to her skin. Something was fighting the freeze within her, climbing up her chest back into her throat. Hermione moved half-stumbling to her bedside and reached for her beaded bag, both hands diving inside in search of something, anything that could help her, ground her, remind her she was safe. But it was all tainted. It all carried whiffs of wolves she'd grown to hate. She pulled the strings shut and turned to her dresser.

Something, gods, there had to be something. She let her hands find what she needed, digging through folds and soft fabric to pull out a worn sweater. The pattern was horrifically 70s, but in this moment it was the most precious thing she had. She'd stolen it from Remus the Christmas they'd spent cuddled in his bed at his parents' after the full moon. He'd watched her take it for herself with something so fierce in his eyes and he'd never asked for it back. Now, alone and quiet in her room, she pulled it over her head, bringing the fabric to her nose. The scent had faded with time, but this sweater had been Remus' long before it had been hers. He still clung there, like a memory. The woods just after rain, old books and some kind of dark spice that she couldn't place. It smelled like security and safety. Like shelter.

As Remus' scent settled in her chest, Hermione's heart was gripped with a sudden intense homesickness she couldn't quite understand. She wasn't longing for the Shelter. She was there. And she wasn't longing for Harry and Ron. There wasn't even a suggestion of guilt that she should be. It wasn't even a desire to be tucked behind the little blue door with her parents. No, what held her prisoner was scary and dark and something she'd never felt before. She felt lost and adrift and so utterly alone, homesick for some other world.

Hermione crawled into bed, trying to make herself small, unassuming. She threw out a hand, wordlessly and wandlessly summoning the stuffed black rabbit she'd snuck in her beaded bag weeks before. She pulled it violently to her chest as if pressing hard enough would weld it to her body like armor. There was pain and emptiness and a numbness that felt alien within her. She wanted to tear at the sides of her chest to cave in and fill the void.

"I want to go home," she whispered to herself as she buried her face in pillows, still not knowing what home she called for. And she cried, because she didn't know if she would ever feel at home again. Because Remus was her home. Outside of time, outside of the bite, outside of everything that had happened, he had become her home, her shelter, her safety net. He was her confidant and teacher and the hand she held in the dark.

She fisted the sweater at her chest as if she could clutch at her own heart and breathed in. Security. Safety. Shelter. She needed—she needed—It wasn't enough, but it was all she had.

She slipped toward sleep breathing him in, and she pictured him—all of him, younger and older, spanning time. When more of Remus' words came to her, she couldn't tell if they were in his voice or hers.

"Please don't hate me."

The Lupins' Home

For the first time in weeks, Remus' mind was completely his own and he hated it. He felt empty and lost and broken and angry and heartbroken and betrayed and ugly and monstrous and—numb. Above it all, he just felt numb. Moony was quiet. Pup was gone. He was alone. Again.

He apparated to the Shelter first. He almost didn't, but Sirius had a right to know he was okay. He wanted Sirius to know he was okay, even if the words turned to ash on his tongue.

He left as soon as he could, leaving lies in his wake as he flooed over to Headquarters.

He gave his report to Dumbledore and to his credit his voice never wavered. Dumbledore could see through him, obviously, but Remus couldn't quite bring himself to care. The numbness had settled nicely over him now. The edges of the world dulled and the quiet space in his mind didn't ask anything of him. For the first time in his life, Remus didn't tell Dumbledore the whole truth.

He left as soon as he was allowed, walked out the front steps and into the street, waiting, waiting until he felt brave enough to apparate.

When he did, he took the walk to the door slow, giving himself time to run, knowing he couldn't bring himself to. He paused on the stoop before knocking, suddenly afraid.

The door opened anyway. "Remus."

And for a brief moment, he thought everything just might be okay. "Hi, mum."

The Shelter

Sirius came to her room at four in the morning. The little sleep she'd been able to manage had slipped away with the early hours. She'd taken her spells down around three, thankful the house was once again quiet and busied herself with listening to Sirius move about downstairs. He was cleaning, she assumed, moving methodically room to room. She wondered if he'd been sleeping at all. He cleaned the whole of the downstairs before reaching for the lower cabinet in the kitchen. The creak of the cupboard. The small pop of a cork. Silence for a beat.

"Fuck." The whisper just barely reached her ears. It wasn't relief. There was a tinge of something shadowed.

