The next morning, Hermione woke early, the weight of her plan settling heavily on her shoulders as she snuck back to her dorm. She hated lying to Remus—he was her best friend, and it felt wrong to deceive him, especially after the bond they'd solidified the previous night. But she knew she couldn't let him find out what she was planning, so she pinched her cheeks until they looked a bit flushed, and practised a weak cough into her pillow until it sounded convincing, her voice getting a bit hoarse in the process.
When she arrived at breakfast, Remus was already there, looking in better spirits than he had in the whole time she had known him. Last night must have been cathartic for him as well. She felt a pang of guilt as she sat down beside him, sniffling dramatically.
"You alright, Hermione?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concern, but Hermione noticed the way he subtly shifted back, clearly uneasy about getting too close.
"Yeah," she said, her voice scratchy as if from a lingering cold. "I just woke up feeling like I was trampled by a herd of hippogriffs."
Remus hesitated, clearly conflicted. He reached out tentatively, touching the back of his hand to her forehead, but his discomfort was evident, his fingers barely brushing her skin before he quickly pulled away. "You don't feel feverish," he said, his concern deepening, "but you don't look great either. Are you sure you don't want to go to Madam Pomfrey? You look... tired."
Hermione waved him off with a dismissive hand. "No, no, I'm fine. It's just a little sniffle at worst. I think I'll skip our study session this morning, though and go back to sleep."
"If you're sure..." Remus said, though he still looked uncertain. "But if you're not feeling better by lunch, promise me you'll go to the Hospital Wing?"
"Promise," she said quickly, forcing a reassuring smile. "I just need to lie down for a bit."
Relief flickered across his face, and he gave her a soft smile, nodding as he returned to his toast. But Hermione's stomach twisted—she knew he was trusting her, and it felt like a betrayal. But they were doing this for him. The others were counting on her.
As soon as breakfast was over and Remus was engrossed in his notes, Hermione slipped out of the Great Hall, heading towards the Entrance Hall. She reached into her bag and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak James had lent her, draping it over her shoulders and feeling the familiar cool weight settle around her. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead, and stepped outside, her boots crunching on the frosted grass.
The early morning air was crisp and biting, and the sun had only just begun to rise, casting long shadows over the grounds. She moved quickly, making her way towards the Forbidden Forest, feeling both exhilarated and anxious. There was something both thrilling and terrifying about sneaking into the forest alone, but she knew this was the only way. The dew had to be from a place that was untouched by sunlight or human feet for seven days, and she had to ensure that it would remain undisturbed until she needed to collect it.
She slipped between the trees, the thick undergrowth rustling softly as she moved. The sounds of the castle grew distant behind her, replaced by the eerie silence of the forest. Birds flitted through the branches above, and somewhere in the distance, she heard the howl of a lone wolf. She shivered, pulling the cloak tighter around herself.
After what felt like hours of searching, she stumbled upon a rocky outcrop that seemed promising. A shallow cave was nestled against the side of a hill, hidden by thick brambles and a large, moss-covered boulder. She carefully squeezed through the opening, holding her breath as she assessed the interior. It was dark, musty, and the damp smell of earth filled her nostrils—perfect. The cave floor was smooth and untouched, and no sunlight would ever reach this far in.
"Alright," she whispered to herself, pulling out her wand. "Let's get to work."
She began casting protective wards around the entrance, ensuring that no animals or unwelcome visitors would find their way inside. The magic pulsed in the air, humming with energy as the wards settled into place. Next, she marked the perimeter with Disillusionment Charms, hiding the entrance from view even if someone happened to walk by, mentally committing the other features of the surroundings so that she would find her way back. Satisfied with her work, she stepped back and surveyed the area. The cave was secure, and now all she had to do was wait for the seven days to pass before she could collect the dew.
But as she turned to leave, a thought struck her—a horrifying realisation that made her stomach drop. To avoid contaminating the area, she couldn't walk on the ground when she returned. Any contact from her feet would ruin the dew's purity.
"Oh, bloody hell," she muttered the swear, so uncharacteristically from her, staring towards the cave entrance that wasn't visible anymore in dismay. There was only one way to do this. She would have to come back on a broomstick.
With a groan of frustration, she adjusted the Invisibility Cloak and headed back towards the castle, mentally cursing herself for not thinking of it sooner. It wasn't going to be easy, navigating the forest in the dark while hovering on a broom, but it was the only way. She couldn't afford to make any mistakes. At least she didn't have to fly too high off the ground.
