Falling Leaves

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The first time Remus received the students' essays, he could only stare at them.

Night fell gradually outside his office window, waves of orange, pink, and light blue swaying and merging into a near purple. He sat on his chair, the parchments neatly piled before him and framed by both his hands on the desk, as well as by the unstoppered inkwell and sharp-tipped quill he'd set aside.

He drew a bolstering breath, yet he couldn't bring himself to pick the quill up and dip it into the ink.

Had the Grindylow he had been housing before not been returned to its proper habitat, Remus could have blamed it on lack of focus due to the creature's screeching or on a mounting headache, but given that was no longer a convenient excuse, he was therefore left with the true reason for his hesitancy: the topmost piece of parchment held her name. The lines of Hermione's handwriting called out to him just as effectively as the moon itself. More so, perhaps—they had been his faithful everyday companions for over a decade now while full-moon nights came only once monthly and therefore amounted to far fewer in number.

Of the transformations, what little he could remember he willed himself to forget. Hermione's printing, on the other hand, he had studied like a linguist did a dead language—treasuring it as much as they could. Remus smoothed the curling edges of the paper before him. If he willed his eyes to sharpen their focus, he could fixate on the individual letters instead of on the words they made up. There was poise embedded in the roundness of her C, in the serpentine path of her S… Each R brought with it the expectation an E would follow, then an M, and soon, contrary to any reasonable expectations, Hermione would address him once more. Just his name, no context or familiarity required, but then, given what he knew about addressing people by their first name, he knew it to be no mere thing.

To feel seen by her couldn't be just anything.

He had been living the past month or so with several different versions of Hermione Granger. Each time she turned the knobs on the time-turner around her neck, a different one appeared, knowing a little bit more of the future than her predecessor. There were times during which Remus fell victim to wishful thinking, struck by a fanciful daydream in which he opened up a door and was met by the version of her that knew him. When the fantasy inevitably crumbled, no one was at fault other than himself. Hermione lay as blameless as she lay ignorant of her significance to him, and he would keep it that way—her obliviousness—until she became the young woman he'd seen last and obtained the knowledge for herself. For the time being, Remus kept them as separate entities in his mind, these multiple Hermiones and the one he loved, though it seemed her essence remained unchanged throughout.

Everything Remus had learned about Hermione since he became a Hogwarts professor only served to solidify his previous knowledge of her. Her academic prowess, her society for elvish welfare, her willingness to stand up for those who couldn't do so for themselves… Each discovery was a new piece to the puzzle that made up the young witch who abhorred breaking the rules yet still went against a pivotal one, the very one whose breaking threatened her entire existence.

Minerva in particular seemed to have found a favorite student in her. Over tea one evening, she had begun to tell him tales of Harry, only to extoll Hermione's qualities at nearly every turn.

"Not that I condone stealing from Severus' stores nor attempting dangerous magic unsupervised, mind you, but to concoct Polyjuice as a second-year!" Minerva had said. "I know grown wizards who can't pull off a passable one. Filius and I would offer her an apprenticeship if she is so inclined in the future, though I'll be damned if I let a Ravenclaw snatch her."

The clock chimed midnight, each clang a censure. Sirius would call him a sad sod and a pitiful teacher were he here. Remus couldn't very well disagree: pensive about faraway matters while postponing the marking of a student's essay as he was, all in fear that the content would dispel some of the thrall seeing its penmanship had cast upon him. It did hint at misery and loneliness.

Part of his maudlin mood, however, could be ascribed to the proximity to another transformation. The absence of James had been deeply felt in the previous one—even with the potion at hand, it had been a long time since Remus had truly been alone on his worst nights. The longing it brought forth was magnified by feeling thus within the walls in which he had never struggled for company in the past. Hogwarts had never been a lonely place before. Here, he'd had the Marauders, Lily, Hermione. Now, though…

Remus shook his head. No good would come from dwelling on that. So he forced himself to read her work, at last, and his belated determination was rewarded: her face—the face of the Hermione he knew—appeared in his mind's eye, her voice ringing as clearly in his ears as if she had been reading the words to him. Far from dispelling that initial thrill from seeing her handwriting, her essay only enthralled him further. The patterns of her speech translated to her writing—vehement conclusions built upon compelling arguments and well-researched sources. Here and there he could picture Hermione scoffing, questioning the available bibliography's accuracy, raising doubts regarding their impartiality, citing bias or archaic beliefs.