Hermione held her breath as Sirius climbed the stairs. He paused at the top. She exhaled. He started to move, stopping just outside her door. Hermione closed her eyes, breathing him in. Leather. Dark berries. Whiskey, strong but fading to its usual notes on the back of the salt of a sober-up potion. She waited. He knocked.

For a moment, she thought to stay silent, to stick to her loneliness. For just a moment, she thought to push him away, but then she was grabbing for the little stuffed rabbit and tucking it under her pillow before turning back to the door.

"Come in."

The door opened. She sat up, braced against the pillows. She knew she looked a mess, tear stained and haggard as she waited. Waiting. He didn't move.

"Can I come in?" His fingers brushed the doorframe. "Is that okay?"

"Please," she said, asking for more than she could articulate.

Sirius closed his eyes, sighing out the last of the sober-up fumes. He took a breath before crossing over, eyes downcast. Hermione pushed back the covers, preempting his next hesitancy. He smiled sadly, climbing in beside her.

"Can I hold you?" This time he was already reaching for her, pulling her into his chest so he could wrap his arms around her. For the first time in two months, Hermione felt her bones relax. She started to tear up instantly.

"Sirius—"

"Shh, love, I know. Just let a man have his reunion for a moment." He held her tight, the pressure easing her deeper into calm, unrelenting until he decided he needed more.

He stroked her arm, her side, the bits of her leg he could reach. It wasn't a burning touch, heading somewhere unbridled, but it was focused, caring. He was checking for wounds, scars, anything he could fix. Hermione closed her eyes, knowing her pain was somewhere he couldn't reach, but all the while healing ever so slightly as he spoke to her, softly with delicate words like a soft breeze to chase away her darker thoughts.

"You're okay, love. You're home. You're back. It's over and you can rest. You were gone so long, so long. This house wasn't the same without you. Fuck, it was so empty and quiet. Close your eyes, love. You can relax. You're safe. You're home. And I'm right here, love. I'm here if there's anything you need."

Hermione started to cry, little breaths escaping as she clung to his words like a lifetime. Gods, but she could picture them in Grimmauld Place, him holding her with scarred and weathered arms, the chair he'd vacated just out of reach. She could picture it, the walls of the room she'd claimed, the familiar creaks of Ron and Harry wandering the halls. So long, she'd been gone so long. And he'd made her promise to come back, hadn't he? And here she was, she'd kept the promise this time. She'd come back, just not far enough. Not yet. Sirius' hand moved to her hair, running his fingers through her curls to reach the tenderness of her scalp. Hermione rolled over into him, burrowing into her place in his chest before she lifted her eyes to his.

"You came back."

"I'm back."

"I—" he breathed. "I didn't know."

"It was a sudden decision."

"I would have—"

"I know."

"I'm so sorry I wasn't—"

"I know."

"Are you okay?"

She didn't know how to answer. "Physically?" Hermione cringed at her attempt at humour.

"All of it, Pup."

She clenched her eyes shut. "No."

"Do you need to talk about it?"

"Probably."

"Are you ready to?"

She wiped a hand under her face, smearing at the tears that had pooled where her cheek met his skin. "No."

"Is it okay if I stay with you tonight? I just—Pup, I just need to hold you."

She nodded, not trusting herself with anything else. "Thank you."

Sirius' hands stilled in her hair, moving to hold her tighter to him, melding her to his side. "I missed you."

"I missed you so much."

"I'm so glad you came back. Fuck, I'm so glad you're back."

The birds outside started to trill, a warning of the impending new day. The room though was silent but for a set of breaths slowly synchronizing. Sirius fell asleep first, his grip on Hermione loosening at last. She blinked away a bit of the haze of exhaustion, looking up to his face. In rest, the shadows of the older Sirius had disappeared. He was young again, but there was a pulling at the corners of his eyes that promised suffering. Hermione shifted on to one elbow, placing a kiss to his temple, willing the magic in her to heal him.

He slept on and her gaze fell with the weight of her eyelids, catching on the ink she'd only seen peeking through the open of his shirt when she'd first come home. Now on full display, four runes sat heavy on his chest. She'd taken enough ancient runes for two lifetimes to know what he'd intended.

Fehu, for wealth. Jera, she guessed he'd chosen it for the times it meant good year. Othila, for heritage, and raido, a journey. Seperately they held enough meaning for a heavy analysis, but as Hermione traced the black lines down the center of his chest, she read the runes as the word they made up. Fehu, jera, othila, raido. Fjor, for life.

