Part of her had, with a sick sense of self-loathing, hoped she would have one of the nightmares when she slept, and that Lupin would be there in her dreams to see the hurt he had caused her firsthand.

But no. She had fallen into a disturbed sleep just before the sky started to lighten, and had tumbled around in black unconsciousness until a knock came at her bedroom door, stirring her out of the dark.

Hermione's eyes snapped open, as if she had barely been asleep in the first place, and she got out of bed, stretching. Her limbs felt achy, and her head throbbed a little too, though she didn't know if that was from her couple of Butterbeers the night before or the prolonged cry she'd had before bed. She expected it was probably the latter. As she processed these sensations, the details of the evening came flooding back to her, the most succinct definition of "rude awakening" she'd ever experienced.

"It is said to show your most honest and deepest desires…"

"What do you see in it?"

"Oh, Hermione…"

"We can't."

Her stomach twisted painfully, and she again wondered if it was from the hurt and embarrassment, or simply that she was much more of a lightweight than she'd ever guessed. Knock knock. Knuckles rapped against her bedroom door once more.

"Coming, coming…" Hermione muttered, swinging her legs out of the bed and stretching. She was thankful that she hadn't put on a nightgown before going to sleep, though she hurriedly peeled off Lupin's cardigan before hurrying to the door. Attempting to smooth her unruly hair back, she opened it.

It was Ron.

He leaned against her doorframe, a small smile creasing his face as he saw her. He looked flushed. She recognized the look - he was nervous, charged up. "Hi."

"Morning, Ron." They stared at each other a moment, before Hermione coughed and stepped backward. "Ah - come in."

"Can't stay long," he responded, but entered the room anyway. Hermione took a deep breath and closed the door behind him. Ron looked around the room, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "A private dormitory? Bloody hell."

"It's a new thing," she responded quickly, always embarrassed by any perception of privilege. "All of the Eighth Years got one."

"'Eighth Years'," he responded, smiling wider. "Trust you to invent an extra grade at Hogwarts." She smiled lightly at this. He'd said it with a touch of awe, rather than the annoyance that would've tinged his words just a few years before. Ron scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck, continuing to look around the room - probably trying to avoid her gaze. "So, ah, about last night…"

"Ron…"

"No, let me get this out," he replied, a darker blush blooming across his cheeks. "I, ah…I'm really glad that…that happened. And I just wanted you to know that…it was something I wanted to happen for a long time. But I don't want to push you into anything. I know you're…" His eyes fell on a precarious stack of thick spellbooks teetering on the corner of her desk. "Busy."

Hermione stepped forward, reaching unthinkingly to take his hand, the way she would've at any other time to comfort him when he needed. But this wasn't any other time. Things were different now. Her fingers froze in the air, and after a short moment, she pivoted her hand to gently grasp his shoulder in what she hoped was a friendly, comforting way. "You and Harry are my best friends, Ron." His eyes finally made their way back to hers, just in time for her to see them fall in anticipation of what she would say next. "And so I just want to make sure everything is right," she continued, quickly. "I am busy, but also, so are you. Auror training. And we don't…" She fought for the words. She was good at thinking, not talking. "We don't want to rush anything. Especially when both of us have such little time…and won't see each other very much this year."

"You're right," he conceded, but he sounded disappointed nonetheless.

"I'm glad, Ron," Hermione said. "I am glad we kissed." And she meant it - but more because of what it confirmed. She loved Ron so, so much. But as a friend. Now, she knew that for sure.

He smiled again, softly, bolstered by her words. "I wasn't rubbish?"

Hermione laughed, surprised at his show of vulnerability. "No, of course not."

"I was worried when you disappeared last night," he replied.

Shit. She hadn't yet thought of a good excuse for her whereabouts the rest of the evening - she had expected to have more thinking time. "I…" The wheels in her brain whirred creakily. "I was nervous. I just needed time to think."

"I made you nervous?" questioned Ron, grinning slyly.

