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WHO: Remus and Hermione
WHAT: Recovering
WHEN: The morning after...the full moon.
WHERE: Undisclosed location and then to Apartment 101

It will never get easier, Hermione thinks, to watch Remus transform nor return to himself as the full moon drops behind the horizon. It breaks her heart because she knows that she could stop it if she just had the recipe and ingredients for wolfsbane potion. It might take her a practice run or two to ensure she got it right and could feel comfortable giving it to him, but she's confident she could do it.

But, without the recipe, even if she could somehow find or transfigure the ingredients, she'd never be able to make it safely for him. So, instead, she's only able to offer him support from the safety of an impenetrable, invisible bubble she's charmed around herself, curled up on a raggedy sofa the Hales dragged into the space where the three werewolves spend their full moons together.

He always looks like he's in so much physical pain when he's transforming and transitioning back and she hates that all she can do is be here, even if he has no idea who she is while he needs her the most. She's learned not to flinch or cry when his mindless werewolf form slams into the bubble in repeated attempts to reach her because it only makes the Hales react negatively which then makes Remus react negatively. She takes short cat naps, reads, or simply watches when the three werewolves tire themselves out and need to briefly rest...and then when Remus shows signs of starting to transition back into his human form, Hermione's work truly begins.

The charm comes down and Hermione fishes Remus's clothes and a bar of chocolate from her beaded handbag. Being the only clothed person in a room is still incredibly uncomfortable, but having things to do keeps her distracted from that bit. "Here, have some chocolate and come sit down; catch your breath," she says, offering the sweets to him first. Then, she lays out his clothes neatly for him to get to when his energy isn't completely sapped from the transformation back into human form. In the meantime, she reaches back into the beaded bag and pulls out a large blanket, and wraps it around his shoulders before leading him toward the couch so that he can catch his breath and regain his bearings. Then, Remus will get dressed and she'll get him home for the real recovery time.

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While one might think living and growing up with lycanthropy would make the full moons routine, it doesn't. He counts the days to each one, notes the edge of fatigue and irritability in the days before, and the body shaking exhaustion that follows. It had been easier in Hogwarts, but then everything had been. The castle protected him - Albus protected him - and his dearest friends never left his side.

He has friends here, too, of course. The Hales taking him under their wing and making sure he hurts no one. Then Hermione - Hermione who he watches from a distance in her bubbled charm. Hermione who, as he sits on the pavement of the old warehouse distrct, has to watch him suffer through it. A part of him feels embarrassed by it, really - that she takes it upon herself to join them. He sometimes remembers flashes of fear or concern as the transformation takes place, and he tries his best not to scream as his bones and muscles twist, biting his own lip or tongue hard enough to make him bleed.

He doesn't want to scare her anymore than he already does.

The rest is much of a blur, even Hermione's gentle hands and the clothes and the chocolate. The blanket and the smell of the couch are familiar, and he musters up the strength to return to properly dress and prepare for the apparition home. He stays silent the whole time, his mind foggy and reeling, his body sore and aching. It's only when they make it to the apartment that he lets out a sound, the sigh shuddering and soft, his hand staying twined round hers.

"Sorry," he mutters finally, reaching to steady himself on the back of one of the dining room chairs. "You alright?" And there's the slightest of movements, his hand reaching into the pocket of his baggy trousers to pull out half the chocolate bar she'd brought for him. He offers it out to her on a tired, weary smile. "It helps. Honest."

Once he's prepared, Hermione brings him home in an instant via Side-Along Apparation so that he doesn't have to put in the effort and focus it would take for him to Apparate home on his own without splinching himself. She worries for him, still a bit shaky on his legs when they reach their shared flat. Even that is still new enough that it seems a bit strange knowing that he won't be going back to his own flat once he's had some time to recover because this is his own flat, now. It's pleasant when she thinks about it, but new enough to feel a bit strange when she lets herself think about it.

A surprised, incredulous bark of laughter escapes her at his offer and Hermione rolls her eyes. "Oh, Remus, don't be stupid," she giggles. "I'm not the one who just spent a full moon burning off a month's worth of energy in only nine hours, so I'm fine," she points out. "You need that more than I do and we both know it."

Though, in an effort to make him happy, she moves closer and reaches out to snap off a tiny piece. "The rest is for you, I mean it," she insists, popping the sliver of chocolate into her mouth. "Can I get you some hot cocoa to go with it? Or tea to help you settle? I made sure I put the charm up in the windows of your bedroom to block out the sun so you can sleep," she adds quickly, willing away the thought of offering to stay with him in there. Merlin knows Hermione needs to sleep, as well, but she'll just charm her own windows dark. "Are you hungry? I could make you something..."

It's his first full moon in their shared flat and there's something comforting in the fact that someone else will be here. That when he wakes up in the middle of the afternoon, he might be able to take it a little easier on himself knowing he isn't alone. Not that he would willingly ask for her help moving about and making tea and food, but. It's comforting.

