Archive of Our Own

The war had taken most, if not all, from everyone it touched. While Harry had survived, beating Voldemort, he did not come out whole. His life since the Battle of Hogwarts had been dedicated to tracking down the Death Eaters who had escaped, regardless of where and how far it took him from his family and friends. He would go radio silent but come back and expect everything to be the same.

Ron and the Weasleys, by extension, had cocooned themselves at the Burrow to deal with Fred’s death. After some weeks, Ron emerged and took Ginny to the platform so she could finish out her last year at Hogwarts — something she deeply resented.

The rest of the Wizarding world was putting every piece back where they thought it belonged as slowly as the next person watching them would allow.

They didn’t say anything as the trio, quietly, without meaning to, became separate individuals.

They didn’t say anything as Hermione disappeared from the public eye and refused to attend any of the pompous award ceremonies or remembrances. There were only so many statues and buildings the Ministry was willing to rename to honor the fallen, and they had too many names.

They didn’t say anything as everyone chose to move on, but those who had fought actually fought stayed on the battlefield, and let themselves become paralyzed.

And the time passed.

Hermione had chosen to leave. Not leave the wizarding world; after all, it was the only place she fit in, but leave London. She spent all of the summer helping Professor McGonagall put Hogwarts back together and cramming her missed year into two months—the night before the students arrived back on the grounds, Hermione bid farewell.

She found a cottage on the Orkney Islands. It was more rundown than the seller had advertised, but Hermione bought it anyway. She took a job she could do by correspondence, not that anyone would have told her no, with the Department of Mysteries and settled into life there. Her parents were gone. Not only did they not remember her when Hermione attempted to reverse the spell, but there was a happiness she had never known about Monica and Randall that Hermione’s parents always seemed on the cusp of but somehow was out of their reach.

She spent most of her days boiling water, tending to her overgrown lawn, and working. She went grocery shopping every other day as she never bought a full-size fridge, and she learned what food she could grow in Northern Scotland. When the skies weren’t overcast, she enjoyed the beautiful contrast between the blue and green.

It wasn’t until the end of October, a couple of days before James and Lily’s anniversary, that Hermione had a full-blown meltdown in her kitchen when yet another pipe began leaking, only to burst at the first touch.

That was where Remus found her. She wanted to be embarrassed about crying as hard as she was when he knocked on the half-open door and followed her wails, but she was cold, wet, dirty, and was in the midst of realizing just how big of a mistake she may have made.

“Indoor swimming pool? I always thought kitchens were for cooking,” Remus grinned at her.

Hermione cried harder but tried to put on a brave face, “It’s not funny, Professor Lupin.”

“Remus,” he corrected her kindly.

“How did you find me?” Hermione let herself be helped up and led out of the kitchen into a room she had thought would be a dining room, but was really just a place she put a table and two chairs she found on the side of the road.

“I looked for you.”

The four words bruised Hermione’s skin and scraped at her bones. She knew she should be glad that someone, after almost two months, had bothered to find her, but it also reiterated that no one, Harry or Ron, had made the effort.

“How’s Harry? Where’s Harry,” she asked, changing the subject.

“Russia, I think. Anyway, I haven’t talked to him in three days.”

The unspoken conversation began. Remus hadn’t spoken to Harry in three days, whereas Hermione hadn’t spoken to Harry in almost three months. She received frequent letters from him when he first joined the DMLE, but at some point, he gave her some talk about how she didn’t understand the war wasn’t over. She retorted that he didn’t know that it was. Since then, Hermione tried to write to him frequently at his desk in London. Harry sent her a couple of lines from wherever he was. Neither spoke about their thoughts anymore.

“What are you doing up here, Remus?” Hermione picked at her sweater. It was on the verge of soaking, and she was freezing. She wanted to excuse herself to change. Truthfully, she wanted a hot shower, but that was something she could only sponge over herself every few days with lukewarm water.

“I wanted to check up on you. We haven’t really heard from you. It seems like everyone has gone off on their own.”

Hiding. It’s the word he meant. Hermione studied the man in front of her. He was only 38. The older Hermione became, the younger he seemed. If not younger, the less old he seemed. Looking at him now, however, he looked exhausted. Not the kind of exhaustion where you have a few bad nights but the kind of exhaustion where you’ve had a bad life.

“So, is it me you care about, or are you just doing your duty to check in with all your old students,” Hermione could have slapped him, and Remus would have looked less pained. The insinuation that he didn’t actually care about her but instead was cleaning up his own guilt of how many of his previous students had died in the war made his gesture appear incredibly reductive. “I’m so sorry, Professor. That’s not what I meant. I just…”

Hermione looked around her cottage. When she had first seen it, she could see all the beauty it held. Now, she only saw a mirror of her life. Run-down. Broken. Uninhabitable.

“This is a great place, Hermione.” Remus put his hand on Hermione’s as an act of forgiveness for her hurtful words. 

“You think so? Maybe you’re just drawn to places that look like the shrieking shack. It gives you that feeling of being at home.” Hermione looked around before setting her eyes back on Remus. He had a kind smile on his face. “God, Professor, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been out here for two months, and it’s been bad.”

“Bad?”

“It’s been bloody fucking awful. I don’t sleep anymore, mostly because I don’t have a real bed. I have no hot water, as you can see, and I live off supermarket takeaway because I don’t have a kitchen. Everything in here is broken,” Hermione began to sob again, “including me.”

Remus stood up and looked around. He touched various things in her kitchen and the walls of her dining area. He sat back down, “Everything in here is fixable, Hermione. Everything.”

He placed his hand back over hers.

Remus didn’t run out the door that day, even though Hermione had burst into tears three more times before nightfall. He claimed there wasn’t anything in her home he couldn’t tend to, and besides, he could use a hobby. He sat with her at the table as she pulled herself together and made a plan. They would start with the bedroom as she would need a place to sleep so she could think. They would fix the water as soon as possible so Remus could have a decent cup of tea. Then, they would move on to the bathroom. Remus joked that he knew wild werewolves who smelled better than Hermione did.

“Remus, you have to let me pay you,” Hermione said again as she ran hot water through the taps. He had managed to fix it in one day. Hermione knew she would scrub the bathroom to have a decent shower that evening.

“Please, I insist you let me help you.” He dismissed her again.

“But I insist—”

“Your company is payment enough,” Remus cleaned up the tools Hermione had bought. He laughed at her measly supplies but was able to work magic with them anyway.

Hermione sobered at his statement. Remus was working full-time for the DMLE, but he had asked to be sent on only a few assignments. After the war, he was happy to work a desk job or do interviews with criminals and captured Death Eaters. Hermione knew he missed the fight, but just like everyone else, he already lost so much in the span of 20 years.

James and Lily. Peter’s betrayal. When he thought everything that could happen had happened, the second war started. Hermione didn’t believe Remus would ever come back from watching Sirius be taken from right in front of him. Yet, there were still smiles and laughter.  However, when Hermione saw Tonk’s dead body in the Great Hall, she knew Remus would never recover from that.

The two of them had been disgustingly happy. They had been married for just over a year and had begun talking about a family. Tonks had been so convinced that the war would end in victory for all of them and that Remus would be recognized as the wizard he was.

Now, however, there was a dullness in his eyes, even though his smile was back.

