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[Oh. He knows, to some degree, that he means more to Hermione than she does to him-- knows that in another world they were once far closer, that sometimes she'll know more about him than he thinks she does. But somehow the hug still takes him by surprise-- though awkwardly, he tries to return it after a moment.]

Are you sure you're all right?

[Gently, and he steps forward, so they're in one another's space again. Another hug is all right, he's trying to communicate, if that's what she wants.]

Edited 2016-02-28 23:52 (UTC)

[ As soon as she realises just how awkward it must be for him she's making sure to step away, standing back and doing her best to give him at least a little space. Breathing out, she pushes a smile onto her lips before she forces her arms across her chest - mostly to stop herself from reaching out and grabbing at him. It feels inevitable, but - as lovely and kind as Remus is she won't make him suffer any awkwardness. ]

I'm fine. I just want to talk about James - and Lily?

Ahh. [His expression shifts into something a little more tired. That mess.] Come on.

[James, thankfully, is visiting another ship, and so he leads them into the kitchen. Curling on one of the benches, he offers her the other mug and sips from his own.]

Has Lily been talking to you?

I've spoken to them. It's a little bit complicated.

[ She takes the mug, shifting and settling down, her hand moving to rub over the scar on her face awkwardly, the stretch of the white flesh overlain with metal stinging. ]

I might have told him that I know Sirius and Peter...

How did he take it?

[Lily, honestly, is the one Remus is more concerned about-- James has always adapted well, but Lily is so young.]

He doesn't know where I'm from just yet, just that I know them? And he showed me his animagus so I showed him mine, but the problem is I don't know what I can tell him or what I can't tell him, that's all, and it's such a mess because I know so much about him and you and what's going to happen -

[ And she breathes, forcing herself to stop before she looks down at her tea. ]

[He reaches for her hand, then, taking it with only a bit of hesitation. The future, and he himself had done horribly, babbling to James about Harry and the Order of the Phoenix, preparing him for his grim future to come. Not wise, perhaps, but then again, how could he not? With all their friends being murdered left and right-- with the Prewetts gone, the Bones family destroyed, with Dearborn mutilated before he was killed-- god, how could he not warn James of all that?]

I told him everything.

[Murmured.]

I couldn't keep it to myself. And I didn't . . . I didn't want him walking in blind. But I told him all of it-- the good things as well as the bad. About Harry, about how much he loves him. About Lily, and how happy they are together.

I can't advise you-- I don't even know if that was the right thing to do. But it's what I did.

[ As soon as his hand is in hers Hermione calms, noticeably, as if more than used to it - and she is, not just from Remus but from others that she had spent time with in the Drabwurld. Instinct has her moving closer, resting her shoulder against his before she breathes out and lets herself relax. Knowing that James knows about the future and what it holds... It helps, of course it does, but it doesn't make her really feel all that much better.

How could she feel alright, knowing that he knew to expect the worst? ]

That's good - that's good. There's no right and wrong, not in situations like this, and only Merlin knows all the things I showed you about the world. You were from my third year last time we met and I was supposed to be going back for my seventh.

[ Her hand squeezes his, gently, and she rests her head against his shoulder for a moment. ]

There are so many good things he ought to know - Lily, too, and you, Remus. I want to show you Harry, I want to show you the world that we fight for, the people, all the things that I know and love. I want to show James, too, but I just...

[ She closes her eyes, careful. ]

I didn't know if I would ruin his life if I did.

[Time travel. Is there anything more confusing? He spends a few moments trying to figure it out before focusing on the rest of her statement. And . . .

Ruin his life. Remus feels a cold knot in the pit of his stomach, something utterly sickening. Because what could Hermione say that would ruin James' life? It has to be death. What else is there, in the thick of their war? Everyone is dying, if they're not being tortured and mutilated first. And James-- James and Sirius both, god help them all, they bloody well delight in the risk of it all, high on the danger, knowing they were secretly immortal, knowing they'd never die in their fight against Voldemort.

So it must be one of them. What would ruin James' life? Sirius dying, that would do it. Sirius, or Lily, or Peter-- one of his friends, dying and James being unable to prevent it. That would do it, he thinks, and exhales unsteadily.]

Which one of us is it?

[He glances over at her.]

Who dies. It must be one of us. That's why you don't want to tell him-- one of us dies during the war.

[It's a miracle they haven't already, honestly.]

[ It's a mess and Hermione knows it is - and she knows she's made a mistake as soon as the realisation of what is going to come slams into Remus like some kind of slap in the face. She's gone too far and she's pushed too hard and now she's hurt Remus, too, not just herself and not just James. Knowing that... It makes things hard and something clenches in her chest, something tight and painful, and she has to swallow it back, shove it down and press it into the back of her mind before she breathes out.

She has made a mistake - a terrible one. Now not only is she risking James' future and his happiness but Remus' too, and Sirius'. Her concern for Peter isn't quite as strong as it is for the others for obvious reasons, but there's no need for the boy - and, Merlin help her, he's a boy and she's just a girl, really, only becoming a woman because she had to, growing up too fast - sitting beside her to suffer.