When she passes the chocolate back to him he smiles a little, carefully re-wrapping the colored tinfoil and tucking it into his pocket once again. Always best to save some for later, but he's always saving chocolate for later.

"You really didn't have to go to so much trouble," he offers, a little sheepish as he runs his hands back through his hair. The motion doesn't come without a wince. He needs to lie down, to settle into his bed and stop moving for a little while, but he doesn't want to leave her alone, either. (He doesn't want to be alone).

"And you shouldn't fret, hm? I'll be quite alright come tomorrow. It's you that needs the sleep, too. You've done plenty... I'm the one who should be offering you a cuppa. Let me make you a hot chamomile. It's quite good for nerves, I think. Helps with sleep."

And as stubborn as Hermione might be, he's twofold, and he starts moving toward the kitchen, pausing a moment to catch his breath in the doorway.

This awkward shuffle is too much, she thinks, both of them dancing around the reality of the situation which is that they're traumatizing one another each month and neither of them is going to budge on their position, so neither of them tries to change it. Frankly, she'd rather this than the alternative of making him suffer alone. Sure, he'd have the Hales, but they're full moon friends and, to her knowledge, it doesn't stretch too much further beyond that. The idea of Remus having to do this without her, without Sirius; without someone from home is unacceptable.

"It's no trouble," she assures him gently. "I'm happy to help. I only wish I could do more but I haven't got what I need to what I ought to be doing for you," she sighs, frowning slightly at the renewed thought of being unable to provide the one thing that might give him some peace each month. She's got half a mind to go back through that portal and march straight into Professor Snape's office and steal exactly what she needs before coming back through, but she's concerned she'll forget that she'd left anywhere in the first place and then Remus truly would be alone and it would be her fault.

She opens her mouth to protest, but then Remus is already moving and she sighs, following him. He has to stop to catch his breath in the doorway and Hermione seizes the opportunity to redirect him. "I don't need any tea. You need a lie down," she says firmly, hands settling on his shoulders and turning him away from the kitchen. "Come on, then, we'll both go to bed." She knows that if she doesn't include herself in the statement, he'll insist on the tea again. They're both hideously stubborn and that makes this equal parts amusing and incredibly frustrating. "You're liable to make yourself faint, now stop it," she adds in an effort to preemptively keep him from turning right back toward the kitchen again.

The fact that Hermione wants to help at all, that she'd take the time and labor to draught such a difficult potion is enough for him. He's used to these transformations, to forgetting everything the moment the wolf takes over, to waking up shaken and sore. It's the monster he knows, after all. What he doesn't know is that he's met his match in Hermione Granger, toe to toe, stubbornness to rival his own.

Her hands find his shoulders and he lets out a soft, tired little laugh. He takes the turn in grace and follows her urging, even if a part of him does want to protest. After all, she's spent so much time looking after him in the last 24 hours, he wants to look after her a bit, too.

"I think we both need a lie down," he muses on another little laugh, headed toward the door to what is now his room. It's sparse, really, save for a little desk and chair, an oversized sweater thrown over it, and a few piles of books throughout. Even the added furniture is worn and well-used, some papers scattered on the desk top, the keys to Sirius's motorbike sat reverently in one corner. His bed is neatly made, so when he wanders in he pulls the quilt and sheets back on a sigh. It's dark and cool in the room, no sign of the morning light peeking in. It's heavenly.

"At least sit here for a moment. It'd ease my mind if you did," he sighs, stepping out of his sneakers and climbing into the bed with little preamble, sighing like a man who has found water in the desert, the bed soft and cool and gentle on his tired body. "We are quite the team."

She's not entirely sure what keeps her hands rooted to his shoulders, perhaps uncertainty that he'll continue forward motion without her help — indeed, given how stubborn they both are, he's equally as likely to move forward, try to double back to make her a cuppa, or fall over right where he's standing out of sheer exhaustion — but she does keep them there. "Yes, well, you're not wrong about that," she agrees readily; she's tired too.

Hermione guides him all the way to his bedroom before pausing in the doorway to make sure he'll at least get into the bed before she leaves him unattended. She's about to back away again, realizing that perhaps this is encroaching on his privacy, being so nearly in his personal space in the flat. But then he asks her to come sit with him for a moment and Hermione's face colors warmly as she smiles. "Well, if it'll ease your mind," she agrees, moving almost cautiously over the threshold of a room she's not stepped foot into...ever. She'd never gone in when Isaac was living here because he'd used the other empty bedroom. And she'd never had any reason to go in prior to Remus moving in nor since. Until now.

"We certainly do, don't we? Be it the kitchen or the full moon, evidently," she replies with a small smirk. Pulling the door closed behind her, Hermione lifts a hand into the air, pointer finger raised. "Lumos," she says softly, igniting a bright light at the tip of her finger to give herself enough light to be able to navigate to his bed without tripping over something in the complete darkness of the room otherwise.