“Well, I appreciate it,” Hermione folded her arms across her chest, tucking her hands away to stop from fidgeting.

“I was thinking, just to get you started, that I might stick around for a few days. I can lay a floor in a day, and if you need someone to help you pick out furniture, I have terrible taste.”

Hermione could see it all over his face. As much as she wanted him to stay to keep her company, he needed her to allow him to stay to have her company.

“With an offer like that,” Hermione smiled.

Remus returned the next day and helped Hermione throw out all the furniture she swore she would use. They went shopping for new furniture, Hermione going crazy and buying not just for the bedroom but the kitchen and dining room as well. She was in no danger of running out of money from the Ministry or what her parents left her in a trust.

Remus helped her pick out quality flooring, paint, and anything else they could think of that would allow him to fix her house. The day flew by, and Hermione realized they had barely spoken to each other.

“Where are you staying, Professor?” Hermione asked as they walked back up to her house. She had taken her parents’ car to the islands.

“There’s a bed and breakfast down on the seaside.” Remus threw his hand over his shoulder. “And it’s Remus.”

“Remus,” Hermione teased, “this is an island. The whole thing is a seaside.”

“Ha. Ha.”

Hermione made them an early dinner. Now that she had cookware and hot water, she felt a bit more prepared to use her home.

“I know it’s nothing fancy,” she said to Remus as he walked downstairs and into the kitchen from prepping her bedroom, “but I thought you would be hungry.”

“It’s perfect,” Remus sat, “I was able to get all of upstairs done.”

“Really?” Hermione was shocked.

“Magic, Hermione. It’s a wonderful thing.”

“But you can’t use it to make permanent repairs,” Hermione questioned eagerly.

Remus chuckled, “You can use it to dust.”

They sat down to eat but hardly spoke. When Remus finished helping her clean up that evening, he seemed nervous.

“Hermione,” he wiped his hands on the dishtowel, “I don’t want you to think I’m being untoward, but seeing as how we threw out all of your things, you don’t have anywhere to sleep tonight.”

“Oh,” Hermione looked around as if a bed might appear by the stove, “I have the sofa.”

“I was going to toss that tomorrow. Listen, why don’t you come back to my room? You can have the bed. There’s actually a nice couch that I can sleep on.”

“How nice is the bed?”

“How loudly do you think your back cracks?” Remus retorted.

Hermione was uncomfortable, but she joined Remus at the bed and breakfast. The older woman who ran it looked at Remus skeptically when he opened the door for the younger witch. When he explained that Hermione was a former student of his, the innkeeper looked scandalized.

Hermione laughed loudly all the way up to the room.

Remus was true to his word. He went into the bathroom, leaving Hermione to stand awkwardly with her bag in the middle of the room. When he came out sometime later, he said it was ready for her, and he was done for the evening. When she walked in, it was obvious he had changed his clothing and brushed his teeth. He insisted she take a hot shower and relax.

When Hermione walked out an hour later, Remus was either asleep or pretending to be so he didn’t have to talk to her. Either way, Hermione crawled into the bed, moaning at how nice it actually was, and quickly fell asleep.

The two of them fell into an easy pattern over the next couple of days. Hermione would work or tend to the garden while Remus did repairs around the house. He explained over tea one afternoon that he had taken extended leave from the Ministry as he had set up enough goodwill with his superiors. The Order of Merlin, First Class, helped. Kingsley, the new Minister, had said he deserved as much time off as he wanted, but over the week that he was with Hermione, he would still get a few owls asking his opinion on a case. He would stop, look it over, and answer right away from Hermione’s dining room table. She would bring him a cup of tea and pretend not to look over his shoulder.

Remus never mentioned Halloween. Hermione didn’t talk about Harry or Ron.

Hermione was amazed at how her top floor was coming along. Every day, Remus surprised her just a bit more with what he was capable of doing. The floors were shiny but homey. The walls were flawless with their paint application. He had replaced all the windows upstairs, and now they opened all the way so the back two bedrooms received beautiful sunset views over the water.

When her furniture arrived the next day, he helped her move it all. While she was busy unpacking all of her things, he hooked up her new appliances and let her lecture him on the proper way to wash sheets and towels.

It was dark by the time Hermione’s room was finished, but it was finished. As Remus stood by the door looking it over, Hermione felt an odd pang in her chest at realizing that for that night, unlike the last four days, Hermione wouldn’t have a reason to return with Remus to the bed and breakfast to sleep.

When she made a joke about how he would be happy to have his bed back, Remus quietly said there were worse things than sharing your bed.

On his fifth day there, Remus ensured everything else she needed was delivered. Her new fridge and stove were hooked up with the promise of a dishwasher being installed next time he was up. They walked through and made too detailed of a list of everything else that Hermione would want done to her new home. It was long; it would take a lot of time.

Remus left with a promise to come back as soon as he could. Hermione believed him.

They didn’t speak for another month.

Hermione had thought over repeatedly whether she actually wanted Remus or if she would have taken anyone willing to spend time with her. In the end, she came to the logical conclusion that everyone was doing their best to cope with the new lives they had been given, and she was part of the ‘they’ just as much as her friends.

The only exception was a week after Sirius’ birthday and the thought that she had forgotten slammed into her. Breathless, Hermione rushed to the nursery to buy Scottish primrose and meadow buttercups. The saleswoman assured her that even this late in the season, they would be okay to plant and would bloom in the spring. Hermione ran home to throw them all over her backlot. She was an adult now, and if she wanted to buy property only to plant wildflowers on it, she would do it. When she finished watering, crying, and telling Sirius she missed him, Hermione went into the house and thought about Remus until she fell asleep.

Remus didn’t write to her either. Not that she had expected him to, but it did make her think he might have only been checking up on her.

December came, and Hermione lugged a Christmas tree to her car. When she was home and away from muggle eyes, she levitated into the house and set it up in front of the bay window of her formal sitting room turned study and library. She had considered going to the Burrow, but without a formal invitation, she thought it best to leave the Weasley family to their grief. 

Two days before Christmas, there was a knock at her door.

“Remus,” Hermione stated her disbelief as she opened the door wider.

He had been leaning against the frame, giving Hermione the impression that he was waiting. His beard had grown in, and he looked slightly more tired than the last time she saw him. He came in without much of a fuss or a word. It wasn’t until he was admiring her tree and book collection that he finally spoke.

“I hope it’s okay that I’m here,” he didn’t take his eyes off the white lights, “I considered going to Dora’s parents for the holiday, but it’s kind of torturous for sad people to look at you like you’re the saddest one.”

“Of course, it’s okay. I’m happy you came,” Hermione sent a spell over her shoulder to put the kettle on. The temperature in London had always been mild, but the islands were proving to be outright freezing to Hermione, and they weren’t even deep into winter yet. “Let me take your bag.”

“That’s okay. I’ve taken a room at the bed and breakfast.”

“Remus,” Hermione said, offended, “you shouldn’t have done that. I’ve got two perfectly good rooms upstairs. I’ll have you know I was able to do some things while you were away.”

The whole upstairs, save the hall bathroom, had been completed. Hermione went on to explain that the study must have been rarely used or well cherished because the floors were the original save a couple of spots. That’s why it was also completed. Remus walked through the rest of the downstairs, disappointed by the lack of work for the day.