June 1980

The Shelter

In the week that followed, the Shelter felt like someone else's home. There was a pile of new records Hermione had never heard before. A coat in the closet someone had left and never picked up. And Sirius had changed, too. She caught glimpses of his other new tattoos. They weren't many, but she knew he only adorned his skin with meaning.

In the soft parts of the back of his left hand, between his thumb and forefinger, a symbol for mortality.

Under his right knee, curving up like a smile, the phases of the moon. His leg hair had already grown back to partially obscure like evening clouds.

He carried other marks too. A few new scars across his forearms and a healing burn left from a hex on the plane of his back. She'd seen it when he'd left her room the morning after she'd returned.

Remus officially moved out, in a way. He'd snuck in during the one day Hermione had left to visit Ben. Remus told Sirius his mum had convinced him to visit for a week or so. Hermione knew it would be more.

And people kept coming through the Shelter. It was living up to its name more than ever. There were always people there. Hermione tried, for a bit, though her heart wasn't in it, so more often than not, she made herself as scarce as she could. She didn't like being around people at the moment.

But there was a night or two when she caved to the begging in Sirius' eyes and joined him, surrounded by people and noise and laughter and life, but it was lonely. Because she couldn't talk about it, not with anyone. The only person who could have understood was Regulus. And she could never tell the others—would never—if and when they ever knew the truth of what happened in the time she'd been gone was entirely up to Remus. And she didn't think he would, but the thought alone scared her because she would lose them all, her home. So she didn't talk about it. Even when Sirius asked. She put on a smile and told him she was just happy to be home.

15 June 1980

Potter Manor

"They arrived separately." Lily pulled James around the corner back into the kitchen under the guise of grabbing an extra bottle of wine.

"I know." James wasn't looking at her, his eyes tracking through the couple of bottles they had tucked in a cabinet.

"Don't you think that's odd?" she huffed, a hand instinctively raising to her stomach.

"That they apparated separately instead of all together. For most people, no. For them?" He held out a bottle for her approval. "This one's fine, right?"

Lily waved a hand, ignoring the question. "He arrived five minutes after them."

"I know. Which wouldn't be strange—"

"For you and me, sure, because we're independent people who don't have to constantly be within arm's reach. The three of them?"

"It's a wonder they even sleep in separate rooms." James ran both hands through his hair, the wine now forgotten on the counter. "So something happened, right? Must have. What do you reckon?"

"It's not Remus and Sirius. They're—Well, they seem mostly fine."

"And Sirius hasn't stopped touching Hermione since they got here."

"I—" Lily pursed her lips, as if speaking her thoughts would give them power. "All we know from their time with the packs is what Dumbledore has shared. They didn't come back with allies. So it was just the two of them, out there facing whatever they faced. I think—God, I don't even know what I think, but I know there's more to what they went through than just failing to recruit anyone to our cause."

"But it's Pup and Moony." James looked back toward the dining room. "What could have happened out there?"

"I don't know, love. I don't know."

"I'll ask Remus."

"James, no." Lily reached out to grab his arm. "No, no, no. They've been home a week. There's bound to be some transition time to reentry. Just—we'll keep an eye on them. Best case scenario, they're back to their usual selves in no time."

"Worst case?"

Lily let her hand fall to catch James'. "Let's just keep an eye on them, okay?"

Merlin, it was painful, frosty and cold and detached. They didn't talk other than a hello under watching eyes and a hug rushed to avoid clinging to memory. Remus didn't look at her. Hermione didn't look at him, but every part of her was aware of him. She was quieter than normal, sitting on the other side of Sirius, but she couldn't care less. She sank into the proximity, drinking in his presence and scent like it was her last chance.

Remus, on the other hand, talked to fill the space between them, hoping his words would do enough to plaster the distance so no one would notice.

"Alice, Frank, lovely to see you both."

"Diagon still noisy as ever, Pete?"

"You all ready for a baby?"

Conversations skated the surface, covering too much too fast to delve into something deeper. But if it was rushed, it was only because of the thrumming from Remus and Hermione, even in her silence. We're here now. We're back. What did we miss?

It carried on through the meal, Hermione driving herself spare as she fell victim to turning to Remus when he laughed. Was this how breakups felt? She'd never known. But this ache to be beside him when he was right there, it was unbearable.

"My mother won't admit it but she's a bit put out we're not having a girl," Frank was saying. "She wants a little version of herself, I think."

"He's going to be wonderful."