She waits until he's climbed into bed before she toes her own trainers off and lowers herself onto the foot of the bed, drawing her legs up beneath herself, criss-crossed, and facing him. "Nox," she says next, putting out the light. The whole room is cloaked in the blackest darkness she can remember in a long time and between that and the central air conditioning pumping through the flat, it makes her shiver a little where she sits. She reaches a hand toward him, groping gently through the air, until she finds one of his legs beneath the duvet and she rests her hand there to reassure him that she's still there. "Get some rest, Remus," she yawns quietly. "You must be completely knackered. I'll stay until you've fallen asleep, if you like," she assures him.

The darkness of the room provides a sort of solitude and immediate relief that he hadn't expected. His body responds to it instantly, his limbs feeling heavy and tired, his head feeling foggy, his eyes threatening to close. He settles in and stretches out with a groan, his joints popping noisily as his body readjusts in the aftermath of the moon.

He feels the weight of the bed shift and squints in the dark. He can't make out her form, not really, but the pressure of her hand on his leg is enough. "I don't think you'll make it much longer yourself, Mione."

Remus yawns softly before sitting up just enough to touch her hand, fingers curling around it and giving a soft tug. "Come on then - these beds are big enough. You need rest as much as anyone."

Don't think he didn't hear that yawn to see the tired circles under her eyes. So he wiggles in the bed with a pained sort of sound, but he manages to move to the other side, clearing up a spot for her as he pulls the covers back enough. "You certainly don't have to, but ah. I don't mind. I'll admit I'm not long for the waking world much longer as it is. I think I could sleep for years. No chocolate in existence could cure it."

"Probably not," Hermione agrees with a soft laugh, flushing when he uses a nickname for her that only Ronald ever had done. She'd taken a couple of quick cat naps the previous night, but it seemed like each time she'd finally drop off, the werewolf in control of Remus would slam itself into the bubble, thinking it had just found itself an easy target. So she's just as tired as Remus is, just about.

It startles her a little to feel him take her hand, even though she can hear him moving, because she can't see it, but he tugs on her arm and invites her to join him. Immediately at his touch, her stomach swoops, never mind when he pulls on her to get into bed.

Everything inside her lights up in an almost unfamiliar way. It's been over a year, now, since Ron. Hermione hasn't had any real interest in anyone other than Remus since then. A wave of anticipatory nausea washes over her as she hears him moving again, and drawing the covers back. Truthfully, Hermione's never shared a bed with a boy. When she, Ron, and Harry were in hiding as Undesirables, they had to take turns keeping watch and there weren't any opportunities for it without making things weird. She and Isaac would sometimes lay together after one of them would have a nightmare, but they never stayed together for the whole night. Even though it's morning, this would be the equivalent of that.

Part of her is telling her she needs to go to her own room before she gets too tired to do it. What if she falls asleep and has a nightmare while she's in Remus's bed with him? Moreover, she keeps hearing that voice in the back of her head reminding her that he was her professor. She's seen him at his best, his worst; as a father and a husband; she's seen him dead, even.

And yet, she can't help the way she feels. She can't help the way he makes her feel, either. When she's around Remus, she feels appreciated properly for the first time in her life. Hermione carried a lot of weight for the trio in school and she never minded; still doesn't. But it's nice to have her intelligence appreciated rather than mocked. Sometimes Remus will smile at her just right and it makes her feel beautiful in a way she's never felt. He's a half-blood but he understands the muggle world just as much as she does. He was the clever one in his group, just like she is. He's been, in a different way, branded by the wizarding world as a lesser other and she's been quite literally branded as a lesser other. It's hard not to take all of those things into account and simply ignore the more logical part of her mind telling her that there are dozens of reasons why indulging in this is a terrible idea.

For Merlin's sake, Hermione, it's just sleeping, she reminds herself.

In the end, the draw is too great and she's too tired to fight it. "If you're sure you don't mind," she agrees, taking effort not to sound too happy to oblige.

Before she actually does, though, Hermione takes advantage of the pitch black darkness in the room and slips out of her bra beneath her top, carefully folding the cups into one another and stashing it beneath his bed. She'll be sure to grab it and get it back on before the lights come back when they wake again, but she'll never be able to sleep with it digging into her. Somehow, even knowing that he can't see it, removing that undergarment for the sake of being able to actually sleep makes her feel so much more exposed and makes the act of sharing the bed a little more intimate than it actually is.

Then, she slips beneath the covers beside him. "Thank you," she says quietly, a yawn overtaking the latter word of the sentiment. His bed is comfortable and cool, and she can practically feel sleep dragging her down the second her head hits the pillow. Almost as if reflexively, she reaches for him, finding his arm with her hand and sliding her fingers down to meet his own. "Good night, Remus..." she whispers as she slips her fingers between his. "Sleep well, yeah?"