“So you’ll stay?” Hermione asked, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.

“I shouldn't,” Remus shook his head, “I already told Gail I was staying. She’s making me shepherd pie for dinner. Cheesy top.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “I wouldn’t stand in the way of you and your cheesy top.”

“She’ll make enough. She’s already asked about you.”

That’s how Hermione found herself at the inn eating dinner with Remus. She took care of lunch, but for dinner, she joined him in the dining room.

“You’ll come back for Christmas dinner, Hermione?” Gail asked in her thick Scottish accent.

Hermione did just that. She celebrated with Remus, albeit quietly. She had bought him a couple of books on mixing muggle and wizarding renovation techniques. Remus laughed as he pulled out her present - books on how to cultivate land in harsh conditions.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she blushed and swirled the wine around her cup.

“Couldn’t resist,” Remus poured the last of the second bottle of red wine into her glass, “can’t believe I’m pouring wine for you.”

“I’m not a little girl anymore, Professor,” Hermione heard it as soon as she said it. She should have laughed it off, but she didn’t want Remus to continue to look at her as his former student.

“Remus,” he corrected, “and I know that, Hermione. It’s getting late. I’ll take you home.”

Hermione tipped the wine glass up and gulped the last of it. She stood and let Remus help her with her coat. He drove them back to Hermione’s house and helped her stumble up the cobblestone path.

“Can you make it from here?” Remus asked as he hunched over against the cold wind on her front porch.

“Probably. Do you want to come in?” Hermione looked over her shoulder.

“It’s late,” Remus repeated.

“That’s okay.”

Hermione had no idea what she was doing. She knew Remus would say no to all of this; she knew she shouldn’t even be asking these questions. Even if they were friendly in nature, the path they could lead was not one either of them was ready to walk.

“I’m going to say goodnight, Hermione. I’ll see you tomorrow. We can pick out floors for your kitchen.”

Remus turned around without any other kind of gesture.

“Remus, wait,” Hermione called after him, “take the car? It’s freezing.”

“I think a cold walk would do me good.”

They spent the next day together going over the floors for the downstairs. Hermione picked out new cabinets. Remus estimated that it would take him a week at least to put it all in.

“I won’t be able to come back until the end of next month. Is that okay?”

Hermione nodded, “of course. Maybe I’ll be a better cook by then.”

Remus gave her a quick side hug before leaving her for his apparition point, “You’ll never take me away from Gail.”

The month passed. Hermione wrote to Remus to tell him that her order was late, so all of the needed material wouldn’t be ready. He wrote back to ask her to let him know when everything was in, and he would make arrangements.

Two weeks later, everything was sitting around Hermione’s house. She watched from the study as Remus apparated in her garden. She reminded herself to breathe and slow down.

“Come in, come in,” Hermione waved her hand so the fire roared again. The biting wind came in before Remus got to the door, causing Hermione to shiver violently.

“Hello,” he dropped his bag and brought Hermione in for a hug, “you’re freezing.”

“Turns out the fireplace only works in the library. The kitchen gets warm when I cook, but that’s it.”

“At least I know the first thing I’ll be doing.”

Remus got straight to work. He explained that Gail had gone on vacation to Spain to escape the winter, so if it were okay, he would be staying with Hermione.

The week passed, and Remus barely spoke as he worked. He got the fireplaces working the first day, so Hermione was able to sleep comfortably. As she went to sleep every night, she ran through everything he had said, and she had said double-checking that nothing would sound like more than it should.

After the first week, Remus swore as he looked around at all the work still to be done. He had been taking more work owls and was distracted by week's end.

“I could stay?” He offered and asked Hermione who was looking at paint samples in the kitchen.

“Sure.”

It was a simple answer. She didn’t even look at him.

Remus stayed for two more weeks. Hermione enjoyed the warm quiet he brought to the cottage. Even when work was done for the evening, they rarely spoke. Almost as if they had found their own language through hums and handing things over.

Still.

Hermione relished knowing someone else was in the home with her—someone who didn’t judge her interests or hobbies.

It was the end of February when Hermione woke up to her bathroom door opening. Remus walked out in a towel and nothing else.

Hermione stared at him from her bed with her mouth slightly parted. The bathroom in the hall was still not done, so Remus had been using hers. This was the first time she witnessed it.

“Sorry,” he smiled sheepishly, “I didn't mean to wake you.”

Hermione went to speak but found only a squeak. Her eyes took in his scarred chest and the smattering of sandy blonde chest hair. Tiny water drops clung to his body and dripped down into the twisted knot below his belly button. She felt her mouth go dry as a deep exhale left her. Hermione felt the tightening warmth in her lower belly wake for the first time in over a year.

Remus looked her over and, without speaking, left the room quickly.

If Hermione thought the house was quiet before, it was a museum now. Remus must have known what Hermione’s body did during their morning interaction.

The first of March came and went. Hermione needed to break their silence.

“I was thinking it might be nice to have your birthday here. If you don’t have any plans, that is,” Hermione said quickly, “you’re already here.”

“My birthday is in eight days.”

“Does work want you back?” Hermione moved the food around on her plate.

Remus cleared his throat, “No. In fact, Kingsley is quite happy with my work from here.”

“That’s great. You should stay.”

“Can’t. The full moon is in a couple of days.”

“I have plenty of land.”

“Hermione,” he said, her name only, but it was loaded with questions. What are you asking of me? What are you doing? What do you want from me?

She gave him a small smile and stood to clear the plates.

They didn’t speak for three days. Remus left by walking up behind Hermione and wrapping his arms around her. She froze with her hands gripping the counter. In the darkened window, she watched him meet her eye. Then he left.

When Remus showed up days later, on his birthday, Hermione wasn’t surprised. She didn’t have a present for him, but something told her to buy food for a nice meal at the market. She spotted him from the window as she worked in her study. Before he was up the path, she had opened the door. Without a word, she took his bag and carried it up to the bedroom closest to her own.

She got to work on his dinner. Remus began ripping out all the flooring from the sitting room she couldn’t use.

The comfortable, warm, quiet re-entered Hermione’s home.

“Is Kingsley still okay with you working remotely?” Hermione asked after they had sat down for dinner.

“Says I’ve deserved a vacation since my Hogwarts graduation,” Remus showed her a lopsided grin, “Why?”

“There’s a house for sale up here.”

She had thought he would at least hum a response, but he didn’t do anything at all.

Later, when Remus was reclining on her sofa reading by the fireplace, Hermione felt a foreign pull to ask him if he was ready to go upstairs. She knew how it would sound and how he would take it.

Instead, Hermione walked over and lowered his book slowly; she saw how his chest stilled as he stopped breathing. She leaned over him and hugged him as much as his current position would allow her.

“Happy Birthday, Prof-Remus,” she whispered in his ear.

Hermione didn’t check that his chest was moving again before she was walking up the stairs.

Hermione made sure to vacate her room as soon as she woke up in the morning to give Remus the privacy of showering.

They lapsed into their standard quiet days as Remus continued to fix and alternate her home.

“No snow this winter?” Remus asked one night after they finished dinner.

“No,” Hermione looked out the backdoor, “I read in the local wizarding paper that they think it’s the country’s way of balancing itself out.”

“What does that mean?” Remus looked skeptical.

