"…Was the apple from you?"
Hermione scuffed at the stair beneath them with one socked foot, ruminating over Lupin's question. She could feel the heat emanating off of his body, despite him - very carefully, she observed - sitting a foot's distance away from her. "Yes," she replied, quietly.
"Can I ask why?"
Hermione chewed on her lower lip. She had ironically found the remaining apple from the Weasleys' orchard in her beaded handbag that very morning, still crisp and fresh thanks to the preserving spell she'd cast on it before leaving for Hogwarts. Discovering the fruit had made her stomach tumble, thinking of their kiss in front of the Mirror of Erised. A kiss that had made her think of the sweet tang of Granny Smiths, among several other wonderful sensations. A kiss that had left her more confused afterward than ever.
"I thought you'd like it. Figured I'd give it to you before it rotted." That was only partially the truth. Another part of her mind had whispered to her, Remind him of what you shared. Remind him of what he threw away.
From the corner of her eye, she could see Lupin raise an eyebrow at her dejected tone. He was about to reply when the horrible, curdling voice came echoing through the halls once again: "I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself..." Hermione buried her head in her hands, trying to block out the scene from her vision, trying to cover her ears to defend against the cruel sound of the now-dead Voldemort.
After a few moments, she felt the steadying pressure of Lupin's hand against her back, gently rubbing between her shoulder blades. "It's okay. It's okay."
"It's not okay," she practically snapped back. She didn't like the childish petulance in her voice, but she couldn't help it. She still felt so betrayed by him for how he acted after they'd kissed.
Hermione felt his hand flinch, and pause, but he didn't remove it from her back. "You're right," he replied, quietly. "And I'm sorry for that." It felt like he meant the apology for more than just their current shared situation within the nightmare, but she didn't care. It wasn't enough. In another stroke of petulance, she shrugged away his comforting touch.
As soon as his hand left her back, she regretted the sulky move, immediately missing the warm feeling of even a small part of his body against hers. But everything she was feeling was in conflict. Part of her wanted to push him away, to push him out of this dream and just sit here alone until it was time to wake up. But the other part? That other part wanted to pull him in again and feel his lips with hers and forget about everything else in this horrible nightmare, and everything else in the world. For those few seconds when they had kissed in the Shrieking Shack, everything besides their connection had blissfully fallen away.
Hermione didn't do either. She just kept her head in her hands as the rest of Voldemort's warning echoed through the air.
After a few moments, Lupin spoke to her once more. "I must be here for a reason, Hermione. Maybe that's to help. Let me help."
She whipped her head up at him. "How? I would love to know."
Hurt flickered in his eyes. "I'm trying."
Hermione almost barked out a laugh. "By what? Making me think that you…that you felt something for me? Kissing me? Then making me feel like a fool after? I saw you later that night, you know. I saw Tonks go in your cabin. That same night, Remus? And then she's hanging all over you in Defense Against the Dark Arts? No, all you've made me feel is like an idiot." She stood up and padded several feet away from the bottom of the stairs, staring at a torn portrait half-hanging off the wall in front of her.
"I wasn't the only one that was with someone else that night, though, was I?" Lupin responded, an edge to his voice.
Hermione whipped around. "Excuse me?"
Lupin leaned back against the stair behind him. "Ginny isn't exactly the quietest student I've ever had. You and Ron, Saturday night? How was that?"
She crossed her arms, suddenly feeling far too exposed. "Why do you care?"
"I'm just curious," he replied, quietly, evenly.
"We kissed at the Gryffindor party. That's it. Then I left and went to the Shrieking Shack. After…after that, I just went back to my room. With no guests, unlike you." She could see him flinch at that.
"You didn't answer my question." He eyed her steadily, and she had to fight her own insticts to maintain his verdant gaze.
"'How was it?' I don't know, Remus. It was complicated. Ron really wanted it. I don't know how I feel. That's why I left the party. It was just too much." She turned back to the torn portrait. "So how was sleeping with Tonks? Just curious." She couldn't see how he reacted, but she could've heard a pin drop in the silence that fell between them at that point.
"It was…a stupid decision," he sighed.
"You didn't answer my question," she retorted, quoting him once again.
After a few long moments, he replied, barely audible: "I would've rather been with someone else."
Hermione stepped to face Lupin a second time, but as she moved, she heard the telltale POP once more, and by the time she'd fully turned, the older man had vanished. Her vision swam at the edges, and she pulled his cardigan tighter around her shoulders as she felt the strange awakening feeling overtaking her again.
"Me, too," she whispered, as the nightmare-Hogwarts faded from her consciousness.
