remus/hermione; the eighteenth story
Title: The Eighteenth Story
Author: Catherine
Word Count: 2,366
Gnere: Romance/Hurt/Comfort
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Remus/Hermione
Disclaimer: Nope.
A/N: Anyone know of some good R/H fanfiction? We're seriously lacking :P
morning comes and life moves on
but when it changed
you didn't know where you belonged
i'll still catch you when you fall from a past that steals your sleep
and scrawl these words upon your wall
remind you to believe
-the goo goo dolls; [not broken]
She lightly rapped on the old, wooden door, praying he’d answer with a look on his face other than the watered-down melancholy she’d gotten in the past couple days. She really didn’t need that right now. He smiled some, and she’d noticed he had more in this past week.
She knew he deserved to be happy. More than anyone, he deserved to be happy.
Crossing her fingers, she knocked again.
She mused. At least he wasn’t blaming himself anymore. The depression and forlornness she thought had settled over him wore off, and was replaced by subtle mourning.
Reluctantly, he opened the door, and gave a small smile (the one she knew was reserved specifically for her). “Hermione. Please, come in.” She obliged.
“Would you like any tea? Hot chocolate?” She gave a grin. Same old Remus.
Sitting down on one of the chairs, Hermione gave a little smile. “Sure, Professor, I’ll have the former. Thank you.”
A couple moments passed-Remus quietly making the tea, Hermione twiddling her thumbs and trying to conjure up enough of that thought-to-be fabled Gryffindor courage to speak. But maybe it was all a story, after all.
“Professor Lupin, I...” Same old formalities. She cut her habit of calling him Professor mostly, but there were some lose ends yet to be tied down.
She trailed off, and he turned around, leaning against the counter while the tea brewed.
“You didn’t come here just to visit, did you, Hermione?”
She shook her head. “I’m just wondering how you did it. When James-and Sirius-and...” He reached over and put a hand to her shoulder.
“I have no idea how I did it. I guess I just relied on the other people close to me to keep me going.” She sighed. Ron was a wreck-losing Fred and his best friend really popped his strings. And Ginny was in hysterics whenever Hermione saw her, not that anyone could blame her. She said they were going to get married. Hermione had no doubt in her mind.
And that left her with adult friends-Professor Snape, Professor McGonagal, Mad-Eye Moody, Professor Lupin. (The latter of these she preferred, and was closest to, in all honesty.)
You’d think that after two years people would have composed themselves-but it seems they were all too weak to do so.
Remus removed the hand that was resting on her shoulder and handed her the tea he had made. She stared down at it, and broke.
“I’m sick! Sick of it! Why did he get to die and I have to live? I wish I’d been the one to get out of this hell-hole! Everyone is saying he’s ‘in a better place’ and I don’t doubt it.” She sniffed, tears streaking down her face. Remus set his tea down and strode to sit beside her at the kitchen table.
She hung her head. His hand found its way back to her shoulder. “Now, Hermione, you know you don’t mean that... he’d have rather been here; we all know that.” He paused. “Your life is only as good as you make it to be.”
She let out a sob, and buried her face in his chest.
.
Minutes had passed-or hours, for all he knew-when she sniffed for the last time and brought her head up. Remus had to unweave his arm from around her back, and she wiped her eyes and gave a half-hearted chuckle.
“Well, that’s been dying to come out for... about two years now, I believe. Sorry for the little... outburst.” The chuckle turned into a laugh, and before too long Remus was doubled over with her. Maybe it was time for them to decide that they weren’t as broken as they thought they were.
“Hermione, would you... would you like to stay the night? I know it’s awfully late and flooing at night can be troublesome-,”
“It’s quite alright, Professor.” He shook his head.
“No, I’d feel better if you wouldn’t. The guest bedroom is on the second floor, and I can get you a few blankets. And as for clothes, don’t you always carry an emergency outfit in your pocket at all times?” She blushed lightly. It was silly, really-putting a shrinking charm on your clothes to make them portable. But after the War (even two years after) she could never be so sure she wouldn’t need them.