By the time she made it back to the castle, she was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. The morning sunlight had brightened, spilling across the grounds as a couple of students milled about, enjoying the fresh snow that had fallen the previous night. She slipped back inside undetected, making her way up to Gryffindor Tower and collapsing onto her bed.
She let out a slow, shaky breath, staring up at the canopy above. The guilt gnawed at her—guilt for lying to Remus, for sneaking around behind his back, for putting herself in danger for something that might not even work. But she pushed it aside, telling herself it would all be worth it in the end.
At lunch, she found Remus waiting for her at the Gryffindor table, his eyes filled with concern. "How are you feeling?" he asked, searching her face.
"Better," she said, giving him what she hoped was a convincing smile. "Just needed a bit more rest, like I said."
He studied her for a moment, then nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Good. I was worried."
"Nothing to worry about," she assured him, picking at her food. "I'm back to normal."
But as she forced herself to make small talk, her thoughts remained on the Forbidden Forest, the cave, and the dangerous path she was now walking—one that she couldn't share with anyone.
Karma was, indeed, a bitch. The next morning, Hermione woke with a throbbing headache, a stuffy nose, and a throat that felt like sandpaper—an inevitable consequence of traipsing through the damp, cold forest the previous morning with only the Cloak of Invisibility over her. She groaned, sitting up in bed and immediately feeling the chill of the early December morning seep through her bones.
At least she had slept in her own bed this time, she thought bitterly, pulling the covers tighter around her shoulders. But there was no avoiding it; she had to face the consequences of her own actions. The last thing she needed was to pass this cold onto Remus, especially so close to the full moon.
With a resigned sigh, she reluctantly got out of bed, pulling on her robes and shuffling her way out of Gryffindor Tower. She sniffled as she went, her feet dragging as she made her way through the empty corridors towards the Hospital Wing, thankful that most students were still in bed. Not that there were many around for Christmas to begin with. Her head pounded with every step, and by the time she pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the infirmary, she was already feeling worse.
Madam Pomfrey looked up from her desk, her eyes narrowing in concern. "Miss Prewett? What on earth are you doing up so early?"
"I think I've caught a cold," Hermione admitted hoarsely, coughing into her sleeve. "I didn't want to risk getting anyone else sick, especially... well, you know."
Madam Pomfrey's expression softened, and she gestured for Hermione to sit down on one of the beds. "Well, you did the right thing coming here," she said, her voice brisk but kind. "Let's take a look."
Hermione sat obediently as Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over her, a warm tingling sensation spreading through her chest. "Just a common cold," the nurse said after a moment, her expression one of mild relief. "Nothing too serious, but you'll need to rest. I'll give you some Pepper-Up Potion, and you're to stay in the Hospital Wing until it takes effect. I don't want you spreading this around."
"Of course," Hermione said, nodding gratefully. The thought of returning to bed was a welcome one. At least this way, she wouldn't have to keep up the pretence of being perfectly fine for a few hours.
Madam Pomfrey bustled away and returned with a steaming goblet of Pepper-Up Potion. "Drink up, and lie down," she instructed. "You should be feeling better by lunchtime."
Hermione did as she was told, downing the potion in one gulp. It sent a rush of warmth through her, clearing some of the congestion in her sinuses almost immediately, though the familiar wisps of steam escaping her ears were an unpleasant reminder of her misery. She lay back against the pillows with a sigh, closing her eyes and letting the warmth of the blankets surround her.
As she drifted off to sleep, her thoughts lingered on Remus—his worried eyes at breakfast, the way he had trusted her to tell the truth about her supposed "cold" the day before. Guilt gnawed at her once more, but she pushed it down, telling herself that keeping him in the dark was the only way to ensure the Animagus plan succeeded.
Hermione blinked, slowly coming to as she realised she wasn't alone. Remus was sitting beside her, a thick book resting in his lap, his eyes lifting the moment he sensed her waking up. His quiet presence was both comforting and grounding.
"So, you were fine yesterday at lunch?" Remus asked, raising an eyebrow, his tone gentle but carrying that familiar note of suspicion.
Hermione stifled a groan, her mind racing to keep up with the story she had stuck to. "I really thought I was," she replied, forcing a small smile. "I felt better, honestly."
Remus studied her for a long moment, then sighed softly, not fully convinced but choosing not to press her. "Well," he said, closing his book, "at least Madam Pomfrey's got you sorted. She said you could leave whenever you woke up."