—
That morning, Hermione had barely a moment to shake off another shared dream with Lupin - and what he'd last said to her before they both awoke - when she heard a tapping at her window. Squinting against the September sunlight, she saw the source of the sound - a small brown owl bearing a letter, her name the only thing on the outside of the envelope. She yawned, wandered to the window to crack it open, and took the letter from the owl, which promptly swooped away. The note had been closed with a red seal, which she popped open with a finger.
Miss Granger,
I would appreciate if you could stop by my office sometime today in between your classes. I have an important matter to discuss with you.
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Hermione chewed on the inside of her lip, wondering why the older witch would have the need to meet with her…and why she'd felt the need to sign the note so formally. A hint at the reason behind this meeting would have been helpful, she mused. Instead, she would have to struggle with the anxious anticipation all day, until she could get to the Headmistress' office in the afternoon.
McGonagall's inner office door was already cracked open when Hermione arrived after Magical Healing, but she still ventured a gentle knock on the hard wood anyway. "Come in," called out the Scottish brogue of the wizened witch.
Hermione entered, taking in the changes to the office that had been made since the last time she'd been inside, when Albus Dumbledore was Headmaster. Several portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses lined the walls, though there were none that Hermione personally recognized beyond their same visages in old books. Some were snoring gently; other portraits were void of their subjects entirely. Instead of the colorful jars of sweets that Dumbledore had positioned on one of the side tables, McGonagall had opted for a rather elaborate tea-making station, complete with a variety of looseleaf teas, cups and spoons. Her certificate of the Order of Merlin, First Class hung on the wall directly behind her desk; the badge itself hung from her robe's lapel. Hermione smiled at the woman's obvious pride in the achievement.
"Please, sit down, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, gesturing to the plush chair in front of her desk as she finished writing a scroll. Hermione shut the door behind her, took a seat, crossed her ankles, and tried to wait patiently. After McGonagall signed the scroll with a flourish, she finally looked up at the younger witch, and offered her a tight - though rare - smile. "Have you become accustomed to being back at school?"
"Oh, yes," Hermione responded, "I'd missed it."
"I'm sure you had," said McGonagall, lacing her fingers together on the desk in front of her. "I apologize for the sudden message this morning, but I had a private matter I wanted to discuss with you. About Professor Lupin."
Hermione's stomach lurched violently. Lupin? What could she want to talk about regarding him? She thought, frantically, mind speeding behind what she hoped was a maintained neutral expression. "Oh?"
"Yes," said the Headmistress, betraying no emotion in her voice. "I'm not sure if you've realized, but the next full moon is approaching…tomorrow night, actually."
Hermione's head spun. She had, of course, noticed this, but had no clue what this all had to do with her. "Yes?"
"And I'm also unsure if you're aware, but Professor Lupin's stores of the Wolfsbane potion…the remains of what had been prepared by Professor, ehm, Snape…have, unfortunately, finally run dry." Her heart fell. Oh, no.
"Oh…"
"Yes. And while we don't have enough time, obviously, to begin preparing another batch for this month, I was wondering if you could assist with trying to brew more for next full moon. The Professor is…well…he doesn't like to ask for help. Receiving Wolfsbane from Severus was difficult enough for him. I don't think he would want to involve Professor Slughorn in this matter. And, frankly…" McGonagall studied her with a nod. "I think you're the only one either of us would trust to do the job right."
"I…" Hermione fought to come up with an answer. Things with Lupin were complicated enough; she couldn't imagine getting tangled up in this, and having him depend on her each month to not get through the full moon in agony.
"I know you're more than capable, dear," McGonagall said, holding up a hand to what she assumed would be a self-deprecating protest. "We have discovered detailed notes from Snape's files on how he brewed the potion. I know Remus has taken a shine to you…" Hermione's stomach twisted again- "…Along with, of course, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. I think he would appreciate the assistance, even if he would never request it himself. It's important that our professors are all in their best shape to teach this year. This, of any year especially." The Headmistress leaned forward, and made sure to fix her gaze with Hermione's. "If not for Professor Lupin, I hope you will consider taking on this task as a personal favor to myself."
Well, how can I say no now? Hermione sighed. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes, of course, Headmistress. Anything I can do to help."
McGonagall smiled at her again, this time more warmly. "Thank you, Miss Granger," she responded, a note of relief in her voice. "And considering your offer, I wonder if I may ask one more kindness from you.
Oh, Merlin. "Yes?"