Hermione gave an embarrassed smile. “Yes, I do, and thank you, Professor. If you don’t feel like I’m overstaying my welcome...” Or lack thereof, she thought.
He shook his head. “No, of course not. It will be good to have the company of a friend for a night,” He smiled at her.
She mirrored him. “Okay, so, I’ll get the blankets, if you’d like to go upstairs and make sure everything is okay for the night. It’s the door on the very end of the right hallway,” He said. Nodding, she turned around and made her way upstairs.
Soon, after she’d taken out her clothes and folded and unfolded them two or three times, waiting for Remus to come back so maybe she didn’t feel so awkward, she noticed a small pensive in the corner.
She owned a cat, but never meant to act like one.
.
She jumped into a memory, and one she remembered all too well, at that-it was the year after the Final Battle and she had decided to return to Hogwarts to complete her 7th year there. Remus came back to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, and she had found him outside by the lake one night.
“I know how you feel.”
Remus Lupin whipped around sharply, obviously startled by the soft voice that seemed to come out of nowhere. Hermione stood beside the old oak he was leaning against, fingers intertwined behind her back. He sighed after the initial shock wore off, and she lowered herself to sit beside him.
“Harry fought well. He knew the tactics. He had every idea what he was doing. He was amazing. Just... I don’t know.” She shrugged, as if it was just another Grimm tale of a failed hero. “Voldemort was better.”
She could have sworn she heard a slight whimper come from the man sitting beside her, but as she looked she saw that his face showed no emotion as he stared at the lake. A few moments passed, each scared of breaking the fragile silence that surrounded them after Hermione’s last comment. Remus was the first to speak.
“It should have been me.” Hermione turned her head to look at him, but he wouldn’t return her gaze.
“How... no, Professor. Harry had to do it. We all knew he was going to be the one to face him.” He shook his head.
“No... before he left, I asked him if he wanted me to go, too. He hesitated. Then said no, and I left it there. I just said okay and went on my way.” He turned his head up to meet her eyes. “I should have insisted. I should have followed him. How did all of us just leave him on his own like that?”
The last remark had been a slap in the face to The Order. Hermione didn’t say anything, but she knew that he knew that Harry wanted to go alone. He had demanded that he go alone. But Remus made a valid point; he should have gone with backup.
“None of us chooses who lives and who dies. There was nothing you, or anyone else, could do. His sacrifice ended the War.” This was true-had Voldemort’s curse not killed Harry, the Avada Kedavra never would have reversed, and never would have struck The Dark Lord dead.
He gave her a small smile, but his eyes still reeked of sorrow. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.” She just nodded, and took the hand he had rested on his knee in her own.
“I know.”
Hermione grinned as she relived the memory. It had been the beginning of their still-budding friendship. Suddenly, the pensive spat her back out.
“Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”
She turned around, knowing the voice even before Remus spoke. The memory was only a few short minutes long, but it had been enough for him to come back and notice her absence.
She met his eyes. They were oddly cool.
“Professor Lupin, I-,” He shook his head, an indication for her to stop speaking. She did.
“It’s alright, Hermione. I wouldn’t leave it out in the open if there was anything in there I wouldn’t want someone else knowing about.” She was befuddled by his lack of anger-she knew he had a tendency to lash out. But suddenly he looked rather despondent, and she resisted the urge to shatter the porcelain silence and touch his shoulder. “No, no... I haven’t had any of those memories yet.”
He looked back up at her. “Just curious, which memory did you view?” His eyes were filled with inquisitiveness.
“I was in it. The lake, last year, at Hogwarts. Remember that?”
“Yes, I do.” He smiled. “I never got to thank you for that, Hermione-I’ve never gotten to thank you for a lot of things these past two years.” Exhaling, she placed a hand on her hip and then crossed her arms.