It's been so long since Remus has shared a bed with anyone, too, and certainly never a girl. Instead, his bed would shift under the weight of Prongs jostling him awake to pull a prank or set a silly trap for a professor or friend. Sometimes, it would be Padfoot, curling up at his side in the hospital wing to talk about family woes or recent girlfriends to distract him from the pains of the moon. He misses them dearly, he realizes. He always has, and to have Sirius so recently departed Eglaf... well. He's felt more lonely than not.

Having Hermione here soothes that ache - she's able to meet him on an intellectual level certainly, and they share space and time together easily enough. That she willingly faces down the full moons and waits out the brunt of the storm for him is something he will never be able to thank her for. He's reminded of his days in school, the animagi and he running the grounds with wild abandon. He doesn't have that now, but he does have someone he can trust above anyone else.

It dawns on him that maybe he shouldn't have asked her to stay - that the kneejerk reaction for someone close might not be welcomed. She's a woman, after all, not one of his rough and tumble mates. But a tiny part of him hopes she stays. He finds he wants to be around her more and more these days, her company something he looks forward to when he wakes now - the companionable silence over a cuppa and a book, the crackle of magic in the flat, the shared meals when they both remember.

Her fingers in his draw him out of his thoughts and he turns to look where she must lie in the dark, but he can't make out anything. His cheeks burn, a flush flooding down his throat and into his chest at the nearness. He invited her in, she chose to stay, she chose to hold his hand. He gives her fingers a soft squeeze, settling his own between hers with certainty.

"Good morning," he murmurs tiredly, but there's the mischievous amusement in his voice all the same. "Sleep well."

Remus nods off almost immediately, his fingers going slack in hers, his breathing evening out. He sleeps deeply, the sleep of a man exhausted, and it's nothing but instinct that has him shifting as he rests. He seeks out the warmth beside him, so that by the time hours have passed, Remus has moved across the gap in the sheets and has pressed himself close to the veritable furnace in bed with him.

What he doesn't realize is said furnace? Is Hermione. He's nestled up against her back, one arm haphazardly draped over her, his face buried against her shoulder. There's something in him that deems this person safe, that keeps him from waking and realizing just the predicament he's in.

In fact, he stirs just slightly, shifting and mumbling something incoherent in his sleep that only draws him nearer to her, all but spooning up against her beneath the tangle of comforters and quilts. The spell on the shades has begun to wear off, and late afternoon light peeks through.

"...Nox," he mumbles, still dreamily unaware that it's a person he's mumbling a spell against. A spell that does not work, all things considered.

Hermione sleeps like the dead, she's so exhausted. It isn't until she hears Remus mumbling sleepily that she stirs at all. With her mind and body still one foot in slumber, she hums a groan of discontent at the audio and visual interruptions to her sleep, all the while settling comfortably against the warm weight against her back.

A beat later, her brain catches up with her senses and Hermione's eyes snap open, her body stiffening with realization. She's pressed her back against Remus's front and his arm is draped over her middle, inches from unwittingly observing the fact that she's not wearing her bra at the moment. Her heart is racing and her stomach tumbles with excitement.

"Sorry..." she murmurs softly, her entire body heating up with a deep blush. She's frozen in place, not sure how to react. Should she stay very much where she is or should she be disentangling herself from him and taking herself to her own bed? She'd rather stay where she is, but is it truly welcome or was the invitation because he'd been exhausted and feeling vulnerable and had needed someone to be with him for comfort more than anything else?

It takes a few seconds longer than necessary for him to come to when she speaks, half thinking the sound itself is some remnant of a dream or a trick of his sleepy mind. But he feels the shift against his front, feels the warmth move and his eyes fly open. At first, he doesn't know how to react, what with his face pressed into her shoulder and his body flush with hers.

But then he's a flurry of movement, sliding away just slightly to prop himself up on an elbow, his arm pulling away from her side to scrub at his face, trying desperately to rub some sleep from his eyes.

"I... er, I'm sorry. I... ah, I didn't mean to. I must have woken you, and it's... I was warm, and it - Merlin, I'm sorry."

The flush that creeps its way up along his throat, into the high points of his cheek, is undeniable and he isn't sure whether he should pull away altogether and climb out of bed, or if he should stay still. He certainly doesn't mind the nearness, doesn't mind the pleasant warmth that roils in his chest, but he also doesn't want her to think he'd been attempting something rude or uncouth.

"I, um. You can stay here. Sleep. I... I must have woken you."

Edited (dang early sending) 2022-08-21 18:21 (UTC)

Suddenly, she feels Remus move away and her body relaxes a little. There seems to be less pressure around it since he's made the decision and she no longer has to. It makes her heart sink a little for him to not be touching her anymore, but in the darkness, Hermione considers for a second as he settles himself and then reaches under the bed with one arm, sweeping her hand back and forth until she finds the bra.

As he shifts around behind her, Hermione sits up and quickly puts it back on beneath her shirt, slipping her arms into the t-shirt sleeves so that she can slide them into the bra straps. "It's okay," she replies softly, reaching behind her back to re-clasp it, and then laying back down again.