Breathing out, she stares at her tea for another long, drawn out moment before she turns her gaze back to him. When she speaks, her voice is quiet. ]

Do you really want to know? All the things I could tell you - all the things that I know. Do you really want to hear it?

[He has to glance down. Her gaze is too knowing, too sad-- and how long does the war go on for, that this girl looks as exhausted as he does? How long do they fight? It must be for years, he thinks, years and years; they must never stop fighting.

Do you really want to hear it? The brave answer, the Gryffindor's answer, is yes of course. Let him know, so that he could take the knowledge and use it to his advantage. Except--

Except, who knows if they remember what they learn here when they go home? He trains with Sasuke under the false pretense of becoming stronger for the war at home, but Remus knows that's not the reason. He's simply passing time, investing himself in something new in order to while away the hours. He has no proof he'll remember anything of his time here, if he'll ever return at all. And if that's the case . . .

What good will knowing the future do? To know Peter dies-- to know Sirius dies, and that name stirs a myriad of emotions all on its own, never mind connected to death-- what good would that do him? It would haunt him, plunge him back into despair, bring the war starkly back into the forefront-- and god help him, he doesn't want that. The past four months have been an extended vacation, a way to relax without feeling guilty, and he doesn't want to stop that. He doesn't want to have to learn that everything goes to hell-- that they never win, that they all die, that Sirius or Peter (or himself, and sickishly he pushes that thought away) ends up dying on the side of a road somewhere, ambushed and tortured and left in pieces.]

No.

[He says it roughly, his voice thick, his fingers gripping his cup tightly.]

I know it's hard. I'm sorry. I know it-- it would be easier if you could tell me, I'm sorry, I just--

No.

[ There's so much going on in both of their minds that Hermione feels like she has too much power, thrumming through her like a sickness, slamming into her and wrapping around her neck almost like a noose. She's been in worse positions than this, of course, tied up in dungeons, tortured, threatened, thinking she was dead or, worse, trapped somewhere she would never be able to escape it. At least now she has, even if her heart longs for her to be able to return to the Drabwurld, for her to be able to go back to the place where all of her new friends are waiting for her. Would they notice she was gone or would it be as though she had never left in the first place?

She's scared to know the answer to that question.

Instead, Hermione moves. She reaches out, shifting closer and moves her hand over, tugging Remus' fingers away from his cup so that she can link her own with his. It's hard, it's so hard, but she squeezes his palm gently with her own, drawing herself closer to offer him all the comfort that she can muster in that moment. When he looks at her what does he see? The werewolf scars, the long, drawn down mark on her face that glints with silver, a scar that she can never get rid of... All the war wounds she suffers, all the things she's been through - what does he imagine, looking at her?

Finally, she manages to find some words. ]

The War ends. [ That, at least, she can tell him; she can give that away. ] It ends and we win.

[His hand shakes as she grasps it, but he holds on as if it's a lifeline. Fingers threaded together, and he hates himself for clinging to her like this. This all started because she needed comfort, and here he is, desperate for it.

Her words don't help. He barks out a laugh, his eyes squeezing shut, his head ducking down. We win, and he doesn't doubt her, but it seems such a distant victory. How? How could they possibly win? And he wants to know, he wants to hear the story, he wants to hear of Voldemort's downfall-- but he bites back the question. Ask that, and he'll ask a thousand more.]

When?

[A simple question-- surely he's allowed to know the year?]

[ Hermione squeezes back just as hard as Remus holds her, and she closes her eyes for a moment, shoving down all her own doubts and fears. The only thing she had needed from Remus was the decision of telling James things or not - and now she knows what she needs to do. She'll keep her silence, she'll keep her mouth shut, and she won't dare to mention anything she knows about the future to any of them.

She can't be that cruel. She can't tell Remus about Peter, about James or Sirius, she can't tell him about how the war makes them all suffer, all the things they go through - all the death, the pain, the loss, the torture. Even now she blinks back her tears, turning her head away before she breathes out. ]

1998. The Battle of Hogwarts. May the second.

[1998. Seventeen years in the future. An eternity. He can't imagine-- he can't imagine another year of this hell, never mind seventeen. He can't imagine how anyone survives; he can't imagine how Voldemort and his minions haven't slaughtered the world by then.

But it ends. They win. There's an ending, and it's in their favor, and-- and he'll just have to cling to that. But as he'd thought, a thousand other questions bubble to his lips, and it's so much harder to swallow them back this time. He's always craved knowledge; he wants to know all of it-- how it ends, how they last, if there's anything left for them to come home to.]

Is it-- is it good, afterwards?

[It sounds so stupid when he says it like that, and he blinks back his own tears long enough to glance over at her.]

I can't-- I can't imagine the world isn't shattered by then.

It's complicated. For eleven years Voldemort had disappeared, had gone into hiding, and everyone thought he was dead. It was only about six years ago that he even came back, so for eleven of the last years... No one knew anything. We thought we were safe.