A smile danced across his lips. It was just the sort of indignant letter Hermione would write if he could ignore the fact that it was no letter at all. Remus responded to it in the only way he could: little comments here and there, tangents to her points, suggestions on other — better —books, observations based on his own experiences with the creatures it covered.

In the end, it felt almost incidental to mark her work—experience told him there were very few people as thorough as Hermione Granger.

Her three entire rolls of parchment could attest to it.

It was not a snowy afternoon, but despite the sun the chill in the air was ever-present. If it weren't for Poppy's insistence Remus get some exercise following his transformations, he would have been cosily sitting with a book and a mug of cocoa in his quarters. Alas, mediwitching orders weren't to be taken lightly and so out on the grounds he was, exercising.

He had long ago learnt that some things were inevitable, and protesting against them was only a useless waste of energy. Poppy's orders fell into that category, as well as Lily's relentless cajoling when she felt so inclined.

At some point along the way, Remus had also accepted the notion that there was an element of inexorability to Hermione as well, if somewhat altered. All roads led to her, time a driving force propelling Remus her way with every single step.

Perhaps that was called love or fate or both. It certainly didn't fall to him to wonder.

Even when Remus attempted to convince himself something had absolutely nothing to do with her, a scathing voice in his mind whispered, liar. He could stand still and still, he'd gravitate, have his world revolve around her.

Everything he saw called her to mind. Everything he experienced he wished he could share with her. At times, it felt like being in love with a living ghost.

When Harry found him on his daily walk after his ill-fated Quidditch match, the pair of them took off on an impromptu hike across the grounds. Remus ran through the appointed dates Hermione had made note of in her letter before discarding any possibility of encountering her. Then, he made a genuine effort to put his thoughts of her aside and focus on Harry and Harry alone.

Harry's experiences reminded Remus of himself at that age: set apart from everyone by the savagery of others, a victim to the most repellent villainy. While Remus' pain had been secret, Harry's had been celebrated by the Wizarding World at large. To be known by surviving when your parents were killed… The truth sat heavy on Remus' throat, choked back but barely, so he forged on, avoiding Harry's gaze as much as he could while still attempting to assure him.

What Harry had gone through would perhaps not dictate his experiences, but it would tinge them in a manner most people didn't have to deal with. Albeit no longer entirely true thanks to their meddling, Harry's harrowing experience resonated with Remus on a deeper level. Like Remus, the young wizard, too, had found fast friends in this world despite his ordeal—Harry's group had perhaps one best friend less, but knowing what he now knew, Remus would say it was for the best.

Leaving the parallels of their circumstances aside, Remus focused on the situation at hand, trying to assuage Harry's worries about being different. A ghost of laughter almost escaped him at a moment most inappropriate. After all, considering oneself weak was not a matter to be taken lightly, nor were the dementors particularly amusing. That the detestable, corrupt beings affected Harry so was no laughing matter.

No, the humour the situation elicited came from something else entirely. It wasn't until that exact moment when he weighed Harry's request that Remus made a discovery: Harry was the third point to Remus and Hermione's perfect temporal loop. He knew so before the decision was fully formed in his mind. Remus would teach Harry how to cast a Patronus, who would, in turn, teach Hermione. And, with the aid of time travel, Hermione would pass that knowledge along, ensuring a young Remus mastered the spell and could therefore teach it to Harry in the first place.

All roads led to Hermione. All roads began and ended in her. Everything along the way felt like potential just waiting to happen.

Remus dragged a hand over tired eyes. Sirius had always been one for grand entrances. Scaring the students half to death and placing the entire school staff on alert wasn't one of his finest moments, however.

Severus' behaviour towards Remus only devolved after that.