"Thanks," Hermione said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She could feel the aftereffects of the Pepper-Up Potion, the warmth still lingering in her chest, though her body felt a little drained. But it was manageable.
As she stood, Remus immediately moved to her side, his hand lightly brushing against her elbow. "Take it easy," he murmured. "You don't want to overdo it."
"I'm fine," she reassured him, though she felt a slight pang of exhaustion still lingering. "Just a bit tired, but nothing too bad."
Remus gave her a brief smile, his eyes reflecting a quiet relief. "Good," he said. "Because I was getting a bit lonely with you in here and everyone else gone for the holidays."
Hermione felt a surge of warmth and guilt at his words. She had forgotten, amidst the hustle of sneaking off into the forest and her illness, that it was just the two of them left at the castle from the people with whom Remus actually talked on any kind of regularity. Everyone else—including Mary and Marlene—had gone home for Christmas. "Well, you won't be lonely anymore," she said softly, offering him a small smile. "I'm not planning on abandoning you again."
Remus chuckled lightly, standing up and offering her a hand as she gathered her things. "I'll hold you to that," he said, his voice warm and teasing. "The common room's a bit too quiet without the usual chaos."
"I bet," Hermione replied, her smile growing as they walked side by side through the empty corridors, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly. "But at least we'll have some peace for ourselves now. No pranks. No loud Quidditch chatter."
Remus smirked. "And no Sirius demanding constant attention."
Hermione laughed, the sound filling the silent halls as they headed back to the common room. It was strange, being at Hogwarts with nearly everyone gone, but there was something comforting about it too. They weren't alone—they had each other.
"So, what do you want to do?" Hermione asked as they made their way back to the common room, the whole afternoon stretched out in front of them with nothing planned.
Remus thought for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Do you know how to play chess?"
Hermione's mind flashed to Ron—his intense focus and how effortlessly he had always beaten her at Wizard's Chess. She bit her lip, feeling a pang of nostalgia. "I know the basics," she said cautiously. "But I wouldn't say I'm particularly great at it."
"Perfect," Remus said, his smile widening. "I'll teach you. Come on."
They headed to the common room and Hermione excused herself to go change out of her pyjamas, while Remus fetched his chess set from the boys' dorm. When she returned, dressed warmly in a cosy jumper and jeans, she found Remus setting up the board at the most inviting corner of the common room, right next to the crackling fire. The warmth of the flames bathed the area in a soft, flickering glow, making it the perfect spot for a quiet afternoon.
Hermione settled down on the rug across from him, feeling the warmth seep into her bones. "Alright, Professor Lupin," she teased with a grin. "Teach me your ways."
Remus chuckled, adjusting the pieces with careful precision. "It's all about strategy and patience," he said. "The pieces are enchanted, so they're a bit... lively. But they'll listen to you once they know you're in charge."
"Lively?" Hermione repeated, giving the pieces a sceptical look as they wriggled slightly on their squares.
"Trust me," Remus said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "They'll be more scared of you than you are of them."
Hermione snorted. "I doubt that," she muttered, but she positioned her pawns, mirroring Remus's set-up.
They played for nearly an hour, with Remus guiding her through strategies, patiently explaining how each piece could be used to its fullest advantage. Hermione found herself surprisingly invested, the game drawing her in despite her previous experiences with it. Remus was a patient teacher, offering hints without giving too much away, letting her make mistakes and then discussing them without making her feel foolish.
"See? You're getting the hang of it," Remus said after she made a particularly clever move with her knight.
Hermione beamed, feeling a rush of pride. "Maybe," she said, biting her lip in concentration as she studied the board. "But you're still five moves ahead of me, aren't you?"
"Maybe," he said with a mischievous grin, leaning back in his chair and watching her ponder her next move.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "I'll get you eventually."
"I look forward to it," Remus said sincerely, his eyes warm and full of affection. The fire crackled beside them, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and for a moment, it felt as though they were the only two people in the world.
After a while, he glanced at her, a bit of concern creeping into his expression. "Are you hungry yet? You missed lunch earlier."
Hermione shrugged, though her stomach did feel a bit empty. "Not really," she said, not wanting to break the cosy atmosphere. But Remus was looking at her with one of those patient, knowing glances that always seemed to see right through her.
"You sure you're all recovered? You should rest a bit more—maybe go lie down in my dorm. I can fetch something from the kitchens for you."
She waved it off. "No, I'm really fine. But thanks."