She rolls over to face him since they're awake and talking — she doesn't want to be rude and make him talk to her back — and swallows thickly before responding. "It's all right, Remus. If I'm honest, I reckon that's the best I've slept in years..." she confesses quietly in the dark. It's not something she'd have the guts to say if he could see her face, but he can't. "...do you...want me to stay? I could go back to my room if you'd prefer to have your bed to yourself..."

Remus is grateful for the dark so that she might not see how red his face burns, both from embarrassment and shame. He certainly doesn't want to make it seem like he'd wanted to lure her here for this, that he'd suggested they be flatmates to eventually land here. It isn't the case - he'd been lonely, and having Hermione around was nothing short of a breath of fresh air.

He feels her sit up and assumes she's making to leave, which he could hardly blame her. It makes him absently squirm a little farther away as she settles back in to talk to him. His body aches, his head hurts, his vision swims when he looks round the room - all the drunken after effects of the transformation. (It isn't the Hospital Wing, at least - where he'd spend days and days recovering).

"I... I slept well myself."

A soft laugh, nervous and uncomfortable. "You... you're welcome to stay. But only if you'd like. I promise I'll remember that this is my half of the mattress this time, I solemnly swear and all that..."

It's a haphazard joke, meant to cut the tension, but only serves to make his face burn further.

Hermione's soft laughter echoes his with the same nerves and discomfort. In the interest of being honest with him, she decides to be brave and tell him what she's thinking. This could be a huge mistake or it could be quite nice and she's not sure which will be the result. What she is sure of is that she'll regret not taking the opportunity to mention it while the door is open for it.

"I'd quite like to...I don't mind, erm...I didn't mind the way I woke up. I sort of reckon that's why I slept so well..." she admits sheepishly, even more grateful, again, for the darkness as it will hide the way her entire body is burning with embarrassment at the idea that he might not appreciate her honesty and that it might make him uncomfortable enough to move back out again. When that thought crosses her mind, she's more than a little surprised to realize that it makes her incredibly sad to think about him leaving now that he's here. Of course, she'd known it would be disappointing if this didn't work out, but she hadn't realized the depth of the upset it might cause until just now.

"Besides, I know how that sentence ends," she jokes again, this time with a soft, less uncomfortable, and more fond laugh as she thinks of the Maurader's Map that Harry was gifted by the Weasley twins — the thought of whom both brightens and darkens Hermione's heart in equal measure, these days — third year.

Hermione's admission strikes him, and for the first time Remus finds he's taken aback by the simple fact that someone might choose to stay close to him like that. It isn't a conscious thought, not one driven out of self-degradation but one driven out of the fact that he'd never considered it a possibility. He's never been allowed to let anyone close like this, with the moons and the wolf, and back home, being civil with a werewolf was warrant for punishment anyway.

No less one left unregistered.

He's stunned briefly into silence, shaken by how touched he is at her words. Remus knows the look of fear and concern in her eyes, something he's always seen from those who have watched him transform, but that she'd choose to stay close even still?

Hermione's joke breaks him from the stunned silence, and he laughs brightly, his face burning.

"I hadn't meant that, mind you! I know it might seem difficult to believe but of the Marauders I'd wager to say I was the gentleman of the group, thank you." Another tease, to try and ease the awkwardness of it all. Hermione isn't scared away by any of it, by anything he's said or done or might have done in the future. And so he takes one of his very own selfish leaps of faith, reaching across the bed in the dark to find her forearm, until his fingers can slide down to he hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

"...I'd quite like you to stay, too."

Remus is quiet for a long moment and Hermione starts to worry more deeply that she's made the wrong choice in telling him the truth and that she ought to have kept her mouth shut. But then, he laughs, shattering the silence and relaxing her body with relief against the warmth of his mattress.

"Oh, having met Sirius and knowing Harry must've gotten his personality from somewhere, I believe that wholeheartedly, actually," she replies with a soft huff of amusement. It's second-nature for her, now, to leave Peter Pettigrew out of the Mauraders group when she talks about them. To her, he wasn't truly one of them after they'd left school and until quite recently, she hadn't known them before their adulthood. For him, she imagines, it's more difficult to separate Peter from it.

She's mildly started by his touch because the darkness prevents her from seeing it coming, but she's almost immediately then comforted when his fingers slide down her arm — brushing only ever so slightly over the Mudblood scrawl on her skin...oh she wishes he'd missed it but he hasn't done. At least it was only slightly and he might not be able to make out that the scar is literally a word; one can only hope — to take her hand. She smiles shyly in the dark as he gives her hand a squeeze and admits that he'd like her to stay, too.

Squeezing his hand in return, Hermione reflexively scoots a tiny bit closer to him. "Then I'll stay." She's quiet for a moment, stomach tumbling with excitement and anxiety all at once. This is the sort of moment where Viktor or Ronald might've moved in for a kiss, but their relationships had been established. This one is just a friendship she thinks, and she imagines that Remus's fondness comes more from comfort and familiarity than attraction. Which, she supposes, is just as well since she really shouldn't be as attracted to one of her future professors as she happens to be to this Remus, still in his prime.

