The Dark Side of the Moon

Chapter 12 - Inside Out, Outside In

Hermione very slowly opened her eyes and sat up with a start. She'd been lying in the middle of the corridor leading to the Fat Lady's portrait - precisely, she remembered, where she'd fallen through the Painting of Time. It was gone, of course.

She looked down at her arms to make sure they were real and was startled to find herself still in her past clothes - still sopping wet - and with Remus's ring still on her finger, twinkling in the dim light of the surrounding lanterns. She trailed over it unsteadily with her other hand, and looked up. The corridor was deserted and silent, and Hermione couldn't help but feel very much alone. She looked at her watch - it was just past eleven at night.

Shaking a little and breathing in short, sharp gasps, Hermione forced herself to get up. After trying and failing to compose herself, she started fretfully walking to the only place that seemed to make sense - Dumbledore's office.

She couldn't help asking herself what would happen now. Would she just go back to regular life and forget everything that had happened? She couldn't possibly. She'd experienced something phenomenal and she'd made so many good friends along the way.

Her eyes welled up as she thought of Lily, and how much she'd miss her friendship - she'd been the only true female friend Hermione had ever had. And how she could forget Sirius and James, the ones who always could make her laugh, even when she wanted nothing more than to cry. And what - what about Remus?

'Hermione!' a familiar voice called loudly from behind her. 'Hey stop, will you?'

The patter of two pairs of feet caught up to her as she turned around to see her best friends, Harry and Ron. Her throat tightened.

'Where have you been all night? We haven't seen you around since dinner,' carped Ron.

'Three guesses where.' Harry grinned knowingly.

Ron gave a forged look of deep thought. 'Hmm, tough one, Harry. Could she possibly have been in - the library?'

'Naw,' Harry said. 'What would she be doing there?'

Ron clucked. 'Yeah ... dunno what I was thinking, really.' He shot a sideways smirk at Harry, who was now looked genuinely puzzled.

'Why are your robes all wet?' Harry asked her. 'Hang on ... are they even your robes? They look different. They look really ...'

'Old?' chipped in Ron, cocking his head to one side.

Hermione burst into tears and hugged them both tightly. 'Oh I've missed you two so much!' she howled.

Harry and Ron looked irrefutably startled.

'Hermione, what the hell is wrong with -' Ron began but she took hold of Harry's shoulders and cut him off.

'Harry, your dad looks exactly like you, and he flies like you too. And your mother is the sweetest person in the world, I absolutely adore her!' She couldn't control the tears now splashing down her delicate face.

Letting go of Harry, she then proceeded to Ron.

'And Ron ...' she snivelled, then not thinking of anything better to say, hugged him and exclaimed, 'Oh Ron!'

He exchanged a distressed look with Harry. Hermione released him and looked at them both with watery eyes. 'I have to go. I'll see you both later,' she said with a last snuffle.

She ran off and left them behind, ignoring the worried calls that followed her down the hall.

*-*-*

She soon reached the familiar griffin statue that was the entrance to the headmaster's office.

'Chocolate frog,' she said, waiting for the sculpture to move aside. Nothing happened.

After a confusing moment, she cursed to herself and realized that this was the password in the past. She didn't know what the present password was. However, apparently that didn't matter as the griffin shifted from its position, revealing the curling staircase.

Hermione blinked. After a moment's pause making a mental note to remind Dumbledore to change his password every so often, she trotted up the stairs and burst through the door.

She stopped just as it shut loudly behind her. Dumbledore was standing in front of his desk next to a calm-looking, frayed-robe wearing, middle-aged man with deep brown eyes and faded brown hair specked with grey - Remus Lupin.

She choked in the back of her throat as they both turned to her; Dumbledore looked grim and Lupin was surveying her with strong empathy, and something unreadable.

'I - I - what happened?' she said wildly, not moving an inch.

'You found what you were looking for and, as I said, you returned,' Dumbledore answered evenly.

'B - But -' she stammered, 'I didn't find anything!'

How could they both remain so calm about this? She could hardly breathe, as the pain inside of her was too strong. Lupin was trying to catch her eye but she didn't dare look at him, she didn't trust her knees not to give way. And how was it that she'd returned?

'As a matter of fact, you did find something that you'd lost,' Dumbledore said, sitting down in the chair behind his desk and peering at her over his half-moon spectacles.

'What was it, Albus?' Remus asked suddenly. He now looked as confused as Hermione.

'Love,' Dumbledore said simply. 'Hermione found love.'

Hermione looked at him, dumbstruck. 'Say what now?'