She swatted at him. "Don't let it go to your head, Ronald."

Smiling, Ron pulled out a pocket watch, glanced at it, then slid it back into his pocket. He opened his arms to her for a hug. "Friends, at least?"

She smiled back, hugging him tightly. "Friends. Of course. Have to go?"

Hermione felt him nod against her hair. "I'm not used to actually trying to be places on time." He pulled away. "I'll see you soon?" She nodded back. Ron turned to leave, hand on the doorknob, then looked back at her over his shoulder. "There's no one else, right? No one I'll need to duel for your affections?"

She stared at him, certain that her own face must be flushing as dark as his had when they'd begun this conversation. The second kiss from the night before ghosted across her lips - warm, insistent, delicious. Impossible. Hermione shook her head. "No. No one else." She wasn't lying, exactly.

He smiled in response, satisfied. "Good." And then he was gone.

—

Hermione spent the rest of the morning puttering around the dormitory room, not wanting to go downstairs to the Great Hall and risk running into Lupin - or, for that matter, Tonks - as she helped herself to the morning array of breakfast foods. She curled into her armchair and read a little, but, frustratingly, realized that she was digesting absolutely nothing of the words she was consuming. So, with a heavy sigh, she decided to take her time in the bedroom's small but private bathroom - she could still smell the Butterbeer on her skin from the night before, along with another musky scent swirled in that she feared was the remnants of Lupin's kiss, marking her like a scar. Every time she caught that scent, the lingering smoky papery smell that she so loved breathing in when he leaned over her to read the latest scribblings she'd made on her parchment during class, she was torn between breathing in more deeply, letting herself drown in it…or wanting to frantically rub it off of her flesh, a reminder of her shame from the night before. She couldn't yet decide what she wanted, so she instead drew herself a bath.

The water was scalding hot as she slowly dipped inside the washbasin, and it was perfumed with lavender and chamomile and a half-dozen other cozy scents whose oils had poured out of the many small taps attached to the bath. The burning feeling of the bath was comforting - a reminder of the tangibility of certain things - but her skin also felt oddly tender this morning, bruised without any visible signs of injury. She could see in the wall mirror that her chest was flushed even before she had dipped even a toe in. She felt feverish, but was certain she wasn't ill. It was a feeling beyond logic, and that made her uncomfortable.

Hermione laid her head back against the porcelain wall of the bath and let her thoughts drift as the tiny bubbles made by the perfumed oils popped around her. At first, she let herself just experience the events of the prior evening once more, without holding back or judging herself or adding in any other additional context. Those few minutes were heaven. Here, in the hot bath with her mind addled by lavender and steam, she could feel the taste of Remus against her lips again…the softness of the pink flesh that first nervously, then hungrily near-devoured her own; the light scratching of the hair on his beard against her hot and blushing cheeks, the feeling of his strong, broad hand on the small of her back, pressing her body into his, desperate to get even a whisper closer to her. She felt again the scar that carved his face into two against the soft pads of her fingertips, heard the soft near-moan she had made as she sunk in closer to him. Fuck's sake, did I moan? she chastised herself, but stopped the thought soon after she had thunk it. This was her pre-logic time, her emotion time. It was necessary to experience this before she developed her plan to deal with the rest of it.

Sinking back underneath the memory once more, she let herself relive the moment where they had pulled away from each other, that one moment before it all fell apart, where everything felt giddy and exhilarating and full of possibility. Lupin had looked down at her with such tenderness, it almost made her certain that he really had felt something for her. His lovely green eyes - not emerald like Harry's, but the color of trees in the spring, verdant and earthy and lively - had looked at her with such affection, the smile on his face so soft and sweet, his lips still flushed with the remnants of their contact. Hermione shivered, despite the scalding heat of the bathwater. Gooseflesh prickled up across her arms, and she felt a delirious tumbling feeling in her stomach that she had only experienced a few times before, but had been experiencing more often as of late. Almost mortified, she realized that what she was experiencing was arousal. Bone-deep, needy, desperate arousal.