"Tomorrow night will be…quite difficult for Remus. He has not fully transformed without the use of Wolfsbane in…a very long time. But, as I said, he will not ask for help, even if he is in a terrible way in the morning." McGonagall sat back, and picked up a cup of tea to sip that Hermione was certain was likely cold at this point. "I wonder if you might check on him, before and after his transformation. I would send Madam Pomfrey, but, well…while he allowed her to nurse him back to health countless times in his school years, I think he would retreat from the experience now as an adult. And I doubt I would fare any better."
Hermione swallowed, hard. This has to be a joke, she thought, mind spinning with her recent memories of hers' and Lupin's shared kiss, his rejection, and the last evening's dream. She knew it would be best to avoid him at all costs. Now, along with brewing him a monthly potion, she had to go check on him in his most vulnerable state, too? "Are you…are you quite certain that's…ah…prudent, Headmistress."
McGonagall nodded behind her tea. "I understand your trepidation, Miss Granger, and I don't fully disagree," she reasoned. "But, Remus…despite his frustrating refusal to accept help, he's a good man. He doesn't deserve to suffer alone. Being his student, and such a competent witch, perhaps he will be more likely to not push you away like his colleagues." You have no idea how wrong you are, the Mind-Voice snarked in Hermione's head.
"I don't…"
"Please, Hermione." She couldn't remember the last time, if ever, that McGonagall had called her by anything except 'Miss Granger.' This somewhat personal action alone jolted Hermione out of her insistence on denial.
"All right. I will."
—
The next evening, Hermione arrived at Lupin's cabin just as the sun was starting to drift lower in the sky. She had no idea if McGonagall had told him to expect her - and she rather thought she hadn't, and had depended on the element of surprise. Chewing on her lip, Hermione knocked on the door.
After a moment, Lupin answered, looking haggard and wearing a frayed t-shirt and old jeans. His face betrayed absolute shock at her appearance on his doorstep, and Hermione couldn't help but notice his quick scan around behind her to see if anyone was witnessing his student showing up at his private quarters. "Her-Hermione, what are you doing-"
"McGonagall asked me to come," she cut him off, hating the frenzied, shameful look on his face and wanting to cut him off at the pass. "She requested I check in on you before and after…the, erm, full moon, tonight."
"Hermione, this is not a good time," Lupin said, and she could see the shadows under his eyes darkening as the sunlight began to wane. "You don't want to be here. Not…not for this…" He tried to close the door gently on her, but she held up a firm hand to stop the movement.
"The Headmistress asked me to do this as a personal favor, and I intend to fulfill it. Please, let me in."
Lupin swallowed, hard, eyes darting around once more before finally pulling the door back open a foot and stepping back. "Fine. One minute. The sun is setting."
Hermione entered the cabin, taking in the inside of the small structure for the first time. It was comfortable, but not exactly homey; there weren't a ton of personal effects around, aside from a smattering of books, papers, and teaching ephemera. Not even a single framed photograph, she thought, sadly. As her eyes raked over her surroundings, it fell on an item that made her heart skip a beat: Lupin's bed, slightly rumpled but with the covers and pillows neat and orderly. She felt herself bite into the side of her lower lip, thinking about him sleeping in that bed…about him sharing her dreams while in that bed…about him sharing the bed with her.
"All right, you've seen me. But you should really go, now. The moon will rise soon, and you-"
"Don't want to be here, I know," she responded, sighing. "Let me at least help you get…settled, before it begins."
"No."
His curt, sharp response startled her, and she crossed her arms. "You know, Lupin, you can push everyone away - everyone - but where will that get you? Alone. Suffering and alone. Is that what you really want?"
Lupin fixed her with a stern look. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he said, quietly.
"I know enough," she responded, trying to steel herself against his cold demeanor. "It was because we all worked together that the War ended. It was because Harry depended on his friends, on the people who loved him, that he made it through. Why do you think it's any different for you? Why do you think you deserve to go through this by yourself?"
"You don't understand," he said, flicking one of the front window curtains out of the way to study the path of the sunlight. "This is dangerous, Hermione. I don't want anyone to see me like this. Please - get out."
"No." She replied to him with the same brusque tone he'd given her moments prior. "You don't scare me. Shut me out all you want, but I won't leave you to go through this alone."
"I don't deserve that kindness, and you know that," he responded, quietly, looking at her with sadness.
"Stop talking about what you deserve!" she snapped, throwing her hands up. "You are not a monster, and you are not a martyr, Remus Lupin. So just accept the fact that there are people that care about you, and stop making it so bloody difficult!" Hermione's chest heaved with the depth of her emotion, heart pounding at her own impudence.
