On The Color Of Fur
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He could hear every shuffle of feet and rustle of fabric, every whispered conversation and cleared throat echoing in the filled classroom and, still, they barely made for a diversion—her arrival trumped it all and he had registered it at once.
No one else, not even Remus himself, smelled of parchment and ink this early in the morning, and the scent of it, tinged with a note that was particular to Hermione—something summery and sweet, like honeysuckle—had wafted into the room like a gentle breeze.
It took everything he had not to look at her, not to single her out and pin her under his stare, so instead, Remus kept his head low and his hands busy, fiddling with lesson plans while tracking her through other means—if he tried, he could pinpoint and count her heartbeats. This close to the full moon, with his senses made even more acute, he could even sniff out Hermione's emotions—only the most primal ones, of course, those that, upon being felt, were accompanied by the release of pheromones. It would, however, have constituted an invasion of privacy to do so, a betrayal of her trust, so Remus did his best to refrain.
He was not predator here, and he wouldn't abuse his power only to settle his mind. Her presence here was enough, it had to be.
Prior to now, part of him had feared Hermione wouldn't show at all, and, if she so chose then Remus would take the matter to Minerva and acquire a special dispensation for her. Theirs was a delicate and unusual situation, and Remus was hesitant to hold any authority over her, lest he harm a much deeper bond than that of teacher and pupil. Hermione had saved his life—any boundary after that had been blurred, but if she decided he had overstepped with his tea invitations and letters, and that she no longer had an interest in associating with him in a teaching capacity, Remus would respect it and devise another way to stand guard and protect her.
That wasn't to mean he hadn't hoped against all hope that she wouldn't withdraw from class. She was brilliant and any lesson would be made poorer to lose her. While she made up her mind on whether or not to come inside, with him waiting on tenterhooks over her call, seconds dragging as though years, Remus kept his head low, unwilling to push her. He had done enough of it already, inflicting truths on her before she was in the right frame of mind to accept them.
Over tea that afternoon, Remus had failed to realise that, by affirming Hermione's blamelessness, he'd also confront her with her weakness, her impotence in the face of everything that had happened.
Actions driven by a lack of options were a recurring theme in the war, but the absolution that came with knowing there had been no better alternative felt nominal at best. That had been Remus' misstep: Hermione had the brightest of minds, an unbeatable logical sharpness, and Remus had mistakenly trusted that an equally logical approach would suffice. He'd done her a disservice, discounting her emotions. Even if he hadn't been ungentle about it, Remus knew better than that.
And so he wrote, begging her return, his plea yet unanswered. But she did show up today, a win on his books even if she ultimately decided to leave, and Remus would do whatever it took not to corner her, even if it involved treating her as just another student for the time being.
He would give her the space, follow her lead wherever it took them. Remus was nothing if not patient. With so many friends lost, he wouldn't risk driving any away, and it was nothing short of a privilege to count her amongst his—Hermione's heart had an incandescent feel to it, a warmth the likes he had only experienced once before. He had loved James and Lily fiercely, but something about her reminded him more of Sirius, though their personalities were stark opposites. He was moth to that flame, but he would wait for her spark, hold his hands to shield it from wind and rain. He knew the war had dimmed it, dimmed her, and he longed to see her light up again.
She deserved to be whole.
In the meantime, Remus had a… not more important per se, but more pressing matter to focus on—the tricky situation of handling a class laden with youthful animosity that had been made ten times worse by the rawness of war. Though as daunting as it seemed, Remus was no stranger to it. The hostility between the Marauders and Severus had never truly ended until their lives had. He wished to prevent a repeat experience.
When setting up the same classroom he had been given many years before, Remus had taken that into consideration as he pondered on its furnishings. He still owned most if not all of what he had brought with him on his first stint as a Hogwarts professor. Part of him had been tempted to leave everything behind and arrange it from scratch, him being the one who pointed out how harmful the pretence of normality was. Yet, in the end, the thought of granting the students a homely feel, to put them at ease with any remnants of familiarity he could conjure had won over. None of them were children anymore, nor were they under any illusion things would ever be as they once were, but small comforts were still just that—comforting.
He knew this group, in particular, to be the most affected by strife, though, so his old gramophone had been left silent—music would have been too loud, too stirring of past memories and the loss of loved ones for them to cope with just yet. All in all, there was little Remus could do to ease the tension. The feud between Slytherins and Gryffindors spanned down generations, and the war was still too vivid for things to cool from just a few words from an old Professor. Sooner or later, something was going to give.
That had been the second reason he'd concentrated on his papers instead of his surroundings—to allow former enemies to occupy the same space, any radical actions deterred by the presence of a teacher, allowing the tension between them to run its course and become less charged.
The classroom door closed with finality and with Hermione on the inside.
His heart settled back in his chest with a relieved flutter.
It was time to begin.
It seemed Remus had been much too distracted by Hermione and his thoughts. In a manner very uncharacteristic of him, he hadn't noticed there was someone who didn't belong in their midst. Not until they made themselves known.
Hermione hurried inside—she had been the last one to enter, it seemed, though she was unsure whether it was due to a conscious decision on her part so as to save herself the agony of the wait or if her almost lateness stemmed from her sluggish, sleep-deprived movements and her earlier trepidation.
Either way, she was perfectly conscious and painfully wired now, the adrenaline over actually making a choice, the least comfortable one to boot, a shock to her system.
The classroom door magically shut behind her with a drawn-out creak and a soft thud, and Hermione shuffled her way to the wall on the right, nearly stumbling as she joined her fellow housemates. Throughout the pep talk she had had to give herself to get in, Remus had been sifting through some papers, seemingly ignorant of the presence of his students, though she suspected it to be merely a veneer of ease. The tension was too oppressive to not be felt, the air almost rarefied from the strain of tense expectation, and Hermione knew Remus enough, had witnessed his keen eye and deep empathetic skills, to believe him oblivious to it all.
Her focus on him was disrupted when, amidst the rift of Slytherin-green and Gryffindor-red, a single Ravenclaw-blue stepped into the centre of the room.
Remus did look up at the unexpected presence, an eyebrow raised. "Miss Lovegood?"
Every head had snapped in Luna's direction, greens and silvers and red and golds a captive audience, the middle of the class now an unprompted stage. She stood relaxed, seemingly unphased or uncaring by their attention, a lock of her long, white-blond hair escaping from behind her ear and tangling on her oddly shaped earring as she lifted to meet the Professor's gaze. "Yes?"
"This class is meant for Gryffindor and Slytherin," Remus clarified patiently as if such occurrences weren't all that unusual, but the norm. Hermione supposed they might be when it came to Luna.
"I do know that, Professor," Luna said, in her usual melodic intonation. "I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
Remus observed her for a moment longer. Then, he nodded. "Very well."
In a manner, being an odd duck had its advantages, Hermione thought. At some point, people stopped trying to fight your eccentricities and started taking them in stride—it was far easier to cave into whimsical behaviour than to fight it.
Remus' gaze travelled over the other students then, her chest constricting as it lingered a second longer on her. Either cowardice or shame had her own falling to the ground.
Remus cleared his throat. "Please form pairs so we can start."
Before everyone could begin to shuffle around and obey, Luna made her way towards none other than Draco Malfoy.
"Would you care to be my pair, Draco?"
The room stopped. And all hell broke loose.
A/N: This was a hard one to write, but I think I'm pretty happy with how it turned out (I look forward to hearing your thoughts on it, so let me know if you can!)
Hope you guys enjoyed it! 3