[ She says the name without hesitation, now, making herself a little more comfortable before she breathes out. This is easier; telling Remus about the good thing, the happier things, the things that make things better - she can do that. Swallowing back her fear she makes herself more comfortable, pressing against his side again, giving herself that brief moment of comfort. ]

Things are good. People are happy, everyone is so relieved, we're ready to begin again and make the world a better place. That's what I wanted to do - to make the world better, as much as I could. I'm just one person, of course, but still.

[ She smiles, softly. ]

Last time I saw you, in our world, you were going to find your son.

[That's far easier to believe-- the first parts, anyway, about a lull in the war, that things calm down a little. It's far easier to believe; far easier to deal with. There is a break, even if they all don't make it-- some of them will.

It's a pity she tells him she has a son-- because he would like to know more of her, to explore that one little sentence. To make the world better, and he wants to understand, to know this girl who has seen as much war as he has and still manages to say that. And he will, later-- but for now--]

I have a son?

[He'd just told Sasuke children were impossible, but-- perhaps it's possible. If there's a potion to keep him tame every month, perhaps there's a way to prevent his condition from passing.]

You do. His name is Teddy - it's short for Edward, more of a nickname than anything else. Edward Remus Lupin. Harry is his Godfather.

[ Being able to give good news instead of bad is a relief and she breathes out, watching Remus for a long moment. She knows so much about him, spent so much time with him, cared for him so much and now... Now she feels adrift, as if she's walking through a fog. How much would be too much? She wants to be closer to him but she doesn't want to scare him away.

Instead, she makes herself comfortable, her expression calming as she considers. ]

He's very handsome, considering that he's a baby.

[He laughs, and it's as disbelieving as it is joyful.]

Edward . . .

[Teddy. Teddy Lupin, his son, and it's so hard to believe. Who would marry a werewolf? Who would breed with one? And yet someone, somewhere, had found him worthy enough to consent to that. He knows better than to ask who, but god, he wonders.

He glances over at her, now, a wide smile on his face.]

And here I thought Harry was going to be the only baby I ever cared for.

It's so strange to think of Harry as a baby.

[ Her nose wrinkles and she fights back her laughter. To Remus Harry would've been barely into his toddler years, just on the brink of fighting Voldemort for the first time and living because of Lily's sacrifice. She doesn't mention any of that, of course, and instead sh turns and moves closer to Remus, resting her head against his shoulder and breathing out.

A part of her wishes she could tell him more, wishes she could admit it all, but she can't. She keeps her silence because she refuses to hurt him more than she already has. ]

He's grown up a lot, though. You should see him, Remus. He's amazing - absolutely amazing.

Tell me about him.

[He hesitates for a moment at her head on his shoulder-- but it's like Sirius, really, or James. Entirely innocent. He relaxes beneath her, settling in, pleased their hands are still connected.]

Does he play Quidditch? I can't imagine James doesn't push that, frankly-- is he good in school?

[He knows Harry must be caught up in this war, same as Hermione, same as all of them-- but he wants to hear the normal things. He wants to pretend, just for a moment, that Harry gets to have a normal childhood.]

[ She doesn't show any hint of moving to give him space, simply enjoying being close to someone she cares about all over again. It had been a long time - and she forgets the fact that this isn't the Remus that she knew and he probably finds it strange to be so close to a stranger. ]

Of course he plays Quidditch. He's the Gryffindor Seeker, actually, and he becomes captain as well. He joined the team in his first year, which was utterly ridiculous and so dangerous but he managed it.

[ Softening for a moment, she breathes out and shifts, making herself more comfortable against his side as she reminisces. ]

He'd be better if he actually paid attention in most of his classes, but he was amazing at Defence Against the Dark Arts.

[His own favorite subject. Remus allows himself to fantasize for a moment-- was it he who influenced that? Had he taught Harry anything? He can't imagine James and Lily didn't pass on their gifts to him, James tutoring him in transfiguration, Lily showing him how charms worked-- but perhaps there's a very small bit of Remus there as well.

But-- he glances down at what he can see of Hermione, a little smile quirking on his lips.]

No wonder we're friends, if that's what you think of Quidditch. I used to sit in the stands while Sirius and James were at practice-- I can't tell you the number of times I swore they were going to end up killing themselves because they just had to do stupid stunts.

[A beat, and then, with a little sigh:]

It only got worse when James began to fancy Lily.

[ Hermione knows very well that the personal tutoring and the incredible lessons that Harry and Remus had in their third year had shaped at least part of his love of the subject, there's no denying that. It's not as though Gildeory or Umbridge had much in the way of inspiration running through their veins, after all, and even she had loved the more adventurous means of teaching, even if she had figured out Remus' secret almost too quickly.

She had kept it, though, and she would continue to keep it. She loved him, cared for him, and she would never let anything harm him. ]

Oh, the amount of times I watched Harry get hit around or fall off his broom... It was a nightmare. At least Harry was clever enough not to try and show off too much - there's only so much you can do when you're watching and not up there with him.

[ She huffs a noise, shaking her head. ]

I can only imagine. Boys are idiots when they fancy someone. [ Um. ] Excluding current company, of course.

[He laughs, though, and leans against her.]

I'm flattered, if not a touch disbelieving. Is it Harry that caused that opinion, or someone else?

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