“War is unnatural. So the world is letting it play out and will fix itself and return to normal when it's ready.”

“I miss the snow.”

Hermione looked over the man at her table, “Me too.”

Maybe it was talking about the war that did it, but sometime in the night, Hermione screamed herself awake. The feeling of Bellatrix on her body felt too real.

Her bedroom door opened, and the moonlight showed Remus standing there with a neutral expression. True to himself, he didn’t say a word as he climbed into bed.

Hermione lay perfectly still on her side. She knew she had said things that could be misinterpreted as something else, but how she acted now would either bring him closer to her or send him back to London before the sun rose.

Remus threw one arm open but stayed lying on his back, eyes to the ceiling.

Hermione shuffled over until his arm wrapped around her shoulder and her legs pressed against his. The soft cotton of his sleep trousers rubbed comfortably on her bare legs. The t-shirt she wore rode up from her movements. Hermione swallowed the thought that if Remus lifted the duvet, he would be able to see her white knickers.

Undoubtedly, he would sense what his nearness was doing to her body. The physical attraction stemming from his handsomeness or her loneliness merged together. Remus ignored the baser desires he had as Hermione’s hand traveled across his middle, and she clung to him.

It didn’t escape either of them that it would have been less intimate to have sex in the moonlight than what they gave in and allowed themselves to do now.

In the morning, they didn’t speak about it. Hermione woke up and, knowing Remus was watching her, walked to the bathroom. He was downstairs when she emerged.

The process repeated every few days. Hermione would have a nightmare, and Remus would wrap her around him like he was her own personal shelter from the storm of her mind.

They still didn’t speak about it.

He left quietly two weeks after he had gotten there. They didn’t speak about when he would come back if he would come back.

The full moon of April passed. Hermione didn’t hear from him.

Remus showed up again as the wildflowers began to bloom on Hermione's property. He found her sitting in the middle of the meadow she had created. What he saw was her crying, hard but not loud. She had engraved his best friend's name on a rock in her hand that she would occasionally clutch to her chest. He didn’t ask why she chose Sirius’ name to represent all that was now gone, but something warmed in him.

They continued in their now-needed silence. The weight of the war, with the one-year anniversary approaching faster than they thought possible, provided a stark contrast to their lives before.

Hermione had felt herself growing confused, even annoyed, at Remus’ continued quiet demeanor, but when he found her that spring day and gave her the strength he had for her to cry about their friends gone too soon, she began to understand it.

She didn’t say anything as he stayed for the rest of May.

She didn’t say anything when he came back in June and said he had bought the house with the land next to hers and that they would be neighbors. Even though neighbors meant an almost mile-long walk door to door.

She didn’t say anything as, even with the new home, Remus continued to favor hers and her bed. He offered one morning that she needed the help. He still hadn’t done the upstairs bathroom after all.

And the time passed.

Remus left for the June full moon but would put up wards and stay for July - forbidding Hermione to tend to him.

People in town began to associate them with each other. Hermione often relayed pub invitations from the fisherman to Remus. Some he took them up on. Gail became comfortable with them and apologized to Remus for not cooking her best to spite him. When she left the table, Remus quickly assured Hermione that her cooking was very good and that maybe it was okay if, just this once, someone else was better at something than her. They ate at the inn at least once a week.

They sat closer together in the evenings.

They stopped pushing as far into the wall as they could to avoid brushing each other.

Remus added, kissing Hermione’s forehead when he hugged her.

The anniversary of the war fell on the Orkney Islands cottage and brought in a dark thunderstorm with it. The Daily Prophet wrote a story in which they tried to claim that there was good in all the bad- in all that was lost.

That night, as Remus and Hermione listened to the thunder shake the cottage, and the rain pelt the windows, their lips found each other. A soft pressing together as if to test the waters they had been wading in.

It became the latest addition to them. Light kisses, closed mouth, added on to a hug or when Remus would come to bed, having dropped the pretense of having his own room a week back.

Remus and Tonks’ anniversary passed.

Neville’s birthday.

Harry’s.

He wrote back to Hermione to thank her for the well wishes and thoughtful gift. He informed Hermione that Ron had joined the Aurors. He promised they would all see each other soon. He didn’t ask where she was.

They knew each other. While Hermione gave Remus space to deal with his loss, he hovered around her while she read Harry’s letter. He didn’t say anything as she sat next to him and sought his embrace and shoulder.

The summer was what brought Hermione to the islands. She watched the bluest sky and the greenest hills play with each other in the distance. August was warm but didn’t stifle them. The thunderstorms raged, but Hermione and Remus both found beauty in them.

As they stood in the doorway and let the rain mist their faces and clothes, Hermione turned her body to Remus and pulled his shirt until he bent down and slotted his mouth against hers. She opened her lips in an invitation that Remus carefully accepted.

Remus pulled back, “I’m not quite ready for this.”

Hermione wanted to be hurt by his words, but when she went to fight back, what came out was, “I’m not either.”

She asked him later in bed how that was possible. He didn’t think it was that hard to figure out but laughed at her confused vulnerability.

He still gave her the soft kiss she had built into her nightly routine.

Summer left them earlier than they had expected. Autumn came sooner on the islands, and everyone seemed prepared besides the two.

“Your birthday is in a couple of days,” Remus stated one night after dinner.

“I suppose it is,” Hermione agreed, “Not a particularly good one.”

“Every birthday you have, Hermione, is a good one,” Remus countered.

He watched her over the months as she absorbed his quietness. At first, he had allowed himself the self-indulgence to hate himself for it, but then, as the days passed and Hermione still showed clear signs of being herself, he watched as her need for it became more apparent. Her mind had slowed down just enough to stop replaying every moment of the war and what she could have done differently. She didn’t spend every minute questioning why Harry, or anyone else, had not come to look in on her. In the moments when she was awake and letting her mind get the best of her, Remus would only let her stay within herself for too long before he would ask about a memory she had.

“What was Lavender like when she wasn’t a bully?”

“Fred always had a crush on you, did you know?”

“Sirius liked you more than Ron.”

He didn’t say anything, as the inquiries would lead to tears or laughter.

He didn’t say anything when he accompanied Hermione to pick out everything she would need for the sitting room, and she continuously asked him what he thought. She would follow it up with an easy, “Don’t just say yes 'cause I like it. You need to like it, too.”

He didn’t say anything when, late on her birthday, with only the fire to light the library, Hermione crawled into his lap and minutes later came on his fingers. She took the cookbooks, winter vegetables, and another open-mouth kiss as her presents.

And the time passed.

It was a year since Remus had first come to the Orkney Islands under the guise of checking up on his now-admitted, favorite student.

Hermione was no longer battling the immense amount of land or the broken home. Now, she tended to her garden and prepped it for what she hoped would be a hard winter. A winter that would be made comfortable by hot water and company.

Remus dropped the pretense of needing to disappear for work and allowed Hermione to make space for him and a desk in her study. She beamed at the coziness of their workplace, but Remus insisted that they take the sofa out. Now, they spent their evenings sitting closely in front of another fire, looking out the back window and the dark sea.

One night, as they lay in bed, letting the distant crashing of waves lull them to sleep, Hermione, in a cloudy post-orgasmic haze, let Remus pull her closely to him.