He raised an eyebrow, giving her a look of gentle insistence. "I'm going to get you something either way. Come on, it'll help. Just stay here and relax. Deal?"
Hermione sighed, unable to keep from smiling. "Fine. But only because you're so stubborn."
"Right back at you," he chuckled. "Stay put. I'll be back in a flash." With that, he disappeared through the portrait hole, and she settled back on the couch, watching the flames dance and feeling an unusual sense of ease.
When Remus returned, he carried a tray laden with a steaming bowl of soup, tea, and a small plate of biscuits. "I know you said you weren't hungry, but I think we both know you need something after skipping lunch."
She accepted the tray gratefully, the warmth from the soup rising up to meet her. "This is perfect, Remus. Thank you."
He settled back across from her, watching her take a sip. "Good. And don't even think about moving another piece on that board until you've finished every bite," he teased, nodding at the chess set between them.
Maybe it was the last remnants of that cold, or perhaps the lingering comfort of spending a quiet day playing chess, but as the warmth of the common room fire lulled her into a sense of safety, Hermione drifted off against Remus's shoulder. The soft rise and fall of his breathing beside her became a steady rhythm, and soon enough, she was asleep.
Her dreams were strange, a confusing swirl of familiar faces and voices. Harry was there, his face contorted with an anger she rarely saw directed at her, and Ron too, equally furious, shouting accusations that echoed in the dream's shifting landscape. Scabbers, then about not having loved them at all if she could swap them out with new friends in her heart so fast. At one moment, they were arguing about the Firebolt incident, then Harry was accusing her of breaking up his parents, insisting she was ruining everything. The anger felt sharp and real, slicing through the dream with a sense of betrayal that left her feeling breathless.
She woke up with a gasp, her heart hammering in her chest. Before she realised it, her hands were covering her face, trying to block out the echoes of the dream that clung to her mind.
"Hermione?" Remus's voice was soft and steady, his arm shifting around her shoulder as she slowly came back to herself. "Hey, are you alright?"
She peeked at him through her fingers, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment. "Sorry," she said, her voice rough. "Just... a nightmare."
Remus's expression softened with concern, his arm staying around her shoulders in a comforting, grounding presence. "Wanna talk about it?" he offered, his tone gentle and inviting, without any hint of pressure.
Hermione hesitated, shaking her head slightly. "Not particularly," she admitted, lowering her hands to her lap and letting out a shaky breath. The fire crackled quietly beside them, and she focused on the warmth of it, trying to let the lingering tension ease from her body.
Remus's brow furrowed with concern, but he nodded, respecting her privacy. "That's alright," he said softly, his voice soothing. "But if you change your mind, I'm here."
Hermione gave him a small, grateful smile, though her heart was still racing. The dream had left her feeling unsettled, as if some part of her mind was grappling with the impossible weight of everything—of being stuck in a time that wasn't her own, of balancing secrets and responsibilities she couldn't share. And the dream... it had felt far too real. Harry's anger, Ron's frustration, the pressure of expectations she couldn't possibly meet—it was all too much.
Taking a deep breath, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. "I think I just need some air," she said, standing up and straightening her jumper.
Remus hesitated, clearly torn between giving her space and wanting to be there for her. "Okay," he said finally, watching her with that steady gaze of his. "But don't go too far. It's cold out there, and you're just getting over a cold yourself."
"I'll stay close," she promised, flashing him a reassuring smile. "Just... need to clear my head a bit."
As she walked towards the portrait hole, Hermione tried to shake off the lingering unease from the dream. She told herself it was just her mind playing tricks, but she couldn't ignore the underlying fear that gnawed at her—what if she was, somehow, messing things up?
With a sigh, she stepped out into the quiet corridor, the cold draft making her shiver. Maybe it was all just anxiety. Maybe it was her mind's way of processing everything that had happened since she had arrived in this time. Or maybe, just maybe, it was something she was truly afraid of deep down—that no matter what she did, she might not be able to put things back the way they were meant to be.
Hermione slipped into her seat across from Remus at the nearly empty Gryffindor table at dinner, giving him a tentative smile. The rest of the Great Hall was quiet, the empty tables a stark reminder of how few students had stayed for the holidays. Remus looked up from his plate the moment she sat down, his eyes soft with concern.
"You alright?" he asked, his voice gentle but probing.
"Yeah," Hermione said, forcing a bright smile that she knew didn't reach her eyes. "I just needed some time to clear my head, like I said. I'm fine now."