She attempted to drop a proverbial bucket of cold water on herself - she forced herself to remember Lupin pulling Tonks into his cabin the night prior, and what that surely meant. After all, she was aware they'd had some kind of romantic relationship. Why wouldn't they resume it under these circumstances? But, though jealousy did twinge in her ribcage like a knife slashing at her heart, the arousal didn't go away. Unfortunately, her forced memory had what was the opposite affect - instead of making her upset enough to be turned off, she found herself wondering what Lupin had done when that cabin door had closed. Did he kiss Tonks like he'd kissed her? Or was it more ferocious- animal? Did he like to make love, or did the wolf take over in bed, rendering him a carnal monster of desire once everything got underway? Both options sounded perfectly wonderful to Hermione, in different ways. Still feverish and frustrated, she imagined what it would be like to have him leaning over her in bed, his chest bare and covered with scars and soft, sandy brown hair mingled with small glimmers of grey, like the hair over his temples. She imagined raking her nails across his chest, and what it would be like if he grinded against her. She also imagined what it would be like being on top of him…and, though she hadn't yet experienced full-on sex, she had a feeling her imaginings were a pretty good facsimile. She could see herself riding him, feel his hands almost clawing into her back, desperate to get her closer, somehow closer.

Yes - both making love with Lupin and primally fucking him seemed like very, very good options to her illogical mind at the moment.

Now that she was a in a state of near-irrationality, Hermione knew that she had to pull herself back; she could not give in to her emotions, not when she knew it was simply a pointless avenue to venture down. He had said they couldn't, and though her emotional side had indeed responded to him after that declaration, she understood his reasoning, and knew that she simply was not worth him going against his principles. And, besides, who knew if he even fancied her at all? He'd made it clear that she'd made a fool of herself, in the kindest way he could manage. No matter how many more febrile daydreams she had about their kiss, he had responded with a definitive No, and she wasn't one to push boundaries like that. Well, not with him. She had a feeling if it was Harry or Ron, it would've been different…she would've been more insistent…but this was Remus. For some reason, she wanted him to lead the way, and in his opinion, there was no way. So that was that.

Hermione jumped out of the bath, and the rush of cool air against her burning skin had the desired effect - her brain was overcome by the change in temperature and finally made the switch over from titillated to uncomfortable. It was time to face the day, and face what the rest of this year would bring.

— — —

The next day, Hermione was disappointed to realize that she had another session with Dr. Wendt scheduled for one of her study periods. It wasn't that she didn't like the therapist - she did. But she knew she wouldn't be able to talk about what had happened that weekend, and anything else currently going on seemed fairly trivial compared to that. But she had promised McGonnagall, so she would at least attend in good faith.

This time, as Hermione entered the sitting room, Draco Malfoy was already on one of the poufs, flipping through a copy of Goblins and Ghoul-Slayers as he waited. However, once he heard Hermione walk in, he stood up sharply, the book thunking to the floor beside him. She stopped in her tracks. "Malfoy," was all she could think to say.

"Granger."

They stared at each other for several long moments, and Hermione had a very good feeling they were thinking about the same thing - her torture at Malfoy Manor at the hands of Malfoy's aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, and all that followed. She clenched her jaw. Along with the carnage of the Battle of Hogwarts and the too-long moments she thought that Harry had been murdered, the abuse that Bellatrix had giddily inflicted on her was among the very worst experiences of her life. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Draco pull on the sleeve of his cloak, and realized that he was unconsciously trying to cover up his Dark Mark. She looked down at her own forearm, and saw the ugly MUDBLOOD scar scrawled into the skin there. Hermione held her arm out to him. "Seems we both have things we'd rather forget."

Draco's eyes widened as he gazed down at her scar, and he let go of his sleeve, realizing what he had been doing as she walked in. Recovering himself, he lifted his chin defiantly. "I've no idea what you mean."

"Come off it, Malfoy," she retorted, putting her hands on her hips. "We both have scars, don't we?"