“The last Death Eater was caught today,” he murmured into her hair.

Hermione pretended that not asking him about his work was out of respect, but the truth was evident. She had no interest in continuing a war that so many didn’t care if she had lived through.

“How do they know it’s the last one?” She asked the obvious.

Remus hummed, “I suppose they don’t. But as of now, there are no other leads, and Kingsley has shut down the program.”

“How’s Harry?” The secret that Remus spoke to Harry more than she did didn’t bother her as much as she thought it might.

“I don’t know. Different.”

Different was one word for it. Hermione assumed that Harry spent the next day arguing with Kingsley that their, his, work wasn’t finished. The day after that, Harry wrote to Hermione and conceded.

He asked her how she had been; he actually wanted to know. He asked her where she was; he was going to come up at Christmas time. He told her about Ron; he wasn’t doing well. He asked her who she was with; he already knew.

As the weather became colder, the rain turned from warm, beautiful thunderstorms to icy rain that, when it landed on her, would chill Hermione for days. Remus found humor in that any outside task became his, but Hermione admired that around the full moon, he would work in only a T-shirt. The material would cling to him and reflect his growing health.

Remus sat still more. He spoke more. He ate more.

He blamed Gail for that and, upon looking at Hermione, swiftly assigned her a guilty verdict as well.

He still carried around burdens like a backpack filled with bricks. Somedays, they weighed on him, and some days, he allowed them to be part of him. Hermione appreciated it, and Remus stopped hiding it.

Hermione had left the home early that morning. Not early enough, as Remus had been gone before the sun came up; as she passed his house on her bike, she could hear him swearing as he did his renovations. His quiet, methodical approach to her house was because of her. His loud, angry repairs on his house were for him. For the first time in her life, Hermione didn’t feel the need to fix him. She rode by and spent as much time in town as she could.

She was gone all day and handed out candy to children as she rode back home, the sun setting behind her. Hermione let memories of pumpkin juice, floating candles, and complete uniforms flash through her head. She always loved Halloween.

When she rode back up the hill to Remus’ house, she stopped and walked discreetly to his kitchen. She left takeaway from Gail’s and a note telling him to please consider eating something. She walked back to the front door.

“You’re leaving?” Remus walked down the middle of the staircase.

“Can’t be caught outside after dark, you know.”

They both smiled at Remus’ constant teasing at the two times Hermione had attempted to ride her bike after sunset and crashed both times. She didn’t mind it as the memory of his hands moving over her body, checking for more injuries, was all she remembered.

“Did you bring me dinner?” Remus walked away from her towards the kitchen.

Hermione didn’t move. “Yeah, I didn’t know if you ate today. I’ll see you at home?”

It was ironic, really, Hermione asking Remus if she would see him at home while they stood in his home.

“Eat with me,” he called from the kitchen.

She walked slowly. This was the territory that she didn’t feel comfortable in. Historically, when Remus was depressed, he would isolate himself. If he couldn’t do that, he would lash out. Hermione had never experienced him inviting anyone, especially her, into his space.

Remus stood unpacking the food she brought for him. He knew it was only one meal, but Gail put in two plates and two sets of cutlery. Gail knew what this day meant to him as he yelled it at her last year in a drunken stupor. For as sweet as she was, the following day, she gave him coffee, a greasy meal, and told him if he ever spoke to her like that again, she would cut his bollocks off.

He didn’t think adding one more person to his feelings would hurt.

They ate silently on the floor. Hermione kept her eyes on him in what she thought were inconspicuous glances. Remus, much to his surprise, didn’t mind her need to check on him. When they finished eating, Hermione made a move to leave again.

“I think I’m done for the day. Let’s go home.”

The three words shifted them, again, ever so slightly. Remus pushed her bike up the gravel road with one hand and held Hermione’s with the other.

They spent the night as close to each other as possible, not pushing away the thoughts but allowing them to sit in the tiny gaps between their bodies.

When Remus took Hermione to bed, he made his first request of her in the last year and fiddled with the hem of her shirt. Without words, she lifted her arms and let him remove it. As his fingers moved under the fabric of her knickers, a now familiar path, and swam in her response to him, Remus’ mouth explored a new part of Hermione’s body.

“You’re too polite,” Hermione cooed up at him afterward. Her body was still catching its breath, and her vision was refocusing. It was half joke, half desperate request for him to let her touch his body. She could see how he strained for relief. Hermione could only hope that it was her, specifically, not a biological effect.

“I’m too afraid,” Remus spoke to the dark room.

Hermione had retorts on her tongue but breathed them out. It was apparent to her what he was saying. Neither needed to know more. She flushed her body against his until the gaps had gone.

Remus went behind his wards for the November moon. When the sun came up, Hermione was in the back garden, staring out across the land, waiting for his form to emerge.

“What are you looking at?”

An exhausted voice asked from behind her, making Hermione jump. She turned around to see Remus leaning against the doorway. He was in a t-shirt, probably because of a fever, and bruises littered his body. He only had one new gash that started at the base of his throat and moved to the back of his neck. Her hands shook, but when Hermione led him into the kitchen, he let her clean him up. When she finished, a kiss landed on the inside of her wrist.

Sirius’ birthday was the next and last milestone that they had to get through for the year. Hermione didn’t make a mad dash to honor him, and Remus didn’t sulk off by himself. They lay in bed together, letting their hearts clench as tightly as their hands as they remembered the man who lit up every room. His memory brought forth all those he touched. It was an hour before Hermione’s belly rumbled, interrupting another story Remus told her of Hogwarts and the first iteration of the Order of the Phoneix.

They worked hard that day at Remus’ home, but Hermione couldn’t see his vision. When she asked him, he would only laugh and tell her it needed to be completed before she would get it.

That night, even though exhausted, Hermione pressed her lips to Remus’ neck and sought permission to taste him fully.

“It’s not time yet,” he whispered into her mouth.

November faded, and the daytime became shorter. Both commented on thinking that days at Hogwarts were short, but seven hours of sunlight a day was new to them. Gail offered up different techniques to stave off the sadness that would surely come to the newbies.

Remus extended the wards, allowing Hermione to see him run by during the full moon. He seemed to be chasing a hare that was, at best, toying with him and, at worse, outright taunting him. 

When she laughed about it the next day as she checked him over, Remus joined her for a second. His eyebrows scrunched together as he looked up into her face.

“Dora never saw me transform or as a wolf.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say, and it seemed even if she had, Remus wouldn’t want to hear it.

“I think the tree should go right here. In front of the window,” Hermione stood in the sitting room. It was a more formal carved-out space for the guests they never received. “We could sit here and watch presents being opened.”

The idea that they would both sit in the nice but comfortable chairs and watch presents being opened could have been innocuous, but there was a thought behind the thought that made both of their breaths catch. Remus agreed to the placement but left for his home right after.

They got the tree the next day, and Hermione forced Christmas decorations, hummed carols, and good cheer on Remus. He pretended to scowl but hung everything precisely where Hermione wanted.

He comforted Hermione when the lack of an angel made her sob.

“I left it at my parent's house to be sold,” Hermione wiped roughly at her face, “I didn’t even think about it.”

“It’s okay, love,” Remus pulled her in for a hug.