Remus didn't seem convinced. He set down his fork, leaning forward slightly. "You don't have to pretend with me, you know," he said quietly. "If something's bothering you, I'd rather you just tell me."
Hermione's smile faltered, and she let out a slow breath. "It's nothing serious, Remus. I just... had a lot on my mind, that's all."
He studied her for a long moment, as if weighing her words, but finally nodded. "Alright," he said, though his tone was still laced with worry. "But if you need to talk, I'm here. You don't have to carry it all by yourself."
"Thanks," Hermione said, her voice soft with sincerity. She picked up a piece of bread, tearing it apart slowly as she tried to muster up some semblance of normalcy. "So, how was your afternoon? Did you win any more chess games without me?"
Remus's lips twitched into a small smile, though the worry didn't leave his eyes. "Not really. The chess set gets lonely without a worthy opponent."
Hermione managed a small laugh. "Worthy, huh? I think you were beating me every single game."
"Maybe," Remus said, his smile widening just a little. "But it's not about winning, is it? It's about having someone to play with."
The warmth of his words eased some of the tension that had coiled tight in Hermione's chest. She picked up her fork, taking a small bite of food, and made herself focus on the present. There was no sense in dwelling on dreams or anxieties she couldn't change. For now, she was here—with Remus—and that was enough.
After dinner, they wandered up to the boys' dorm, the castle dim and quiet with so many students gone for the holidays. Hermione followed Remus up the winding staircase, her curiosity piqued when he mentioned he had something to show her. He pushed open the door to the dorm, and they stepped inside.
Remus walked over to Sirius's side of the room, where a sleek, slightly battered record player sat on the floor, surrounded by a messy pile of vinyl records. He gave Hermione a small, excited smile before flipping through the collection. "Sirius brought this up at the start of last term," he explained, holding up a record sleeve. "He usually leaves it behind over the holidays—figured it was safe here since his parents would hate it. Look at what he's got."
Hermione leaned in, eyebrows raising in astonishment as she glanced at the names on the records. Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, David Bowie, Queen, ABBA... She blinked, genuinely surprised by the variety. "He listens to Muggle music?"
Remus chuckled, picking up a Led Zeppelin album and examining the cover. "Oh, Sirius loves pissing off his parents. Sneaks out to Muggle London whenever he gets the chance. I don't think they have any idea how many Muggle things he's managed to collect over the years."
She hesitated for a second, then admitted, "I actually know most of these." She couldn't help herself—the excitement of seeing so many familiar albums overwhelmed her caution. She knew she had to provide some sort of explanation, so she added quickly, "My dad... he was a bit eccentric. Collected Muggle stuff just for fun."
Remus's face softened with understanding. He nodded, not pressing for more details, just like she knew he wouldn't. "Well then," he said, holding up the Led Zeppelin album, "how about we listen to one you know?"
He placed the record on the turntable, and as the needle touched down, the opening chords of Stairway to Heaven filled the room. The gentle strumming of the guitar filled the quiet dormitory, creating a bubble of warmth and nostalgia. Hermione sat cross-legged on Sirius's bed, feeling a strange mix of familiarity and homesickness wash over her as the music enveloped them.
They sat quietly for a while, letting the music fill the space between them. Hermione found herself swaying slightly to the rhythm, mouthing along to the lyrics she knew by heart, while Remus watched her with an intrigued, almost fascinated expression.
"You know," he said after a while, his voice low and contemplative, "I think Sirius would practically fall in love with you. If he knew how much you appreciate his music, I mean."
Hermione smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through her chest. "He doesn't need to know," she said softly, knowing full well that Sirius would never let her live it down. "This is... just for us."
Remus's eyes twinkled with something warm and unspoken as the music swelled around them. "Just for us," he agreed, leaning back against the headboard and closing his eyes as the song played on, the sound of the record crackling softly in the background.
They spent the rest of the evening going through the collection, laughing as they discovered some of Sirius's more eclectic choices and singing along to the familiar tunes when they felt comfortable enough. For a few hours, the past and future melted away, leaving only the present—two friends sharing stolen moments in a quiet castle, wrapped in the magic of music and companionship.
With no one around to question her choices, Hermione had settled into a new routine, spending her nights in the boys' dorm. It was easier that way—the girls' dorm felt cavernous and lonely with everyone gone, and Remus's quiet presence had become a comforting constant. He never seemed to mind, making room for her in their cosy corner by the fire or tossing her a blanket when she nodded off after long hours of reading.