"Should we try to go back to sleep or do you reckon we ought to just give up and rest our bodies instead of our minds?" she wonders aloud, mostly wanting to make sure the conversation doesn't stall simply because her mind has wandered. The last thing she needs is to open the door for him to as an uncomfortable question she's not ready to answer just to fill in the space, after all.

Remus snorts at the mention of Sirius, of Harry, and even speaking of them makes him long for the camaraderie they had in the days before everything went south. Their days sitting at the warm, glowing hearth of the Gryffindor common room were numbered from the start, and he knew that. They all knew that. But they're still some of the happiest years of his life.

He scoots a little closer to her on the bed, shifting, and when he feels the bumps of something (an injury? a scar?) he holds her hand a little tighter, debating whether or not he should say anything at all. A tiny part of him worries that he caused it.

"Mm, do our minds ever rest? Mine certainly doesn't. My dreams can be very exciting sometimes," he teases, shifting his weight on his side to peer at her in the dark, though he's unable to truly see her regardless. "But I'll admit, it takes very little for me to sleep these days. As you may have already noted, once I'm warm I'm not too long for this world."

It comes with years of being sickly and injured from the moons - warmth and creature comforts soothe him. Thus, chocolate, tea, large jumpers, and the lot.

"But, ah. May I ask you something?" He slides his hand from hers, fingers brushing the risen skin at her wrist. "Did... I didn't hurt you, did I? This? I don't remember anything from the transformation, but if this was my doing..."

I could never forgive myself is what he wants to say, but the words die on his tongue.

Humming a quiet laugh, Hermione shakes her head, smiling, even though he can see neither her expression nor the gesture. "Very, very seldom," she agrees. Her dreams are...not entirely pleasant when she has them. "I prefer dreamless sleep these days," she confesses.

She can't help wondering if it's the transformations that sap so much out of him that he remains tired and bone-weary for the remainder of every month or at least close to it. He's been the only werewolf she'd ever known, so the only way to know would be to ask him and she can't quite bring herself to do it. Especially not today.

"I think that's sweet, though," she tells him quietly, but then he moves, releasing her hand as he moves shifts the conversation to her scar.

Hermione sucks in a quick breath, almost a gasp, her free hand quickly latching itself over the rest of her arm, just above his hand. "No," she replies with no hesitation. "No, I've had this...you didn't do that. I'm fine. It's fine," she rambles uncomfortably. Some tiny part of her is terrified that, if she lets him feel it in its entirety, he'll be able to make out the shape of the word and realize what it says. It's humiliating having that word carved into her arm and yet she can't figure out a way to magically heal it, so there it remains.

As a belated reflex, Hermione pulls her arm away, hugging it to her chest and cradling it protectively with her free hand. Then, almost as soon as she's completed the gesture, she realizes how rude and closed off she's just presented herself. "...I'm sorry, I'm just...a bit self-conscious of it, that's all...it's...quite large, actually..."

Hermione begins to pull away and he doesn't chase her, startled instead by the fact that he's somehow crossed an invisible line. He knows how difficult scars can be, knows that not everyone is merely some mark of an accident. After all, he has his own, the faint line across the bridge of his nose, the marks on his forearms, chest. So, he gives her the space as she rambles on in the dark.

"There's no need to apologize," he says softly, waiting for a few moments in the dark before he shifts a little closer to her so that when he reaches for her hand, he can glimpse the outline of her. He doesn't skirt her arm, the raised, damaged skin at all. Instead, he links his fingers gently with hers and brings it back away from her chest to the bed.

"Whatever it is, whatever story it has, it's none of my business. So long as you're well, so long as I haven't hurt you in some way then I'd say we're well even." His thumb gently skirts over the skin at the back of her hand, trying to be soothing. It doesn't help that holding her hand like this at all, and feeling brave enough to do so will bring heat into his face later when he ponders it alone.

There's a pause, contemplative, before Remus sighs, inching a tiny bit closer so he can speak quieter in the dark.

"I still have the scar from the bite." A moment, and he swallows hard. "Ironically, it's right next to a scar I managed when Prongs thought it'd be funny to enchant all the quills in the charms lecture hall. We all walked out of that room looking like stuck peacocks. So, I understand. I do."

When Hermione feels his fingers on her skin again, she stiffens, but he doesn't move them from her hand in search of the scar to explore again. Remus guides her arm into a more open body posture again and she relaxes a little at his words and the way his thumb sweeps soothingly over the back of her hand.

A sad smile slides over her lips and feels her face warm a little. "The main story it has to tell will be pretty obvious once you see it, unfortunately, and I must apologize preemptively for it. It's quite offensive, actually..."

She realizes that she's being a bit cryptic but it'll make sense, she knows, when he sees it.