Hermione blinked at the sudden silence, wondering who had stalled the conversation before realizing it had been herself. She forced a smile, nodding to herself. "He's going to be wonderful. He'll be brave and kind and his friends will be very lucky to have him."

The others were just sort of staring at her; she didn't know. A sudden burst of emotion flowered in her chest, making her think of the days she tried to conquer her emotions from the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place. The fraying rope in her mind was old and weathered.

"Sorry, I'm just going to—" She pushed back, having to scramble to stop her chair from toppling over. "I'll just be a moment." She couldn't get out of the room fast enough, pulling herself around the corner to catch her breath.

A chair scraped. Whispers.

"No." Soft and sure. "Let me."

Hermione focused on her breathing, trying her best not to picture Neville's face in the halls of St Mungo's as Alice handed him a chewing gum wrapper. Breathe, Hermione, breathe. She turned to happier memories. Neville on the train. Neville winning Gryffindor the house cup. Neville's secret recipe for the perfect spiced butterbeer. Neville dancing at the Yule Ball. Neville's creative curses under his breath in Snape's class. Neville practicing with the DA. Breathe.

"Hermione." It was Lily who'd come for her. "You okay?"

Breathe, Hermione.

"Just need a minute?"

Breathe.

"Mind if I join you? Feels good to get my legs moving." A hand on her arm. "Can we walk a bit? Just down the hall?"

Breathe. Hermione nodded, feeling like a lost child as Lily guided her on.

"68 days is a lot, isn't it?"

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"You were gone 68 days. We kept track, every day."

"You did?"

"Of course." Lily reached for Hermione's hands, holding them tight. "Off on your own. No contact? Of course, we did. It was all we could do besides worrying. And we were—all of us—worried sick the whole time. James cried when he heard you all were back, you know. Don't tell him I told you. He had the upmost faith in you all, but we were so scared. It's just trying times and all that, people going missing or—" She stopped herself. "You and Remus are so precious to all of us, but to our boys? James and Sirius? I had half a mind to demand Dumbledore call you home just for them. I hope you know how much they love you."

Hermione averted her gaze, her lips pursing as she tried to keep them from trembling. "I know."

Lily squeezed her hands. "And I hope you know that you are not alone. I'm not going to pretend like I know what you two went through out there, but—" She took a second to breathe, speaking slowly and softly, treading careful ground. "Maybe you should talk about it? It doesn't have to be with me or Sirius or even Remus, but I think—It's okay to talk about it, you know, our struggles. You don't have to go through it alone."

When they get back to the table, the conversation's shifted.

"—saw him in Diagon a week or so ago now."

"Shame I wasn't the one who saw him, if you ask me."

"Good thing nobody did," James said, eyeing Lily reentering the room. Lily raised an eyebrow. James nodded, his eyes darting back over to Sirius.

"Do we have to do this every time, Sirius?" Lily relinquished Hermione's hand to reclaim her seat.

"Every time that twat comes up? Yeah, 'fraid so."

"Who are we talking about?" Hermione sat beside him, Sirius' arm immediately wrapping across the back of her chair.

"Snape."

Hermione's head snapped to Remus. His eyes were on his plate, but his face was beginning to pink. He clearly hadn't meant to address her. Hermione breathed. She glanced between Sirius and Lily. "Done with his mastery then?"

"Record time, too." Lily smiled. "Only took him ten months."

Hermione nodded, ready for the conversation to move along. She had no intention of wasting a single thought on Severus Snape.

"Ten months, wow." Sirius and Hermione both leveled glares at Alice, who unseeing continued the train of thought. "What's his specialty? Do you know?"

"Oh, erm, no, but from what I've heard he's been impressing all the old masters with blending potions and defense against the dark arts topics."

"Think it's just dark arts for him, love."

"Sirius, you can leave if you want."

"Fine where I am."

Lily stared daggers before turning back to Alice. "That's what I've heard anyway."

"Same as me," Frank said, sipping the dregs of his wine glass. "Heard he's working on the effects of potions on dark creatures or what not. Something about bypassing inherent resistances."

Remus couldn't help but seek out Hermione's gaze then, their thoughts going hand-in-hand. Stay, Hermione willed him to hear her thoughts. Look at me. Please. Stay. A flash of sadness, regret. Remus looked away. He'd once told her he didn't believe they had mates, fated partners. He'd said otherwise they'd feel the empty space, the loss without them. Hermione wondered if he felt the loss now. Like she did.

Chapter Title Translation: *Time, Devourer of All Things