On Christmas morning, she woke up to the soft glow of dawn filtering through the window and the smell of something sweet wafting up from the kitchens below. She blinked sleepily, sitting up in the warm cocoon of blankets, only to find that there were two piles of presents at the foot of Remus's bed—one for him and one for her.
She sat up straighter, her heart skipping a beat with surprise. She hadn't expected to have much to open this year. She reached for the first package, wrapped in cheerful, mismatched paper. Her fingers traced the neatly tied bow, a soft smile tugging at her lips when she saw the familiar, slightly lopsided "H" adorning the front.
It was a Weasley sweater, handmade and cosy, in the rich maroon of Gryffindor with a bold "H" embroidered on the front. Hermione's breath hitched, and she felt an unexpected sting of emotion. Molly had remembered her, despite everything. She pulled the sweater close to her chest, feeling the weight of genuine warmth and affection that came with it. The last few months had been a whirlwind of secrecy and strangeness, but this... this felt like home.
"You alright?" Remus asked quietly from beside her, still half-buried under his covers, but watching her with a gentle smile.
Hermione nodded, blinking back the mist in her eyes. "Yeah. Just... it's silly," she said, her voice a bit choked. "Molly sent me a sweater. I didn't think she would. I mean, it's not like I'm really family."
Remus sat up, his own pile of gifts momentarily forgotten as he looked at her with surprising seriousness. "Of course you are," he said softly. "She wouldn't have made you one if she didn't think so."
Hermione swallowed hard, nodding again as she set the sweater gently to one side and moved to the other presents. There was a small package from Arthur, a few galleons for spending money tucked inside a card that made her smile—Arthur's fascination with Muggle artefacts clear in his mention of "more batteries" for the next time she visited.
Her fingers stilled as she picked up a small, plainly wrapped package. The return address caught her off guard: Andrew Prewett, her supposed older brother. She carefully unwrapped it, revealing a silver bracelet with a single, delicate charm—a small, engraved star. There was no elaborate note, just the weight of the unexpected kindness, and she felt a mixture of gratitude and guilt twist in her chest. She had to remind herself that the Prewetts were part of the cover story she'd been given, nothing more, and yet... they had accepted her without question.
"You okay?" Remus asked again, his tone lighter now. He had finished unwrapping his own gifts—a couple of books, some chocolate from Honeydukes, and a new scarf from James that was adorned with dancing moons and stars.
"Yeah," she said, giving him a reassuring smile as she reached for the remaining gifts. There were some smaller things from the Marauders: a tin of prank toffees from Sirius (with a handwritten warning on the label), a slim, elegant notebook from Remus for "all your brilliant research," and a small package of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans from Peter, which she suspected was more about what he wanted to snack on than a thoughtful gift.
Hermione was relieved that she had gotten them each something small—a mix of sweets she had bought on their last Hogsmeade trip, and little personalised notes tucked inside. She watched Remus examine the Honeydukes assortment she had gifted him, his eyes lighting up with genuine appreciation, and she felt that familiar warmth settle in her chest again.
They spent the morning lounging on Remus's bed, sharing their chocolates and flipping through their new books, the record player humming softly in the background. Hermione's eyes kept wandering back to the maroon sweater, and she finally pulled it over her head, letting the warmth of the soft wool and the comfort of being remembered seep into her bones.
Later, when the castle was still quiet and they had moved to the common room with cups of hot cocoa, Hermione looked over at Remus and caught his eye. "Thank you," she said softly, the weight of gratitude heavy in her voice. "For making this Christmas... feel like Christmas."
Remus's smile was soft, his eyes reflecting the glow of the fire. "I'm glad you're here, Hermione. I wouldn't have wanted to spend it any other way."
The full moon day was a true test of patience for Hermione. It was the first time she had to handle Remus's condition on her own without the rest of the Marauders there to help. James, Sirius, and Peter usually took charge, knowing precisely how to manage Remus's mood swings and the physical toll that always accompanied his transformation. This time, it was just her, and she quickly learned how hard it was to deal with him when the full moon was looming. Remus was irritable, snapping at her for the smallest things, and while Hermione knew it wasn't personal, it still stung.
As the day dragged on, it became obvious that Remus was in physical pain, his movements stiff and strained, and he kept rubbing at his neck and shoulders as if trying to ease a deep, throbbing ache. Hermione hesitated for a long moment, unsure if he would let her help, but finally, she gathered her courage and moved to stand behind him.