Hermione feels him move a little closer and her stomach flips and flutters. His voice is softer when he speaks again, even though they're alone in the flat. "Oh no..." she laughs a little, surprised by the amusement that comes so easily after something so solemn. The amusement fades again as he says that he understands because she knows he must after sharing that he still has the scar from the bite that turned him. She realizes in that moment how intimate a share that happened to be.

This time, it's Hermione who moves a little closer to Remus. She lets go of his hand only to take it with her other, moving it to settle just above the jagged M sketched into her arm with puffy, purplish-pink skin that stands out against the rest of her alabaster arm. "Bellatrix Lestrange gave me this scar," she whispers, shifting her hold on him so that she can guide his fingers to trace the horrible word. She closes her eyes against the tears that she can already feel prickling in them.

When she finishes tracing his fingers over the d at the end of Mudblood, she moves her hand to rest over his, squeezing her eyes tighter closed and only just barely resisting the urge to let go of his hand to wipe the tears she can feel sliding down her cheeks. Of all the terrible things she's endured, Hermione thinks that slur might be the most terrible. She can even hear Draco, all the way back in second year.

No one asked your opinion, you filthy little mudblood.

"It's really awful. And it hurt, she didn't use magic. She drew it with a knife...and I can't get rid of it. I'm so clever, but not clever enough," she says, embarrassed when she hears her own voice break a little. Hermione sniffs and clears her throat. "Anyway...most people here don't know what it means, but I know you must..."

Edited 2022-09-05 23:26 (UTC)

Remus's hand stays still in her own as she traces the letters of her scar, and it takes only three for him to know just what Bellatrix Lestrange carved into her skin. The feeling that settles in his chest burns, makes his stomach flip sickly, and a part of him wants to find his way back home and be sure the woman suffers some equally miserable fate.

The Deatheaters do nothing but bring such horror into the world, and at the expense of those who least deserve it.

His hand closes around hers and he moves closer then, closing the gap between them so that his free arm can reach round her and tug her into his chest. He has no doubt she's crying in the dark, what with the way she moves, and it's all he can do to tuck her into him. It's laughable, to think someone like him could protect her, even here. As accomplished of a wizard he might be, he has his own challenges. But he wants to.

"You're plenty clever. It's the only reason that wretch did that to you," he says quietly, his face tucked against the curls atop her head. "How else could she try and fell the cleverest witch, but make her doubt even that? Bellatrix has always been a foul creature. Miserable woman, who only finds joy in making others miserable. But this scar didn't stop you now, did it? If it had, then she truly would have won."

He huffs a little, squeezing her tight. "That bitch."

Perhaps in his older age, Remus might not swear, but there's still the bite of fury and youth to him now that hasn't yet worn him down. "I might be able to help. With the scar. But you must know it doesn't define you? Who else could have stood in the face of Bellatrix Lestrange and still moved doggedly forward. She could have killed you, any of them could - but she thought this would do more damage. And you've proved her wrong."

It's almost absent the way one hand reaches to pet her hair back out of her face and tries to meet her eyes in the dark. They're impossibly close, but he's too intent upon comforting her to notice the warmth of her, or the way their noses might bump if he speaks too emphatically.

"So if you'll trust this werewolf's word, well. I'd wager this silly scar only tells me you're stronger, braver, and cleverer than anyone's bet on. How's that?"

Remus pulls Hermione in against his chest and it has the effect of someone asking "what's wrong?" when they can tell another person is upset; Hermoine starts to cry in earnest in spite of herself. A part of her hates herself for it, but another part of her feels immense relief to get it out of her system. And she clings to him as he speaks softly to her.

For the first time since Isaac has gone, Hermione lets herself take comfort in another person's presence, really and truly. "In the end, she got what she deserved," she whispers against a tight throat. "She was stupid enough to try to hurt one of Molly Weasley's children...and she got what she deserved."

She takes in a deep, shaking breath and looks up at him in the darkness suddenly when he says he might be able to help with the scar. He pushes her hair gently from her face and she can feel his breath against her skin as he breathes out, he's so close.

"Really?" she asks. It isn't often that Hermione Granger doubts herself, especially her worth, but she's feeling especially vulnerable right now and because Remus makes her feel safe in spite of that, it feels okay to be unsure for once.

"Molly Weasley?" Remus can't help but huff out a little laugh, knowing the woman from his time with the Order and seeing just how intensely protective she was of all of them as well as her own army of children. "Good on her. I think that woman would be capable of world takeover if she choose to do so."

Gently, he rubs her back as she cries into his chest, trying to do anything he can to comfort her. He knows the despair, the shame, the worry that she feels to some degree. Her mark is visible to everyone, after all, and though his own plague is hidden, he knows the deep seeded anxiety that comes with it all.

"But yes. I've... well, I've become quite good at medical and restorative magic. Else I think I'd look like quite the punching bag all the time. Madame Pomfrey was very kind to me in my school days and taught me a great deal. Maybe there's something I could do to help it."

A part of him would love to dip back into time, find Bellatrix and give her what she rightly deserves, but to know she's had retribution since - at least there's that. "But I assure you, that name does not define you, hm? Don't give it that power."