The endearment soothed Hermione’s wound like a balm. When Remus left the house an hour later, claiming he needed to do work on his own, she thought he was running away from their closeness.

Two hours later, he reappeared and handed over a box.

“This is my mum's. How did you get it? Someone bought this,” Hermione didn’t stop the fresh wave of tears.

“Stole it, didn’t I?” Smugness stretched across his face.

Hermione let out another hard sob, “Oh, Remus.”

As she buried her face in his chest, she told him how sweet he was and how lucky she had become.

The fire roared, and the white Christmas lights on the tree twinkled brilliantly. Remus stretched up and put the angel on the top of the tree. He stepped back to admire his work and lifted his arm, automatically giving Hermione access. On the radio, a piano version of Silent Night played.

Hermione didn’t hum along.

Much to her surprise, Harry did visit a few days before Christmas. He couldn’t stop the impressed look every time he entered a new room.

Hermione had prepared herself for days full of nostalgia and keeping their friendship alive with memories, but much to her joy, Harry kept topics current. He told her everything that had been happening with the Aurors — even when Remus told him to stop. Hermione told him as much as she could about the Department of Mysteries and what she was working on.

They spoke about the Weasleys and how they were doing. Better.

They spoke about Grimmauld and Harry having to hire someone professionally to rid it of the curses Sirius and Remus had missed.

Harry tried to quietly tell Remus that Sirius had, apparently, left half his vault to him. Remus denied that Harry needed to keep the information from Hermione or that he wanted it.

“Doesn’t matter,” Hermione sat on the sofa’s arm next to him, “It’s yours by law. Should be in a trust.”

“It is,” Harry pulled out papers from his breast pocket, “you just sign this, and it will be moved to your account.”

Later, when Harry had gone to sleep, Remus expressed his concerns about never having so much money. Together, they agreed something good would come out of it.

“Molly wrote to me,” Harry announced the next day at breakfast, “she’s demanded that all three of us come for Christmas.”

Hermione studied her best friend’s face and then looked at Remus. Their eyes met and passed back and forth, their quiet understanding. His eyes slid to the tree and out the bay window.

Hermione took Harry’s hand and smiled genuinely at him, “You should go, Harry.”

“What? No, Hermione,” Harry looked to Remus to see if he could figure out what he missed, “I told you I wanted to spend Christmas with you.”

“I think Molly wants all her kids home. She’ll want to see you.”

The recognition that as much as Molly loved her, she wasn’t like a child to the woman no longer hurt Hermione. After everything, love still felt like love, even without the label.

Harry didn’t protest further, but he forced Hermione and Remus to spend every second of the day with him. They ate dinner at Gail’s and walked around town looking at all the Christmas lights. Harry stared at the harbor and the way the fisherman had placed their lights. Remus quietly excused himself.

“What are you thinking about?” Hermione sat on the cold ground with him. She smiled without turning around when she felt the warming charm Remus sent the earth.

Harry didn’t look at her, but the emotion was evident, “Where we were two years ago. Where we are now.”

“Harry—”

“I don’t want to go to the Burrow tomorrow.”

Hermione sighed, “You’re welcome to stay here. I know you’re tired of doing everything for everyone. Maybe you don’t have to.”

“Molly will be devastated.”

Hermione believed that Harry could have two truths. He didn’t want to go to the Burrow, where grief would be the only thing in abundance. He felt obligated to go to be with the family that took him in.

It was his last night, and the three stayed up way too late. Harry and Remus laughed loudly at old stories and the wins and losses of the board games Hermione had said were necessary to any house.

Before they went to sleep, there was a knock on their bedroom door.

“For the bet I lost,” Harry dropped ten galleons in Hermione’s hand. He turned and closed his own door before she could speak.

Hermione went to the dresser and dropped the money in Remus’ key bowl. She turned to find him looking at her with his book in his lap, “He’s known the whole time.”

It was Christmas Eve, and Hermione had been awake for hours. She was cooking anything and everything she could think of for Christmas brunch. Pastries, egg dishes, meat. Anything she thought would be good or looked fancy.

When they sat down to eat, after Remus taught Harry how to give adequate praise to Hermione’s cooking, they only managed a few minutes before there was a knock at the door.

Hermione left to get it and heard Harry try to whisper, “Gail does the butter on top so it doesn’t get soggy.”

“I heard that, and I hate you,” Hermione called over her shoulder. She opened the door to two burly men, “yes?”

“Hermione Granger?”

“Yes?” Hermione wanted to call out for Remus.

“Delivery. It looks like bathroom items. Where should we put them?” One of the men consulted a clipboard.

Remus walked up behind her, “Upstairs hall would be fine. Do you need help?”

“We got it, but thanks,” both men set to work carrying supplies and fittings upstairs.

“Today, really, Remus?” Hermione chuckled.

“We didn’t have anything else to do,” Remus responded with a laugh.

Hermione bundled herself up and walked Harry to the apparition point. Remus stayed behind under the pretense of working on the bathroom, but Hermione knew he was giving them a few minutes of alone time.

With the point in sight, Harry stopped and turned to his best friend.

“You’re happy,” it could have sounded like an accusation, but from Harry, it was a bewildered fact. As if he never believed either of them would stumble across it. 

“I suppose I am,” Hermione nodded. She looked around the deserted road, the view of the harbor, the twinkling of lights from town; she was happy.

“You’re happy?” This time, Harry asked it; he sought an answer to what they didn’t talk about.

“More than I should be allowed to be, I think.”

“Is he?” Harry asked, looking back in the direction of their homes.

Hermione smiled at the thought of the man, “He doesn’t always want to be. We both struggle with that, but yes. I think, yes.”

“It’s weird.”

“I know.” They both laughed so loudly that birds flew from their branches overhead, “Will you tell everyone?”

The fact that everyone was now a much smaller group of people quieted them.

“No, I don’t think so. It might be nice to have another secret for a while,” Harry grinned and pushed back his wild hair. “Unless he’s making you—”

“No,” Hermione rushed out, “Not at all, actually. I’m pretty sure Kingsley knows. He sent a Christmas card addressed to the both of us last week.”

Harry looked over his shoulder at the point, “I want to stay.”

“You can.”

Harry brought her in for a hug and then quickly spun and jogged the rest of the way. He waved and was gone.

Remus was sitting on the sofa, watching her walk up to the front door. When Hermione came through the door, he opened his arms but didn’t say anything. She collapsed into him and let the slow tears make tracks down his shirt and cardigan. She missed Harry more than she thought. She was happier in her new life than she thought.

They took the car down to the seaside and ate Christmas Eve dinner at the inn. Most of the town was there, and Hermione and Remus only got to eat their meal before they were pulled in different directions. The fishermen wanted Remus to consider a job. The baker wanted to know how Hermione was getting on with that French flour. The butcher told them he had gotten in the finest cuts he’d ever seen, and he would save them for Remus as he knew how to enjoy them.

Gail made a joke about any shiny presents Remus would give, and Hermione would receive.

When they got home that night, it was late. Hermione was fighting to stay awake in the five minutes it took them to drive home.

“Love?” Remus called out loudly, casually.

“Just going to change into something more comfortable,” Hermione started up the stairs. She stopped and turned around at the blushing man at the bottom, “sweatpants and a jumper.”

“Either way,” Remus shrugged his shoulder. The false bravado gave Hermione a glimpse into his younger self.