Lupin looked just as shocked at her outburst as she felt. He sighed, and walked over to a trapdoor in the floor, pulling it up slowly. "Fine, then," he muttered, looking away from her bright, tempestuous gaze. "Lock me in. But close the door, and leave. I don't want you to see me like this."
She lifted her chin in response, but didn't reply. Instead, she tossed her beaded handbag on the small kitchen table and followed him down into the cabin basement.
The space was small, dark, dusty, and relatively empty, except for one startling centerpiece in the middle of the room: a large, person-sized cage, big enough height- and width-wise for a large man to both stand and lay down in. The bars of the cage shone in the meager remaining sunlight. Silver, she thought, with not a little horror. "Lock me in and leave me be," Lupin said, walking into the open cage and turning away from her. She could sense that his shame in what he was about to become was preventing him from even looking in her direction, and her heart hurt for him, and the self-hatred that still simmered just underneath the surface of his skin, like the werewolf within.
Hermione closed the cage and pulled the large silver key out of the door's keyhole, pocketing it and checking the door for its sturdiness. It was definitely locked. "I'll see you in the morning, Remus," she whispered. When he didn't respond or turn to face her, she reached an arm between two of the bars, extending just far enough to gently touch his shoulder with her hand. He flinched away from the motion, and she sighed, pulling back.
"Please. Go."
She did - but she didn't leave.
No, instead, Hermione closed the trapdoor, padlocking it shut behind her and whispering a silencing charm to at least muffle Lupin's cries in the night. However, she had no intention to exit the cabin and simply come back in the morning. She was too concerned for his well-being; too afraid he'd do some terrible damage to himself while undergoing his first full transformation in Merlin knew how long, and that no one would be there to hear or to help. So, as the sun faded beneath the horizon and she waited for the silver moon to make its arc across the night sky, Hermione instead blew out the candles inside the room and laid on top of the bedclothes, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the worst to come.
It did.
For hours upon hours after the moon breached the skyline, she heard the dulled sounds of the Wolf-Lupin howling, moaning, and thrashing around the subterranean cage, contact with which must have caused agonizing, burning pain to his skin. Hermione tried to sleep, but found it impossible; not when this man that she cared about was clearly in such terrible agony, and she could do nothing to stop it.
She was desperately grateful when she finally saw the moon fall in the sky once more, and the eerie blue of pre-dawn stream in through the cabin's front windows. The howling near-screams had waned, too…but in their place, she could still hear groans and whimpers of pain and torment. Trying to be as respectful of Lupin's wishes as possible, Hermione waited until the first rays of sunlight began to shine to retrieve her handbag, open the trapdoor padlock, and make her way back down the rickety basement stairs.
Lupin was kneeling, curled up, in the center of the cage, facing toward the door but with his head obscured by his knees, which he was holding close to his body. Hermione stepped down into the basement quietly, and tried to approach the cage as gently as possible. "Good morning," she offered. Silence - just his heavy breathing in response. Hermione took out the silver key, and unlocked the cage door, taking a tentative step inside and kneeling down in front of him. "How are you- How are you feeling?"
The older man looked up at her, squinting at her in the meager sunlight pouring down the stairwell. His eyes and cheeks looked sunken, and he had a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. "I'm fine," he muttered, but she could tell by the grit of his teeth that he was not.
"Lupin, I can't help you if you're not honest with me," she reasoned. "Please?" He sighed, and turned his body away from her. She could see it immediately- blood was seeping from his back into the fabric through the thin shirt he had thrown back on at daybreak, wet and dark. Hermione drew in a breath. "Oh, no…" she whispered, reaching for the hem of the shirt and then pulling back at the last moment. "May I? Look at it?" Lupin glanced to the side at her, then nodded, turning away again after. She lifted his shirt off, feeling a shiver go down her spine at the intimate movement, wishing it was under less painful circumstances. Her throat went dry when she saw Lupin's back bared to her for the first time, criss-crossed with scars and yet still broad and attractive, at least to her eyes. He looked so different now in body from the thin, shabby man he had been when they'd first met in her Third Year, but his current face recalled that personage quite well.
The culprit of his pain was obvious: a long, deep gash going from his shoulder blade nearly all the way around to under his ribs. it was actively bleeding, the sides ragged and gaped, and it looked dirty, too - probably from a night writhing in agony on the cold, hard stone floor of the basement. Hermione gently touched the skin to the side of the wound, and felt him flinch back and suck air in through his teeth in response. "I know, I'm so sorry," she said, still inspecting the gash. "I can close it - or do my best - but I think I need to clean it first. The old-fashioned way. It's dirty, and I don't want you to get an infection." Lupin didn't respond, so after a few moments, she tried again. "Is that alright?"