Remus takes such great care to soothe her and Hermione sniffs as her crying starts to subside, instead melting into him. She lets herself really enjoy how it feels for him to hold her and, for once, doesn't bother chastising herself for the fact that he grows up to be her professor. He's age-appropriate right now and it feels good to be comforted by him.

It feels good to be this close to him; to know that if she had the moxie, she would barely have to move to kiss him. That makes her face warm and flush and she's grateful once more for the darkness cloaking them.

She tilts her head just so, her nose brushing against his, and she closes her eyes. "Okay," she agrees in a whisper. "You're right."

For a long moment, then, she's quiet. She can still feel his breath against her skin and his hand against her back, comforting in a way she can't really put into words. "I'd love it if you could try to help with the scar," she whispers, tilting her head again so that she can press her forehead to his.

"I'll do what I can."

He finds he wishes he could see her in the dim light, but he can make out the curve of her nose, her mouth, the slant of her jaw. They're close enough it's nigh impossible to miss, and for a brief moment he considers that he could kiss her here. That it would be so easy, and he finds he wants to.

The other part knows that it would be taking advantage of the situation, of her fears and insecurities. He also knows that even though she may stand by his side as friend and ally in the moon, who would even think to fall for a werewolf? He could hurt her, kill her. The reputation she'd have if something ever went wrong on a moon, and the town found out.

It's chilling, the fear of what he is running through his bones, and he lets out a little sigh and opts instead to tilt his head back and press his lips to her hair. A tiny part of him would fancy asking her out, would fancy taking a small glimpse at what that might look like with a girl as clever and bright and strong as Hermione Granger.

But she can do better, of course. Far better.

So he smiles faintly against her hair and hugs her a little tighter. "I'm afraid it will have to wait until I've regained my strength. The best I can do is procure a light right now if I had to, and even then I think I'd just suffer tripping over myself in the dark. I promise I'll see to it come morning, yes? I should be well on my way then."

For a long moment, they're still and so close and it crosses Hermione's mind that if she tilted her head just right, she could kiss him and she aches to do that. But she shouldn't. She shouldn't, she shouldn't, she shouldn't. He's exhausted and she's supposed to be helping him, but now he's helping her and she's already taking enough advantage of his kindness. She hardly needs to push herself on him. At this point in their conversation and with this level of closeness, after her having intentionally brushed her nose against his and pressed her forehead against his; if he was interested, wouldn't he have done something about it?

So when he pulls back slightly by tilting his head back to kiss the top of her head, she sighs softly and wills herself to take what she can get; what he's willing and able to give. They're from different times. His life should've been lived without her as a part it until well into midlife. He'll grow up to be her professor — the best one she'd ever had, in fact — and marry someone else and have a child before dying to save the wizarding world...again...from Lord Voldemort.

Even though he's younger and they're so close here and now, he doesn't belong to her. He never has and he shouldn't. They're just friends and that's brilliant, of course it is. She's grateful for his friendship, so Hermione thinks she ought to leave it at that. It's better than not having him in her life at all because she'd gone and made him uncomfortable.

Remus hugs her a little tighter and she returns that. "I've had it for a couple of years now...what's another few hours?" she asks softly, a small smile playing on her lips. "You should get more rest, Remus...I'm sorry I've kept you up..."

"You've not kept me up, goodness, Mione. Have you heard the way my bones pop? I'm as stiff and sore as an eighty year old pensioner, mind you. I'd say that's what's keeping me awake."

He huffs a soft laugh into her hair, shifting to reach back and tug the blankets up over both of them. Remus, almost boyishly, drags them up over their heads, cocooning them even further in the dark and the warmth.

"So don't let me keep you up with all my cracklings. I do think I'm fading quickly, though, I'm sorry to say."

He settles in, loosening his hold on her so that she might slip away if she chooses, but he makes no real move to retreat. It's nice, holding her, feeling her so close, and to lose it now might feel even more strange. But of course he'll respect whatever choice she makes, even as his eyes begin to grow heavier and heavier by the moment.

"Get some rest. And Hermione? Thank you. For, ah. Everything."

A soft breath of laughter escapes her and Hermione tucks her chin down a little; the general effect of ducking her head were she standing upright. Before she can formulate a verbal response, a yawn overtakes her. "Mmm, it seems as though I am, as well, so don't worry."

Remus loosens his hold on her and Hermione takes that as a hint, almost begrudgingly slipping away enough to roll away from him. She doesn't move away from his hold entirely, in fact she feels a little guilty as she scoots back a little to curl her back against his front. She wants to savor the sensation of him holding her one more time before she drifts off and Remus likes to be kept warm. They both win.

"You're welcome, Remus. I wouldn't have it any other way," she says softly as her body relaxes into the mattress and his arms. "G'night, Remus," she yawns in spite of the fact that it's no longer night. Before she knows it, the pull of sleep is entirely too strong and Hermione drifts off, losing the battle.

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