Thrice Hermione had failed to attend her meals. Harry and Ron still frequented the Great Hall regularly, yet the third part of their trio remained noticeably absent. Despite however much schoolwork she had on her plate, the behaviour seemed out of character for her.

Even while trying to assure himself a few missed meals were of no great concern, her nonappearance made Remus ill at ease. Regardless of her heavy workload, her routine had been consistent until Christmas. Whenever Remus had stolen a glance in her direction before her absences started, Hermione seemed forever unwilling to part with her books but had proven thus far perfectly able to read and eat in a simultaneous, concerted effort, a tome floating before her above the Gryffindor table.

The unexpected change worried him.

Remus had nearly inquired about it during his sessions with Harry but kept himself from doing so. Much too suspect as he lacked a plausible explanation—it implied he had been watching the pair of them, his interest a smidge beyond that of a sympathetic teacher, and Harry needn't know that. Not even where it concerned him. Not yet, anyway.

It all made sense, however, when the next day Minerva came to Remus with a broom, claiming to have exhausted all the detection spells she knew on it.

"It was gifted to Mr. Potter, mind you," Minerva paused and pursed her lips, before staring directly into his eyes. "Anonymously. Miss Granger came to me with her concerns—and rightly so. She was ostracized for her trouble, the poor girl.

"I fear she's the only sensible one among those three. The only sensible one among all of Gryffindor, it seems, for even Mr. Wood has taken to harangue me over it. It seems time I remind them of the chivalry part of the house they represent." Minerva stared at the broom in her hands, as if a stern look would make it reveal any hidden curses it might have. Having been on the receiving end of that look, Remus wouldn't doubt it possible. "I'm as invested in Gryffindor's victory as they are, but not to such a degree I would risk a student's safety."

Minerva lifted her gaze to once again meet his. "Anyway, I've searched for every curse I could think of—if it is indeed spelled, I believe it's quite beyond my abilities. I had hoped you wouldn't mind if I asked that you took a look yourself."

"Of course."

A new broom… Hermione might not have known Padfoot, yet her suspicions couldn't be more on point: it had Sirius written all over it.

It was a wondrous thing to observe. Just as Hermione had known without a shred of doubt Remus would be able to conjure the Patronus Spell, Remus knew that Harry would succeed at it, too. Hardly surprising that she had been excited at the assuredness. His younger self had believed he wouldn't measure up, that Hermione would find him lacking or become irritated were he to fail. But the utter confidence in someone's abilities that came from absolute certainty instead of belief was, in fact, rather thrilling. Like knowing you were on the cusp of something magnificent, and therefore being able to truly enjoy it.

It was only a wisp of light so far, but it was beautiful.

Harry's chosen memory made it rather bittersweet.

June 6th, 1994 - I'm sorry, Remus

It took him six steps and a half to traverse from the landing at the top of the stairs to his desk, and nearly fourteen to circle the span of his office. He had tallied it. Over and over and yet again.

The entire day had been riddled with a restlessness that refused to abate. The journal Hermione had put together made no mention of the date, which could only mean nothing too terrible was set to happen, but her letter did. Perhaps his pacing had to do with the quickly scribbled, somewhat blotted ' I'm sorry, Remus' beside its date on the parchment or else with the wolf inside being manic, wanting to claw its way out at the first sign of the moon. The fact that Harry had claimed, not long ago, to have spotted Peter's name on the map didn't improve matters.

That rat should not be here. Not inside Hogwarts. Not anywhere near Harry.

At times, Remus wished Hermione had left him detailed accounts of each one of their encounters instead of merely a couple of words. Would it add to his anxiety, he wondered, if he knew—to a T—how to behave whenever their paths crossed? Or would it make him fear he'd somehow perform a poor recreation of it? Then again, could that be any worse than not knowing anything except that their interaction would be worthy of note, during which she had felt she had cause to apologise to him? Any plausible reasoning for such a thing escaped him and any wild guesses only fed his dread. He supposed it could be a trifling thing, but when was it ever?

Remus' foreboding churned deep down and centre in his guts, causing the tea he had tried to soothe himself with to roll uneasily in his stomach. Sometime in the last hour or so, he'd taken to following—somewhat obsessively— Hermione's name on the Map.