He stared at her some more, and Hermione was almost annoyed at his response. Where was the snide little snake when she wanted to work off some frustrated energy? This Malfoy was hollow, joyless - even in his little cruelties, he'd always taken some fun in it. But there was no fun in Draco Malfoy now. He glanced at the closed door to Wendt's office, and she followed his gaze. "I ment physically, but I suppose mentally stands to reason, if we're both here."

"They made me come here," he replied blankly, receving a short laugh from Hermione that surprised him back into returning his stare to her face.

"Yours' wasn't a 'special request for morale', then?" she asked, smiling slightly.

He shook his head. "No. It's part of my rehabilitation. Mandated."

"'Rehabilitation.' That's what they're calling it?" she retorted, not expecting a response.

"Yes," he replied, to her chagrin. They continued to stare each other, and the whole tableau reminded her of a scene from one of those old Western movies her father loved so much. Well, had loved. She didn't know if he remembered them anymore - watching movies together was something they'd enjoyed doing together, when she was little.

In the midst of the stare-down, the door to Dr. Wendt's office opened, and a small Second Year walked out. The young girl, clearly a Hufflepuff by her robes, stopped in her tracks as she saw Hermione and Malfoy, facing each other from opposite sides of the waiting room. It was clear the girl recognized them both, and Hermione realized that such an image must be shocking to anyone with knowledge of their shared history. Likely noting the student's abrupt stop, Dr. Wendt followed her out to see what was in the waiting room, and came upon the same scene. "Mr. Malfoy…Miss Granger…may I help you?" Wendt inquired, studying them both.

Malfoy responded first, shaking his head slowly. "No. I just wanted to ask if we could move my session from tomorrow to Wednesday. I have…I can't make it."

Wendt nodded at the Hufflepuff, who ducked her head and made her way out of the room. "That's fine, Draco - I should have an opening after lunch."

"Thanks." Malfoy stuffed his hands into his pockets and swept out of the room, not even looking at Hermione during his exit.

Both of the women remaining followed him out with their gaze, and then, Hermione turned back to Wendt. "Hello."

"Hello," Wendt responded, a smile creeping across her face. "Ready?"

Not at all, Hermione thought, but she followed the psychiatrist's lead and entered the office, Wendt closing the door behind them.

"How has your week been?" Wendt asked as they both took their seats.

Hermione took her time answering, settling into the velvet couch across from Wendt's easy chair. "It's been…" Fine, she willed herself to say, It's been fine and there's nothing important to talk about. But as she tried to find the words, she looked out the small window in the office, and spotted Lupin's cabin in the far distance. Images flashed through her mind - kissing him in the Shrieking Shack, seeing him pull Tonks inside on Saturday night. For one of the only times in her life - though it had been happening more and more of late as her emotions were taking over - she found her brain to be utterly lacking.

Wendt noticed the pause. "Hmm," she said, as the writer-less quill scratched over the parchment laid on the small table beside her chair. "Is there something on your mind?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "No…" she responded, fidgeting with the cuff of her robes.

"I see." The magipsychiatrist leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs as she gave Hermione a studying look. "How have the nightmares been? Have you had any more since we last spoke?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not yet…but then, I haven't been sleeping very well."

This intrigued the doctor. "No?"

"No."

Wendt considered this, realizing that her patient wasn't planning on being particularly forthcoming on this day. "You know, Hermione, that we could talk about anything you want in here. And that there is no judgment, and anything you say stays between us."

This startled the younger witch. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I want you to get the most out of our sessions. And I think you're holding yourself back." Wendt tapped her lips with a finger, considering. "Please, do correct me if I'm wrong, but I feel that you may hold yourself back from feeling a lot of things. That you prefer if the logical side of yourself takes over, so you don't have to deal with the confusion of pure emotion. Is that a valid supposition?"

Hermione thought back to laying in the bath the morning before. "Yes. It's valid."