When Hermione reached the top of the stairs, what greeted her when she turned around the corner was a beautiful, shiny new hall bathroom. Remus had painted the back wall a Gryffindor maroon and installed a gorgeous claw foot tub. She ran her hands over the polished white countertops and the warm wood of the cabinets. The shower curtain hung thick and soft in the corner.

“What do you think?”

Hermione hadn’t heard him sneak up behind her and watch her take in his work.

“Remus,” Hermione was breathless, “it looks amazing.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he hung his head to hide his pride. Hermione had always been quick to compliment him and point out something impressive about him. However, tonight, it lit his heart and stitched another thread in the fabric draped around them.

“Come downstairs,” Remus turned to go back down by the fire and wait for Hermione.

She did, in fact, change into something more comfortable, even adding thick wool socks to her ensemble. She sat next to him and let him pull the scrunchie from her hair.

“Would you like a present?” Remus smiled down at her after she had gotten comfortable against his chest.

“Is it shiny?” Hermione teased. The way his eyes widened and shot to the ground let her know the way Gail said it was funnier.

Remus lifted her and moved to the tree. There were a few presents there from their friends. Hermione could pinpoint Luna’s. It looked fuller as Harry had dropped quite a few in secret before he left.

He picked up a box from the back that was wrapped in brown paper. Hermione ripped into it while keeping her eyes on him.

“Remus,” the tears sprang to her eyes as soon as she saw it.

It was a picture of her holding a cookbook and stirring a pot on the stove. She had no idea that he took it or when, but from the confused look on her face, she would wager that it was sometime at the beginning of her homemaking journey.

“Have I seen this frame before?” Hermione ran a finger around the four different kinds of wood that made up the picture frame.

“I saved some parts of the house. The top one is from the kitchen cabinet you were crying against when I first came here.”

“Okay,” Hermione said impatiently.

“This one is from your shutters. This one is from your bathroom cabinet, and the bottom one is from your floors.”

Remus’ finger ran over hers as he pointed out the different kinds. The photo was black and white, allowing the frame to shine.

“Thank you, Remus. This is too much,” she said, not bothering to wipe her eyes.

“It’s nothing,” he shrugged, but for another time that night, he blushed and averted his gaze.

His looking down was perfect for Hermione, who rose on her toes and kissed him passionately.  Her hands ran down his chest and pulled his shirt to make their bodies touch.

“Remus,” Hermione pulled back, breathing heavily.

“Yes.”

It could have been him answering her, or it could have been agreeing to her silent question. Either way, she didn’t respond to him.

“Hermione, I think I’m—”

“It’s snowing. Remus, it’s snowing,” Hermione broke contact with him and stared open-mouth at the bay window where large fluffy flakes were falling. They were reflecting the tiny white lights of the tree.

“Let’s go look at it out back.”

Remus led her to the back of the house, where he opened the kitchen door and stood on one side of it. He nestled Hermione between the doorjamb and his chest.

“Thank you for my gift,” Hermione sniffed.

“You’re welcome,” Remus kissed the top of her head, “I’m sorry Harry left. I’m sorry you don’t have any family with you.”

Hermione let a pause take over. She counted the snowflakes for a minute. She turned to look up at him and watched as his green eyes reflected the falling snow.

“I do.”

Another soft kiss was a reward for her honesty.

“Happy Christmas, Remus,” Hermione whispered in his ear.

They had just opened Christmas gifts. Hermione had repeated several times that Remus didn’t have to do this. He smiled broadly but unsurely at the amount of gifts from Hermione and his friends.

“I thought of something I really wanted, but that you didn’t get me.”

“What, love?” Remus looked concerned and ready to bolt as if something she wanted would be so easily attainable.

“I’m going to go make breakfast. You aren’t going to say one word about Gail.”

Remus was still laughing as she left the couch and walked slowly into the kitchen. She hadn’t felt the need to put on trousers, and her t-shirt had morphed into one of his button-downs. 

Remus appreciated the view but yelled out a reminder, “You have to accept that there are three people in this relationship.”

Hermione stopped in her tracks. She knew they were both holding their breaths. Instead of turning to look at his face, Hermione smiled to herself and kept walking.

The day passed too quickly for their taste. Hermione had spent most of it in the kitchen and fending off Remus’ ‘taste testing’ for her.

Before sunset, he walked into the kitchen, having grabbed even more firewood.

“Can you get away for a while?”

Hermione looked over her shoulder, “I can put everything under a stasis charm. It’s all done.”

“Come with me.”

Remus helped her wrap herself up and walked her down to his home. Their feet crunched under the snow, and Hermione tried to catch flakes on her tongue. When they walked in, Hermione was amazed at what she saw.

“It’s like a school. Remus, it looks like a mini Hogwarts.”

“It is,” Remus said.

“I don’t understand.”

Hermione turned to look at him. He was moving his mouth from side to side and looking around.

“When you told me, awhile back, that it hadn’t snowed up here and why,” Remus paused, thinking of a word, “it piqued my interest. I began looking into it, and it turns out the war didn’t just throw the world out of balance. The end of the war threw it into a sort of spring.”

“Remus, is this a riddle? Are you joining Ravenclaw?”

“Ha, ha. Anyway, I consulted with a colleague of yours. Don’t ask who I won’t tell you. They said that the world has to catch up with itself, and to do that, it’s regrowing our world.”

“Regrowing…” Hermione looked around, “a school… but Remus Hogwarts already…”

“Not for primary school children. There’s been a surge, an unbelievable surge, of children presenting as having magic. There’s a theory that us coming here might have empowered that surge.”

“You mean…” Hermione still couldn’t think or speak.

“Kids everywhere on the islands are showing magic, Hermione. All three of Gail’s grandkids.”

Hermione let out a watery laugh, “All 3? How do you know?”

“She said her grandkids were strange, and she always thought I was strange. McGonagall said it was okay for me to talk to her and her two kids about it.”

“Did you know?”

“Not when I started. There’s still a kitchen because of that. But now, there’s enough kids to open a school.” Remus started walking around quickly, “we could teach them muggle lessons as well as introductory magic. History of Magic. Magical Creatures. Ancient Runes.”

“Remus, oh my god,” Hermione laughed and ran after him. “I can’t believe you’ve done this. I love you.”

Remus stopped so quickly Hermione almost ran into him, “I—I… Hermione—”

“Don’t,” Hermione put her fingers to his pouted lips, “don’t say it back just because I’ve said it.”

Remus finished walking her around and told her where he thought different classrooms could be. They might need to add on to accommodate all the students. He explained that he thought both of them could teach. He told her of the others in their world who were looking to leave their own reminders and find a new place to make a life.

When they walked back, the snow had only picked up and fell harder. The sun was down, and the half-moon showed off the snowy ground.

“A white Christmas. A school,” Hermione let herself be twirled around by Remus. She stopped and looked up at him with narrowed eyes, “Wait, did you try to out-gift me with the school.”

“It’s possible.”

They fell back into their comfortable silence as they ate dinner. Remus didn’t mention Gail once, and Hermione didn’t pick anything apart. They both fell onto the sofa, watching the firelogs crackle and break apart.

