Loving Lupin

    The next day, Severus Snape had a talk with Dumbledore. He had been feeling simply dreadful about the night before--- what HAD he been thinking? It had been so long since he'd held a woman... Perhaps he was losing his touch. Anyway, he intended to apologise right away, but he couldn't find her anywhere in the school. He even used several locating charms, but none of them turned up any results.

    "As you see, Headmaster, I acted wrongfully, and I wish to apologise," he told Professor Dumbledore.

    Dumbledore gave him a curious look over his spectacles and cleared his throat. "What was the name, Professor Snape?"

    "Miss Jeanie James," replied Snape, his eyes flashing with sorrow as he recalled her.

    Dumbledore shook his head gravely. "I'm afraid you have been mistaken, Severus. We never hired anyone by the name of Jeanie James. And I would know," he added seriously.

    Snape's face went pale. "Then who could it be?"

    "Perhaps... One of your students playing with your Aging Potion, no?" suggested Dumbledore mildly. "As long as there's no harm from it... Despite the fact that whoever the student was, she shouldn't have been wandering late at night..."

    "She was near Lupin's room," snarled Snape. "Why would she be there?"

    Dumbledore shook his head again. "I can only guess. But at least she was not into other mischief."

    "Indeed," said Snape greasily. "You are quite right, Albus." He bowed deeply and exited, a new fury lit in his eyes.

    "Well, Miss James," he whispered, a grim satisfaction in his voice. "I hope we meet again."

            * * *

    "Where's Hermione?" asked Ron at supper.

    "Who knows," muttered Harry darkly, his eyes flicking to the Head Table.

    Professor Lupin was missing-- again. It wasn't very unusual for him to missing more and more lately. Added to the time Lupin took off due to his illness, he was a virtually nonexistent professor.

    "What do you mean, 'who knows'?" snapped Ron, his big brown eyes penetrating Harry. "You two've been acting so odd lately. It's as if you don't even like each other anymore."

    "Oh, no, that's not it at all," said Harry, a twisted smile on his face. "I like her plenty. She's a great friend. But if only you knew..." His startlingly green eyes wandered to the High Table again.

    "Knew what? Harry?"

    "I'll tell you later," he whispered anxiously. "But be prepared, it's bad. It's worse than anything you're probably thinking of."

    "Uh-oh," mumbled Ron. Bad news was the last thing he needed at that moment, and especially not something about Hermione!

    As supper came to a close, Harry gave Ron a meaningful look. The redheaded Weasley nodded and followed Harry out into the entrance hall.

    "What is it?" implored Ron as soon as they had left the Great Hall. "Tell me!"

    Harry staggered for a moment, then grabbed Ron's arm. "She's-- an affair."

    "She's having an affair?" exclaimed Ron. "With who?"

    Harry shook his head mutely, his face going pale.

    “It can’t be that bad, can it?” cried Ron, his eyes widening in apprehension. “Can it?”

    “It can,” said Harry in a low voice. “You’re not going to believe it, it’s simply impossible—“

    “Malfoy!” yelled Ron suddenly, his freckled face reddening rapidly. “It’s Malfoy, isn’t it?! I can’t believe Hermione, how could she?! She knows that we hate him, and he’s always been so—“

    “No!” hissed Harry, motioning for Ron to be quiet. “It’s not Malfoy! It’s even worse than that?”

    Ron shook his head indifferently. “Unless it’s Crabbe or Goyle, I can’t see who could be that bad.”

    “It’s…” Harry almost choked on the words. “It’s Lupin.”

    “Lupin?” echoed Ron. Professor Lupin?”

    “Yes, Professor Lupin.”

    “That’s impossible!” choked Ron, his once red face now going pale.

    Harry simply shook his head mutely. By then, he seemed incapable of any words.

    "We're going to do something about it, right?" asked Ron anxiously. "We can't just let her do this."

    "There isn't anything we can do, Ron!" cried Harry. "I've already tried. She won't listen to me. She probably won't listen to anybody."