“Neither have I... you’ve really saved me, you know that?” His blue eyes seemed to gain a bit more of their shine than they usually had. At least, than they usually had after the War.
His voice dropped down to a whisper as he curled her in his arms and buried his face in her hair.
“Yeah. I know.”
.
It was far past midnight when she decided she was never getting to sleep and started down to the library. The werewolf laws set up before the War made it hard for Remus to find a job, and so his collection of literature used to be minimally lacking. But with Voldemort vanquished it was a little easier for him to make money, and slowly and slowly (with a spot of Hermione’s help, she might add) the missing gaps were filled and his library came together beautifully. Hermione relished in his work. It made him happy. It made her happy.
She was starting to think that he made her happy, too.
Picking up a book from the second shelf, (a book of Shakespearean sonnets; she silently applauded him on his Muggle book choice) she got comfortable on the small couch facing a long window. Half moon. She smiled.
After a few minutes she heard footsteps descending the staircase to the reading room. She kept on reading.
Remus came into her view and sat beside her, studying the page over her shoulder along with her.
He finally spoke. “Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” She just shook her head. “I know how that goes.”
She sniffed, and then proceeded to put her head on his shoulder as he awkwardly patted her knee.
“It’s his birthday, you know. Harry is turning nineteen, somewhere.” Remus almost choked. He had completely forgotten. “What happens to them, Remus? Where are they now?”
She looked up at him from her place on his shoulder, and he removed the hand from her leg and instead placed it warmly around her waist. “I don’t know, Hermione. Why don’t you ask them sometime?” His tone was soft and feathery, and as she sniffed again he pulled her tight onto his chest.
“I think I will. Do you want to come with me, tomorrow?” She asked. He stroked her knee with his free hand, wondering just when this girl had become so important to him.
His voice made his chest vibrate. He kissed her forehead. “That sounds wonderful, Hermione.”
A few more minutes passed of them just sitting there, and somewhere in the midst one of Hermione’s hands had sprawled across her ex-professor, as she was just about to fall asleep. She yawned, and Remus made a move to get up. He stuck out his hand.
“Looks like someone needs to get back to bed, hmm?” She frowned, lolling her head to the back of the couch. He looked at her skeptically.
“Yes, okay.”
They walked out of the library and up the steps, and Hermione smiled when she felt Remus’ hand on the small of her back. When they came to the hallway where they parted, Hermione reached out to catch his arm.
She looked awkward. “Remus, do you... will you stay with me?” Hermione hadn’t realized how utterly inappropriate that sounded until it came out of her mouth. She clasped a hand to her face. “Oh, no! Not like that, I-it’s just-and you-,” she stuttered. Remus gave a sort of half-smile and nodded.
“It’s quite alright. And sure, I think that might be comforting to both of us.” Hermione couldn’t help it, but when she heard those words come out of her friend’s mouth she threw her arms around him and burst into tears.
“Th-thank you, Remus,” she managed out. He returned the hug and followed her to the room.
.
He turned over, almost falling off the bed in the process. He was as close to the edge as he could get, and Hermione knew that. She turned over as well, facing him.
“I’m not the plague, you know.” All emotion was gone from her voice.
He sighed. “I know... I very well know. But it’s just-I’m sorry, Hermione, I shouldn’t-,” She cut him off.
“Yes, you should.” She scooted a little closer to him, and he to her, reluctantly.
She gave a watery smile. “You’re fine.” He reached out a hand to stroke her hair, which slowly turned into his arm curling around her waist, her face buried in his cotton nightshirt, his head above hers, and her arm lazily thrown over him.
He kissed her forehead again. “I’m starting to like it when you do that,” she mumbled, half asleep.
He didn’t know if she heard him, or if he wanted her to hear him, but before he drifted off whispered, “Yeah. I am, too.”
these city walls ain’t got no love for me
i’m on the ledge of the eighteenth story
and oh, i scream for you
come please, i’m calling
and all i need from you
hurry, i’m falling, i’m falling
-nickelback; [saving me]