“Do you think the snow will stop?” Hermione asked as her body moved on top of his, and her hands ran up his chest and over his shoulders where they rested.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Remus’ own hands moved up and down her back.

Their chests moved up and down in sync. They soaked in each other's scents and the feel of their skin. Hermione crawled up his body until their lips met. They continued the soft kisses until Remus, for the first time, asked for permission to slip his tongue into Hermione’s mouth.

The kiss deepened until Hermione’s skin was glistening, and her hips gave an involuntary roll into Remus’ stomach.

“Hermione,” Remus moaned into her mouth, “let’s go upstairs.”

Hermione let him pull her up the stairs and into their bedroom. She walked to the large windows and opened the curtains so they could watch the snow fall into the distant sea.

The first snow of winter reflected back everything Hermione was living. It was beautiful but unpredictable in its landing. It brought forth a calm quiet that slowed Hermione’s heart. When she was still soaking in the change of her world that the snow allowed, Remus walked up behind her and slowly unbuttoned his shirt from her body. He kissed every inch of skin that became exposed. His thumbs brushed the stiff peaks of her breasts and his lips, the arched neck that let her head lean back against his shoulder. With the shirt discarded, he looped his fingers around her knickers and pulled those slowly from her body.

“Remus,” Hermione inhaled sharply as his fingers made contact with her soaked core. He led her backward until he could lay her down.

He knew that the night matched Hermione’s being. Quiet. Unsure. A first.

Remus allowed himself to give into the need that he had felt for so long. A necessity he had made peace with, never feeling again. He settled Hermione on the bed and then joined her halfway. His mouth laid the same soft kisses on the center of her womanhood before tasting her the way he wanted. He didn’t let up until the grip on his hair tightened painfully; Hermione made a noise louder than she had in a year and loosened her hand on his scalp.

He gave one more soft lick to her swollen clit before kissing her body. He took his time reacquainting himself with her heaving breast. They were heavy in his hands and sweet on his tongue.

“Remus,” Hermione whimpered down at him. Her hand pushed back the strands of hair that had fallen over his eyes and scratched her nails through his beard.

“Are you ready?” He asked quietly.

Hermione nodded quickly, “Yes. Please, I want this. I want you.”

There was a moment of calm where their familiar silence filled the room. Hermione smiled up at him before letting them join at the lips. His hand ghosted down her body before gripping himself; Remus took a minute to recognize that he couldn’t remember the last time he had been so hard and began to push slowly into her.

“Just tell me,” Remus shuddered as the first of her warmth engulfed the tip of his manhood.

“It’s okay,” Hermione got out, but she was gritting her teeth. Moonshape dips dotted his shoulders.

There was no cosmic shift in the universe. The stars didn’t realign. Hermione’s world did.

The moment Remus was fully inside her, and the pain began to subside, Hermione felt her earth tilt on its axis. Remus was the only thing she needed. The house was all she wanted. This life was all she could ask for.

In four words, Remus tells her that he felt everything she did, “Can you feel it?”

Hermione nodded but then broke into a silly smile at the other meaning of his question. “Books say you’re meant to move.”

Even in this profound moment, this heavily romantic moment, Remus managed a laugh, “Hush.”

He buried his face in Hermione’s neck and took a deep breath in. He pushed further in until Hermione let out a breathy syllable. Then Remus pulled out and began a slow rocking. In. Out.

The room was quiet. Even Hermione’s new bed didn’t make a squeak at the love being made on top of it.

Slowly, the only sound in the home became the dying fire and the couple’s breathy moans.

“Hermione,” Remus warned. His ending was approaching. His new beginning had just passed.

“Will I feel it?” Hermione moaned at the warm, good transformation radiating all over her body.

“Fuck,” Remus swore before kissing her again and letting his hips pick up their natural pattern. Hermione moaned louder at the harder impact and deeper feel.

She felt his heat on the landscape his mouth had just painted. Remus laid on her, letting the evidence of their love glue them together.

As they had the whole year, they didn’t speak. Remus cleaned them. Hermione led them to the shower and cleansed them of the last of their concerns. Remus requested she sleep naked, and Hermione asked that he touch her again. They were both given their last gifts of Christmas.

The snow melted, and December ended. The New Year brought forth promises and an almost impossible amount of work to be done.

The rest of the winter had Remus and Hermione prepping the school. They worked with Professor McGonagall and many of the other Hogwarts professors to create a curriculum. Hermione would teach English. Remus taught History of Magic and Ancient Runes. They spent the rest of their time teaching the island families about the wizarding world and moving Remus officially out of Grimmauld and his old home.

Harry visited again in the spring and cried over the stone he found in the meadow. He and Hermione bonded again over his realization that she cared deeper than he thought, and he was more accepting than she believed.

Molly, Arthur, and Ron came out right before Spring turned to Summer. Ron, as Harry warned, still held an air of bitterness and would make snide comments to Remus. To his credit, Remus was too much of a man to give in to petty fights. Molly and Arthur were clearly confused by the love they felt and saw in the house, but they ended up leaving by telling Hermione and Remus they couldn’t be happier for them. They promised to visit when the school opened in September and Molly asked if they would be interested in an introductory Herbology teacher; she could do muggle and magic. Remus accepted quickly.

They decorated their home. Hermione found the one photo of Remus and Tonks on their wedding day. Remus had tried to hide it. Hermione placed it with their other photos.

The Marauders. The Trio. The Weasleys. The Twins. Lavender, Pavarti, and Hermione in their dorm. Remus and Sirius at Potter Estates. Photos of their lives could bring forth deep wells of sadness but only made Hermione and Remus remember the good times they had.

September First, at 11 o’clock, when the train would be pulling out of Kings Cross, Hermione and Remus opened the doors of their school for the first time. It was only fifty children, but it was fifty children who thrived. Hermione laughed every time Remus closed his eyes in frustration at another broken object from accidental magic.

It was two years since Remus had shown up at her door. Then autumn ended, and winter came in softly. The skies grew grey slowly. Snow clung to the air for all of December.

“Any day now,” Remus said as he wrapped his arms around Hermione’s body in the backdoor.

Christmas lights were hung. A fight about the best tree available was had. A limit on how much they would spend on presents was sworn on and quickly broken.

They had their dinner at Gail’s. Harry came for a visit and stayed. The Weasleys all found their way to Orkney. Remus watched Hermione crave Bill and Fleur’s baby in her arms and promised himself that next year's Christmas present would be perfect. It was a crazy, love-filled three days.

“I really wanted it to snow for Christmas,” Hermione pouted after everyone had gone and their home was their own again.

It was the night of Boxing Day, and Remus was looking forward to a long winter break from his beloved students.

“One out of three isn’t bad. We could do other things?”

Hermione looked up from her now customary spot on his chest, “We wouldn’t have to be quiet about it, at least.”

Remus’ chest shook her as he laughed, “I meant something else.”

“Like what?”

“You could try this on,” Remus held out a black velvet box, “if you wanted.”

Hermione’s whole body shook as she sat up. Remus popped it open.

The shiny gift Gail had joked about.

“I want to,” Hermione whispered.

Remus kissed her fingertips before slipping it on. Hermione held her hand up to take in the latest addition to her life. As she let the tree lights catch the perfect stone and dance on the windowpanes, Remus gripped her hand. The first snow of winter had begun falling.

And the time passed.