"So what is it that's bothering you, right now? I'd like to try and help, if you'd allow me."

Hermione crossed and uncrossed her ankles, giving herself considerable time to form her response. She glanced back out the window, and at the cabin lying at the edge of the distant forest. "I kissed someone, this weekend." She paused, then flushed. "Erm, actually, two people."

Wendt raised an eyebrow, not in judgment, but surprise. "Really?"

"Yes," Hermione responded, quietly, then quickly added, "I've never done anything like that before."

The doctor smiled. "And if you had, that would be okay, too," she said. "May I ask who these people were?"

The younger girl chewed on her lip. "A friend of mine…and…" She could feel her face getting redder and hotter, and averted her eyes back to the window.

Wendt followed her gaze, trying to understand what inner turmoil Hermione was going through. "And this other person is someone you really have feelings for, yes?"

"Yes." Hermione swallowed. "They're the person in my dreams."

This seemed to intrigue the magipsychiatrist, who sat up in her chair. "The one who helps you in your nightmares?"

"Yes. I kissed h- them."

Wendt nodded thoughtfully. "And?"

Hermione tilted her head. "And what?" Okay, that was rude, she chastised herself.

However, the doctor only laughed. "And how was it? How did it feel?"

Hermione slid her hands under her thighs, feeling the warm velvet of the couch under her fingertips and praying that her face was somehow not the bright shade of flustered purple she imagined it to be. For a moment, she closed her eyes, and pushed the embarrassment away to really try and make an effort in this session, as Wendt clearly was hoping she would do. And, in pushing away the embarrassment of discussing this with the older witch and the lingering shame of the aftermath of the Shrieking Shack kiss, she could feel herself dissolve back into the memory. The taste of Lupin on her tounge, not sweet, necessarily, but reminding her of the first bite into a ripe green apple. Unforgettable. "It was wonderful. It was…wonderful."

She opened her eyes to the doctor studying her curiously, the quill still scribbling away beside her. "And yet you don't seem happy," Wendt noted.

"It won't work."

"What won't?"

"Us. Me and…me and him." No use trying to be obscurative, she figured, though wild horses wouldn't be able to pull the true identity of the kisser from her lips, no matter how much she wanted to cooperate with Wendt.

"Why do you think that?"

"It just won't. We can't - anyway, he doesn't want to."

"He said that?" Wendt inquired, leaning back in the chair.

"He said we can't. And that I…that I embarrassed myself."

"Hmm." Wendt tapped her fingers on her knee, still gazing steadily at Hermione.

The other witch waited for a further response, but none came. "Hmm…what? He doesn't want me, so that's that. I'm not going to push him. I respect his boundaries." Do you, though? the Other Voice said in her head. Is that what you want?

"As you should," Wendt agreed, "But the fact that you've had contact in some sort of shared dreamscape…well, it seems to suggest that there's something going on here. And you two becoming romantically involved-"

"We are not-" Hermione began in a rush.

"-By kissing, if nothing else, also seems to suggest that there's something deeper at play. Perhaps he's set this boundary right now, but you are also entitled to your own feelings. How do you feel?"

"I think-"

"No," the doctor interjected, gently. "How do you feel?"

Hermione stopped, considered. Found herself without words once again. Her eyes drifted to the window, and she bit her lip. "Confused. I feel confused."

A/N: Yep, we're back! I know it's been a rather long delay, but I can't possible convey all of the life-altering things that have happened to me in the last year, as well as finishing my first (non-fic) novel along the way! But now I'm back to doing more writing for pleasure, and I certainly never planned to leave this story hanging…I love these two too much. And I know it can be frustrating when a fic suddenly stops, and you don't know if you'll get another update…so, fear not! Though I can't say exactly what kind of schedule I'll be on from here on out, if there's positive response to this story resuming, I will certainly wrap it up eventually in a hopefully satisfying way. Thank you everyone who returned to read this chapter and stick with this story - it means the world to me. Chapter title comes from the song "Linger", by The Cranberries.