'Well, Miss Granger,' Dumbledore began, 'Remus and I have had a very quick chat. You see, ten minutes ago as he was bumping into you in the corridor, he realized what was about to inevitably occur.'

So that's why he was acting so strange that night, Hermione figured, piecing things together.

'He came to my office and told me his suspicion. I knew immediately that he was right and that you were due to burst into my office at any given moment, which of course you just have.' He paused, looked at Hermione knowingly then continued. 'He also informed me of what happened between the two of you, which I -' he cleared his throat, 'which I indeed was not aware of.'

Hermione felt herself blush, and when she accidentally looked at Lupin, she saw him looking at her and blushed even further.

'So, what are you saying?' Remus said stiffly, turning to Dumbledore.

'That your love for each other is what brought Hermione back. It was, remarkably, as strong as the love that Hermione had shared with her father who, I believe, left her and her mother not long ago, leaving her heart curtailed.'

Hermione gave a gasp of understanding; things were all starting to add up. There was still, however, something she didn't understand in the slightest.

'But Professor,' she said, suddenly feeling childish calling him this in front of Remus, 'how come I didn't go back earlier? We loved each other before we -' she stopped, feeling awkward, 'before we expressed our erm, feelings.'

She looked up to see Remus. He was gazing absent-mindedly at the ground, the ghost of a smile on his face.

'You've just answered your own question Hermione,' Dumbledore said, smiling. 'You see, I believe that the reason you weren't transported back earlier is because you hadn't expressed this love. Remus had, yes, but it was you who was still in obdurate denial.' Hermione couldn't help but grin guiltily at Remus, who tutted jocularly.

'Once you both realized that you felt the same way and conveyed your emotions, it returned the, albeit in different form, all the more unyielding love that Hermione lost when her father stripped her of it.'

Hermione felt like someone had just poured ice down her back, except instead of affecting her skin, it chilled her insides through and through. She wouldn't have thought the situation at hand could get any worse, but now that her father was involved ...

Her emotions started to fire up once more, but she kept them at bay, she still had one more question to ask of Dumbledore.

'How was it, Professor, that your past self knew I was coming? How did you see into the future?'

'Ah, I was waiting for you to ask this,' Dumbledore said cheerfully, taking out a small crate from somewhere behind his desk.

Hermione's inquisitiveness increased even further as she heard a muffled noise coming from inside of it. As Dumbledore opened the lid she could distinguish it more clearly. It sounded bizarrely like ... snoring?

'No,' Hermione said, taking a step back, 'not Frances.'

It was all her nightmares coming true in one day. Or, one decade. Alright, a couple of decades.

Sure enough, Dumbledore removed the small goat-resembling creature from the box and propped it onto his desk. It gave a grunt and sat up, its eyes landing immediately on Hermione.

'Cockroaches eat shit, black spiders scare, but neither are plainly as gross as your hair,' it sung, wagging its bottom rhythmically.

Hermione glared at it, fuming.

'Oh dear,' said Dumbledore, scratching his bearded chin. 'He hasn't insulted for such a long while now. I thought he may have lost his touch.'

Frances turned his head slowly towards Dumbledore. 'Do you want a smack in the chops?' he asked, his butterfly ears flopping about loosely. 'Because I'll give you a smack in the chops. Oh yes.'

'I'll make a chop out of you,' Hermione growled. 'Just you wait.'

She could hear Remus chuckling. 'A goat chop? Is there even such thing?'

'There will be,' Hermione said through gritted teeth, not taking her eyes off Frances.

Before she had the chance to carry out her threat or any other violent act that she may or may not have planned to commit, Dumbledore had sprinkled some dust from the familiar purple pouch onto the creature's head. Frances was instantly cast back into a deep, loud slumber. Dumbledore put him back into the crate, not as carefully as he had taken him out, and finally placed it back behind the desk.

'I don't understand,' Hermione said heatedly. 'What does the Biatcheth have to do with all this?'

'Quite plainly, he isn't really a Biatcheth.'

'What?' she said. 'Of course he is.'

'He isn't,' cut in Remus. 'Not up to your usual standard Hermione, I'm surprised. Didn't you notice the ears? On a real Biatcheth, they'd be rectangular shaped.'

'I'm afraid I had a few other things on my mind Professor,' she said, annoyed that he was suddenly treating her like she was just another student.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and took a step towards her. 'Yes, well, now is not the time for more thinking - you've done far enough of that, Hermione. Frances is a Time Interpreter; he's the only one of his kind in the Northern Hemisphere and he can communicate for me between any given time.'