"Do you want me to try and massage your shoulders?" she asked softly, her voice gentle.
He started to brush her off, but the look of concern in her eyes seemed to make him pause. "I—" He hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Fine. Just... don't make it worse, yeah?"
Hermione's lips quirked in a small smile as she settled behind him, her fingers beginning to work the tight knots in his neck. At first, he remained tense, and she wondered if he was about to tell her to stop. But then, slowly, his shoulders relaxed under her touch, and he practically melted, leaning forward slightly as if surrendering to the relief.
"Oh, please don't stop," he murmured, his voice almost a groan. Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at how desperate he sounded.
"That was... a little inappropriate," she teased, but there was warmth in her voice.
Remus snorted softly, his eyes half-closed as he shifted to lying down face first on his bed. "I don't care. It feels amazing."
"Maybe I should start a new career as a personal werewolf massage therapist," she said lightly, and to her surprise, he chuckled—a real, genuine laugh, rare on days like this.
He ended up falling asleep not long after, his head resting at an awkward angle. Hermione took a moment to watch him, feeling a deep sense of affection and protectiveness that had grown over the months. She knew she had to wake him soon to head down to the Hospital Wing, but she allowed him those few minutes of peace.
When it was time, she gently nudged him awake. "Remus," she said softly, "we need to go."
He blinked groggily, his eyes focusing on her. "Thank you," he said quietly, his tone sincere.
She smiled, brushing a lock of hair away from his face. "Always."
As soon as Remus left to meet Madam Pomfrey, Hermione's demeanour changed instantly. She dashed to her own dorm to collect the things she'd need for her part of the Marauders' plan. Slipping under the Invisibility Cloak, she sprinted up to the Astronomy Tower, heart racing. The night was clear—a good sign—and she carefully placed her crystal phial out to bathe in the moon's rays. She watched the sky anxiously, noting the time, relieved that the moon was shining brightly.
The dew was her next priority. It was a mad dash to the broomshed near the Quidditch Pitch, where she quickly grabbed a broom after a quick Alohomora. She had practised flying before, but this was different. She needed to hover just above the ground, making sure her feet didn't touch as she floated towards the secluded spot she had warded off a week earlier. The wind was chilly, biting at her cheeks, but she focused, the silvery moonlight guiding her.
When she finally arrived at the cave entrance, she hovered cautiously, holding the silver spoon tightly in one hand. She floated inside slowly, careful not to disturb anything, and began collecting the dew—measuring out just enough for four silver phials. It took longer than expected, going drop by drop, every movement slow and deliberate, her nerves stretched thin by the fear of making a mistake. One misstep, one brush of her foot against the ground, and everything would be ruined.
By the time she finished, her hands were trembling with cold and adrenaline. She flew back to the broomshed, heart still hammering in her chest, and returned the broom as quietly as possible. Then it was another sprint back up to the Astronomy Tower, relieved that the moon was still shining strong. Her phial, now glowing slightly from the moon's energy, looked just right.
She carefully followed the ritual's steps, removing the saliva-soaked mandrake leaf from her mouth and placing it in the phial. She winced a bit as she plucked a hair from her own head and added it. The dew went in next, carefully measured out with the silver spoon. Lastly, she pulled out the chrysalis they'd stolen from Filch's office and dropped it into the phial, watching as it settled at the bottom. It looked perfect.
The only thing left was to find a place to hide it—a cool, dark, and quiet spot where it would remain undisturbed until the next electrical storm. She began her descent from the Astronomy Tower, her steps slow and careful, nerves jangling with the enormity of what she'd just accomplished.
As she reached the floor near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, she suddenly heard a soft rustling. Her heart stopped. Filch. She could hear his raspy voice muttering to himself as he approached. Panic surged through her, and she froze, feeling utterly exposed. (She had completely forgotten she was still under the Invisibility Cloak in her anxiety and fatigue.)
Desperate for a hiding place, she paced back and forth in front of the tapestry, a motion she didn't even realise she was repeating. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a door materialised to her right—a plain wooden door she'd never seen before.
Without hesitation, Hermione yanked the handle and dove inside, the door snapping shut just as Filch's footsteps rounded the corner. She pressed her back against the door, breathing heavily, and looked around the dimly lit room in astonishment. Shelves stretched out in every direction, filled with an assortment of random, hidden objects.