    "Bloody Hell," swore Ron. "She's gone mad, hasn't she?"

    "I was wondering the same thing," said Harry softly.

    "Lupin," muttered Ron. "Can you imagine? Professor Lupin..."

    "Let's go, Ron," urged Harry, his eyes wandering towards the students who had begun to file out of the Hall. They were giving him and Ron curious looks.

    "I'm going to give Hermione a good talking to as soon as she gets back," snapped Ron angrily, pacing the floor of the common room.

    "She won't listen to you, Ron," repeated Harry patiently for the third time. "She just won't."

    "We'll see!" he snarled.

    The only problem was, Hermione didn't come back five minutes after supper. Nor ten. Nor 15, nor 20, nor even an hour... She stumbled through the portrait hole at about 1 o'clock in the morning, her face flushed and her hair all mussed.

    "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" hollered Ron, his face turning red as he spotted her.

    "What do you mean, where have I been?" hissed Hermione, crossing her arms in front of her chest defensively. "Since when do you keep check of me?"

    "Since you've begun to fool around with Professor Lupin, that's when!" said Ron acidly.

    Hermione's eyes suddenly flitted to Harry, who was sitting in a chair near the fire. He snuck a quick glance at her. She gave him a look that said he would never, ever be forgiven. Harry returned this look with a hard glare.

    "I don't know what you're talking about," announced Hermione finally. "Now, I'm going to bed!"

    "Don't lie to me. Where have you been?" demanded Ron, grabbing her arm roughly as she tried to get past him.

    "I was in the... the Hospital Wing," she said airily. "I hurt my ankle on the way to supper."

    "It only takes a second for Madam Pompfrey to fix a break," Ron informed her.

    "It wasn't broken, it was sprained!" yelled Hermione.

    "Same thing!" Ron yelled back.

    "Shut up, Ron!"

    "You shut up! I'm only concerned because you're off with Professor Lupin, kissing him and doing who knows what..."

    Hermione lost it. She stepped forward and slapped Ron hard across the face. He was so stunned that he didn't hear her last hissed words.

    "We didn't do ANYTHING!"

    Of course, nothing could be further than the truth, thought Hermione as she sat on her bed, rocking back and forth. Her thoughts overwhelmed her as she drunk in memories of what had happened that night...

    My book falls, and I lean down to pick it up. Suddenly, I smell sweet breath-- familiar breath-- the breath of someone I have kissed. I look up. It is Professor Lupin, or Remus, as I call him now. Of course, I never call him that in class. In the outside world, he is Professor Lupin. But in my mind, he is Remus, and he always will be.

    He smiles at me, a kind, wizened smile, and for a moment, I wonder if he is simply acting like my professor. I have noticed that he acts differently when we're alone together, and when we're together in public. When we're in the company of others, he is my professor-- clever, inquisitive, and always happy when I challenge his ideas. When we are alone, he is Remus, and he is my one true love. He is romantic, he is loving, and he is mine.

    But no. He is not my professor tonight. A quick glance around the hall tells me that we are alone. I realise that he knows we're alone, too. He reaches over and takes my hand, kissing it, and then pulling at it, leading me into the Transfiguration classroom.

    Transfiguration has always reminded me of purity; purity in body, and purity in state of mind. But suddenly purity is lost, and Remus' hands are traveling over my shaking body, his lips are against mine, yearning hungrily for more kisses. It is as if he cannot get enough of the taste of my mouth against his.

    My heart pounds, and I suddenly go dizzy. His touch, his smell-- they are all intoxicating. A small moan escapes my lips, and I press against his body, eager for more of his touch. I feel his hand slip under my robes tentatively, but he quickly recoils it. A small smile quivers across my lip as I kiss him again. He is never shy in class, but with me, he is as shy as a deer. It's as if he is two different people; the stoic, quick-minded professor, and then the deep, passionate man whose arms I wish to tarry in eternally.