"Yes," he whispered back, barely audible.
Hermione took her beaded handbag off her shoulder, knowing she had a Muggle first aid kit in there somewhere from their time on the run the previous year. After some rooting around, she found it, and a bottle of water for the cleansing. "This is going to hurt," she said, with an apologetic tone. "I'm sorry. But it's for the best."
He nodded.
She gently poured some of the water over the wound, and immediately Lupin flinched away, a deep moan erupting from his throat as the cold liquid made its way inside his jagged wound. Instinctively, Hermione reached around his body, and pressed a flat palm to his chest. She gasped in a breath after realizing what she'd done, and immediately hoped he hadn't heard her reaction. His chest was warm and heaving, and she could feel the light, soft hair scattered across it under her fingers. It would've been arousing if she wasn't staring at the insides of his back at the moment - though, if she were truly honest with herself, she still found the contact painfully erotic. Sick, her Mind-Voice admonished itself.
"Please, Remus, breathe," she said, trying to guide his erratic breaths through the pain, much like he had speherded her through her panic attack on Harry's birthday. Surprised at her own boldness, she gently raked her fingertips across his chest, in a movement she hoped was comforting to him. It seemed it was - his heaving gasps slowed, and his chest moved in and out with her touch. "Good, good," she whispered, encouragingly. "Now I need to clean it, okay? This will probably be worse, but I promise, I will do my best to be careful. All right?"
He nodded again, then glanced to the side once more - not quite looking at her, but toward her from the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he muttered.
She tilted her head at him, though she wasn't sure he could see. "Sorry? For what?"
"The blood," he responded. "I know it…I know it's difficult for you." He, too, must have been remembering her reaction to George's nosebleed on the Weasley's makeshift Quidditch pitch. Strangely, she realized, she hadn't even thought about Lupin's wound in the context of her own trauma by this point. Surprising, considering how much closer it was to the wounds of war she'd witnessed than a simple nosebleed had been.
"I hadn't even thought of it," she admitted. "I was just trying to take care of you." Hermione chewed on her lip at the admission, fearing she'd exposed too much of herself.
But instead of shrinking away, Lupin did something unexpected: he put a hand over hers, still gently pressed against his chest. "Thank you," he whispered.
"Brace yourself," she responded apologetically. Hermione swiped as gently as possible into the gaping wound with an alcohol pad. Lupin let out a sound that seemed a combination of a moan and a growl. "I know, I know," she assured. "I'll be as quick as possible." As she continued cleaning out the wound, she still stroked gently at his chest, trying to both console and distract him. This time, though, he kept his hand clutched over hers. "How did you do this?"
"Hard to say," he gritted out in response. "Sometimes I tear at myself if the pain of transformation is too much. This time was…" He trailed off, searching for the words. "It had been a long time since I'd done it without Wolfsbane."
"Oh, Professor…"
"Don't pity me," Lupin muttered. "I don't deserve the sympathy."
Hermione leaned back and sat on her ankles, assessing her work. It looked like the wound was at least clean at this point, if not pretty. She was more frustrated with him bringing up the same self-hating point once again. "I don't think you know what you really deserve," she replied.
Lupin let out a snort, still not turning to look at her. "And what is that?"
Hermione took her wand and began the process of sealing the wound as best she could, with what rudimentary healing magic she had retained. Lupin thrust his head back, and she could see that his eyes were squeezed shut against the pain. As she finished, she ran a finger gently down the fresh reddish-purple scar, hoping that it would eventually heal over well despite the jagged construction of the original laceration. Before she could think enough to stop herself, she leaned forward, and lightly - tenderly - dropped a kiss on the area of naked skin where his neck dipped down to meet his shoulder. She felt him gasp quietly in surprise. "You deserve a lot," she whispered, then stood up sharply, feeling her heart begin to pound as she realized the boldness of this action. "Is…is that all right? Do you need anything else?"
Still kneeling on the cold stone floor, turned away from her, Lupin shook his head. "You've done more than you…more than you should've," he whispered.
Hermione bit her lip, and began to back away from the older man. "I'll see you tomorrow, Remus. Make sure you eat something."
As she escaped up the rickety wooden stairs of the cabin basement, she did not see Lupin's final, wordless response - raising a hand to the place that she had kissed on his shoulder and touching it gently with his fingertips, as if it the skin there burned white-hot beneath them.
A/N: Thank you as always for reading! Apologies for the delay between chapters - I was quite ill last month, and it took all I could to just get through work while recovering. But doing better now, and I hope this extra-long chapter helps make up for it! Song lyrics used in the chapter title are from "Mary on a Cross", by Ghost.