It was only then, standing amidst the strange, forgotten artefacts, that she realised where she was—the Room of Requirement. She had read about it in an old edition of Hogwarts: A History in the Library, barely a footnote even there. But this had to be it.
A slow smile spread across her face as she carefully placed the precious phial in the deepest, most hidden part of the room, casting a few extra spells to ensure its protection. She stepped back, feeling a surge of triumph, and slipped back out into the corridor, the door disappearing as soon as it closed behind her.
Hermione was shivering as the chill of the early morning biting at her skin in the corridor. She ensured the coast was clear before casting a quick reminder spell on her wand, setting it to alert her at sunrise and sunset for the Amato Animo Animato Animagus incantation. It was a precaution, as she couldn't afford to miss doing the spell even once. Her nerves were frayed, her mind buzzing with adrenaline and exhaustion, but she felt a strange calm settle over her as she completed the final steps. This was the most important phase of the transformation, and she needed to be consistent until the first storm hit.
By the time she finished, the sky was lightening with the first rays of dawn. She performed the incantation, feeling the familiar warmth of the magic swirl inside her, and then made a quick decision: she would go straight to the Hospital Wing. She hadn't slept at all, but sleep could wait. Remus was her priority.
She moved as quickly as she could through the empty, echoing halls of the castle, exhaustion weighing down her limbs. She reached the Hospital Wing just as Madam Pomfrey arrived, gently levitating an unconscious and bloodied Remus beside her. Hermione's breath hitched at the sight—his face was pale, and she could see at least three fresh scars that hadn't been there the day before. They criss-crossed his cheek and neck, angry and raw.
"Miss Prewett, what are you doing here at this hour?" Madam Pomfrey asked, her eyes narrowing slightly in surprise. Her tone was stern, but there was a flicker of understanding in her gaze.
"I was worried," Hermione said softly, her eyes never leaving Remus's prone form.
"It's fine," Remus managed to rasp out, his voice hoarse and weak. He raised a trembling hand, and Hermione stepped forward, taking it without hesitation. His fingers were cold, and she squeezed them gently, offering what little comfort she could.
Madam Pomfrey let out a long, weary sigh. "I suppose you can help me if you want to learn," she said, her tone brisk but not unkind. Hermione's eyes widened, and she nodded eagerly, feeling a mixture of relief and determination swell in her chest.
Together, they moved Remus to a bed at the far end of the wing, far from prying eyes. Madam Pomfrey pulled a set of privacy screens around them, giving them a bubble of seclusion. Hermione listened intently as the matron began instructing her, showing her the specific spells and potions needed to treat his wounds. It was delicate work, and Hermione's hands trembled slightly as she performed each spell under Madam Pomfrey's watchful eye.
"You'll need to clean the wounds first," Madam Pomfrey instructed, guiding her wand in a slow, careful motion over a particularly deep gash on Remus's shoulder. "This spell will sanitise the area and prevent infection."
Hermione mimicked her movement, her heart racing as she cast the spell. The wound cleaned itself, and Remus let out a faint, pained sigh. "Good," Madam Pomfrey said, nodding approvingly. "Now, a numbing charm."
Hermione's confidence grew with each successful incantation. She moved from wound to wound, gently applying the salves and healing potions Madam Pomfrey handed her. The matron explained each ingredient and its purpose, and Hermione soaked up the knowledge like a sponge, feeling a new kind of bond form between her and Remus. This was more than just helping a friend; it was learning to care for someone in a way that transcended the usual limits of school and duty.
Remus remained mostly silent, his eyes half-lidded and distant, but he never let go of her hand. His grip was light but constant, as if grounding himself through her presence.
By the time they were finished, Remus was barely awake, exhaustion weighing heavily on his features. His skin had regained some colour, the worst of the injuries healed, though the scars would remain—a permanent reminder of the night.
"I'll be back in the afternoon," Hermione promised him softly, smoothing a hand over the blanket that covered him. He gave her a faint smile, his eyes drooping shut.
As she turned to leave, she heard Madam Pomfrey's voice, low and affectionate, say to Remus, "What a lovely witch you have, to care for you like this."
Hermione's steps faltered, and she caught Remus's soft reply: "She's my dearest friend."
There was a sincerity in his words that made Hermione's chest tighten with emotion. She wiped at her eyes hastily and forced herself to keep walking, feeling warmth bloom within her. The exhaustion and stress of the night fell away as she exited the Hospital Wing, her heart lighter, and a quiet smile settled on her lips.