Ever since he had confiscated it from Harry, he had stolen glances at it, spotting with some mirth as many as three different places Hermione's name had turned up at once. How Harry and Ronald had missed such a thing while being in possession of the Marauder's Map, Remus couldn't imagine. But none of the amusement remained and now he could only stalk her steps.

In classes, Hermione had been looking rather peaky as of late, the long hours and brutal workload taking their toll on her, so much so that Remus had come to believe her failure at confronting the Boggart in his exam this morning stemmed from exhaustion rather than lack of skill or ignorance. Hermione had known every spell, every distinctive characteristic about any and all creatures they had studied. Hagrid had also mentioned her help with Buckbeak's case and how Harry and Ron had shunned her over the Firebolt's plight and her and Ron's pet squabbling. The broom Remus had been aware of, yet something about the latter reason tugged at his thoughts…

Remus wished he could alleviate some of her concerns, but it had been nothing but a doomed hope. None of the circumstances in which he'd been in her presence lent itself towards consoling her, with the exception of the exam itself three hours prior, after she'd burst into tears over her encounter with the Boggart, by which time she had already dropped two of her classes and reconciled with the two boys. Remus had pressed a conjured handkerchief into her hand, voice soft as he reassured her that in no conceivable universe would she fail a single class, much less them all—as a non-Boggart Minerva could attest—before offering her a piece of chocolate and urging her to get some rest.

Like a fox, she had dug burrows all over his being and a safe den in his heart, and any comfort he could offer would be hers, regardless of the capacity of their relationship. His suggestion became pointless, he knew, once he learned about the presence of the Minister and the members of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. That, too, had deepened his unease.

He had never registered with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. There was always the chance…

But he shook whatever thoughts sought to sink their claws in him and instead turned to the Map, following Hermione's—and Harry's, just to be safe—footsteps around the castle. They did come across the Malfoy boy and his underlings, but the encounter wasn't long enough to be worrisome.

As expected, the trio of Gryffindors made their way towards Hagrid's hut, the one structure within Hogwarts the Marauder's Map didn't cover.

No more than ten minutes had passed when they returned into view, Pettigrew's name showed near theirs.

Remus felt his heart restart. He forgot whatever task he had been about to perform, eyes tracking their names on the parchment as he summoned his tweed jacket and wand.

Having only just made it through the narrow tunnel connecting Hogwarts with the Shrieking Shack, Hermione's cry for help pulled at his heart. He knew she was in no danger whatsoever from Sirius — from Pettigrew on the other hand…

Dust and decades-old grime stuck to his palms when he gripped the rail and climbed the stairs. He banged the door open, and as the scene unfolded before him, a train wreck of one in which Harry had his godfather tackled to the floor and at wand-point, Ron was bleeding in the corner, and Hermione's face sported a smattering of open cuts, Remus was barely aware of his own actions. It wasn't until the moment his eyes met Hermione's that Remus realised that helping up and embracing Sirius had been a mistake.

Something in her gaze had changed—a flash of betrayal, followed by a hardening of sorts—and mounting dread took hold of Remus' senses.

She knew.

He tried to contain the damage with little success. Tried to placate her, though she lacked the necessary details, and Sirius and Harry's impatience weren't helping matters.

Appropriate that the place whose walls had kept his secret be the same where it was outed once more. Truth be told, it wasn't her words that hurt him the most—being accused of being a werewolf stung but was, ultimately, the truth. A truth Hermione herself would soon prove meaningless or, at the very least, of very little consequence. A mere fact, just like the colour of his eyes or his fondness for chocolate. Chronologically, this seemed like the future, but it was only so for Remus—Hermione hadn't yet grown to love him despite his curse. No, the reason why her words hurt him was because she believed he had broken her trust.

All year Remus had been hoping for a sign, a diminutive crumb indicative of any esteem she could have for him. Of any mark he might have left on her that would endear her to his younger self. And all this time, she had kept his secret. She had kept it and was only now revealing it to her friends because she believed—wrongly, yes, but no matter—that he had been keeping far more dangerous ones, that his secretive nature had not so much to do with keeping private matters private, but instead with deceitful intent. It was the very last thing he wished for her to believe.