Hermione stared at him.

'Of course, so that he doesn't get into the wrong hands, he needs to be disguised,' Dumbledore went on. 'He, of course, was the one I used to inform my past self that you were set to arrive.'

Hermione continued to stare. Why hadn't she ever read about a Time Interpreter?

'And no, a Time Interpreter cannot be found in any sort of text,' he said, as if reading her mind. 'There are only two others that are in existence: one resides in Australia and the other in Paraguay. And as long as time remains infinite, they shall remain alive.'

'So, do you know the future, then?' she asked him, furrowing her brow.

Dumbledore shook his head firmly. 'I know only what I need to know.'

This seemed to be a closure of the matter. Hermione opened her mouth to say something else, but Dumbledore silenced her by putting up his hand.

Walking over to her, he placed a hand gently on her shoulder. 'Now,' he said looking at her and Remus. 'The time has now come for the two of you to talk things over. I'll be in my bed chamber. It seems that I have a much needed assorting to do of my socks.'

He gave Hermione's shoulder one last squeeze and walked into another room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Hermione smiled after him then looked at the ground, scuffing her toes nervously. She wasn't feeling angry anymore, just vulnerable and anxious.

'Hermione I -' Remus began before she cut him off.

'So you've always known?' Hermione said, looking up at him and smiling half-heartedly. 'Ever since you knew my name.'

He nodded slowly.

'I see,' she said in a barely audible whisper.

So she had been wrong. Once she had thought that Remus didn't recognize her in the future at all. That or he had forgotten her. She would never, in a million years, have guessed that he knew who she was all along. He'd not once acted strangely around her until the night she'd fallen through the painting, after all. Either way, she had to know something.

'And do you still love me?' she said suddenly, dreading the answer.

'Of course I do,' he said hoarsely. 'Didn't I tell you once that I'd never stop?'

She felt tears spring into her eyes once more. 'Then, then even with the age difference and the given circumstances, we - we could make it work?' she said in a small voice, her eyes imploring.

He sighed, brought his head down to his feet and then up to meet her again.

'Hermione,' he said jadedly. 'You know - we can't -'

'Why not?' she begged. 'We love each other. Isn't that enough?' She laughed inconsolably through a sob, and looked up to the ceiling. 'Half an hour ago you were kissing me like the world was going to end and -' her voice lowered, 'and I was kissing you back.'

'Hermione, for you it was half an hour ago. I've lived twenty years since that moment,' he said heavily.

She looked at him. He had changed in many ways since 1978 - that was true. His hair was cut shorter and wasn't as flyaway or thick. His skin no longer sported the healthy luminance of a teenager but was tougher, paler and had a fair amount of stubble. His clothing had differed from the fresh Gryffindor attire and woollen windcheaters to tattered, world-worn robes that were wearing steadily thinner. Most importantly though, he no longer had any innocence left about him, but instead a grand maturity and deep wisdom that made Hermione feel the age difference more than ever.

Even still, she recognized everything she had grown to love about him. His voice was always that little bit husky - handsomely so, and every word that left his mouth was sincere and earnest. He could never lie to anyone - a genuinely good man was not a common one. And then there were his chocolate-coloured eyes, profound and unwavering; they, of course, had not changed.

'You've let it go then?' she said, fighting to keep her voice steady.

'I've had to,' he sighed, going over to her and taking her slightly trembling hands in his own. She tingled at the feel of them, safe and warm, hating the thought of having to let them go.

'I couldn't live the rest of my life in misery. If anyone can understand that, you can, Hermione.' He clenched her hands. 'You can understand because that's the type of person you are. You're strong enough to deal with this, and you're strong enough to deal with it better than I did all those years ago.'

He used his thumb to gently wipe away the sole tear that rolled down her cheek. 'I know it's hard,' he whispered. 'It was bound to be.'

She breathed out shakily. She'd never felt such pain in all her life, such frustrating agony. It was like she was about to suffocate, like all her doubts were trying to strangle her brittle heart until it could feel no more. And she was fighting off breaking down and letting out all her sorrow and despair in a torrent of hysteria. Her will was too strong for that. She wouldn't let herself crumble; she wouldn't give herself away. The worst part was that she knew he was right. Every word that she desperately did not want to hear was true.

And every fairytale had to come to an end. Hermione knew then what she had to do.

'We won't speak of this again,' she said firmly as she could. 'Then we can forget about it.'

'If that's what you want,' he agreed, looking at her ruefully.

She pulled away and did the hardest thing she'd ever had to do: she walked away from him for the last time.