And yet being walked through the steps of her realisation had him marvelled. Being made aware of the degree of her trust had him humbled.

What he said was, "You truly are the brightest witch of your age I've ever met."

What he didn't, what he left out as another secret kept from her, powerful yet harmless, was, "And I can't wait to meet you again."

Their little interlude over, the train wreck was once again set into motion.

How things could go so wrong in a single afternoon, Remus couldn't fathom. Severus had appeared, Padfoot couldn't keep his mouth shut for more than a second, Harry attacked the Potions Professor, Ron had to be helped out of the Shack, and, in the end, Remus was left to play jailer to Pettigrew while levitating Severus' unconscious form.

Wormtail wouldn't go quietly, either. He appealed to his former owner, crawling on his knees and pleading for a mercy he didn't deserve. And, when Ron failed to sympathise, Peter turned to Hermione, going as far as attempting to touch her.

It was all Remus could do not to kill him.

Yes, it had been, overall, a disastrous afternoon. Then it got worse, much worse.

When Remus woke up in the woods to earthy dampness and the loud, croaky caw of crows, he knew something had gone terribly wrong. The sky hovered in that almost colourless state before the sun rose, when light was no longer absent but neither was it vivid, shades of grey chasing away the deep blue of night. In their undersaturated state, the greens, reds, and browns of the Forbidden Forest appeared in mourning. Remus swallowed against the tang of iron in his mouth. Everything rank of carrion and when he looked to the side, he learned why: a badger carcass lay half-eaten on the mossy ground, being picked about by a murder of crows, its blood trail leading back to Remus.

He let out a dark laugh. He had endangered the entire school and eaten one of its house's symbols.

A stellar teacher performance.

More grievously still was the fact that the only two students he had set to protect at all costs had been at risk because of him.

Remus didn't believe he could have faced anyone just then, and not merely on account of his nakedness.

His wand was nowhere to be seen, and so he trekked through the woods towards the Shrieking Shack, until he spotted a bundle of clothes on the ground.

Rest wasn't on the cards once he reached the castle, he'd only just reached Dumbledore's office when the door at the end of the gargoyle stairs banged open.

Severus passed him with a sneer.

"Enter, Remus."

He dropped onto the offered chair and waited for the world to crash and burn.

Through the fuzzy memories of his transformation, he recalled the Potion Master stepping before Harry, Ron, and Hermione to face a fully transformed werewolf unarmed.

A young Severus Snape's voice kept ringing in his mind.

"You may have deceived everyone here, but I know better. You and that little pride of peacocks you call friends? One day the world will know what you all are. I might be the one to tell myself. And make no mistake, it will be an exquisite delight."

The words had been spat after Sirius had nearly gotten Severus killed. After Dumbledore had forbidden the Slytherin to share what had transpired in the Shack. An injustice now repaid in kind.

Now the Wizarding World knew about his status.

And Wormtail had escaped.

Yet not all was lost. Courtesy of Harry and Hermione, Sirius had escaped. Dumbledore had implied as much, but even if he hadn't Remus returned to his office to find a two-worded note on his desk.

As he lay his head on the pillow, they echoed ironically in his mind.

Mischief Managed.

A/N: I'm sooooo late! Regarding everything, really, but I promised in the last chapter of On The Color of Fur that I'd post this Falling Leaves update before the year ended, and here I am, keeping my word :)

This chapter was a nightmare to edit, and I'm still not 100% happy with it but it was about time I stopped changing it or I would never stop. I hope you guys managed to enjoy it all the same!

Oh, and I also have some news! I started a new WIP called "On the Color of Fur" (it's a Remus/Hermione/Sirius triad fic posted in shorter chapters) and if you want some holiday/Winter season cheer, I've written three one-shots on the theme (one of them is a Fremione New Year's fluffy piece which has just been revealed, so check it out if you like the pairing.)

Hope you guys are having a lovely December (and if not, HAVE ALL THE HUGS!) and that the new year brings all the happiness in the world!