The Dark Side of the Moon

EPILOGUE

5 years later.

'Damnit, damnit, damnit!' Hermione swore as she picked up the now empty mug of coffee, trying to wipe up the mess on her desk with piles of tissues, while still managing to hold the phone between her ear and shoulder. 'Could you hold on Harry? I just spilt coffee all over my work.'

She wiped her hands on her smart designer work robes and placed the phone down, groaning at the many rolls of parchment that lay drenched in front of her. She retrieved her wand from her pocket.

'Exaresco,' she said, pointing it at her desk.

Everything dried in an instant. Hermione smiled self-satisfyingly and sat down, refilling her cup promptly with another swish of her wand.

'Ok, so what were you saying about Ron?' she said, taking a sip. 'He's going to marry Fleur? Well I would never have thought she'd be the type to make such a commitment but -' she stopped short as a man with a white beard, clad in a colourful pinstriped cloak came up to the desk. 'Got to go. I'll talk to you later.'

She hung up the phone and looked up at her supervisor enquiringly.

'Hermione,' he said cheerfully, resting a hand on her desk. 'The best Current Affairs reporter our Ministry of Magic has ever had.'

Hermione sighed. 'What do you want, Paul?' she asked dryly.

He crossed his arms, a frown line appearing between his eyes. 'Have you read the Daily Prophet today?'

'Yes ...' she lied sheepishly, and began fumbling through the papers on her desk, soon bringing out the Wizarding World's leading newspaper and spreading it out on top of the pile. 'What about it?'

He pointed to the headlines. It read:

FULL MOON LEASH PROVING TO BE THE END OF WEREWOLVES EVERYWHERE

The mysterious three consecutive Full Moons that occurred between Sunday and Tuesday have not only befuddled astronomers but have shaken Britain's dwindling Werewolf community.

The once low-lying beasts have been out prowling the streets of both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds, causing havoc and fear wherever they tread.

'The moon is at its most powerful when it's full,' says trained lycanthropic therapist, Grindal Aiden. 'Its influence was effectively tripled, so it isn't surprising that the Werewolves' behaviour has been so violently unrestrained.'

She skid her eyes down the page. There was a rather gruesome photograph of a man who looked to be trapped in between transformations; he was half-wolf, half-human, and he was dead - his taut face frozen in an expression of agony. Drawing in a sharp breath, she read on:

The most startling result of this extraordinary cosmological feat is the amount of Werewolves who are now either deceased or bed-ridden due to the event.

'Changing under one Full Moon is tiring enough,' explains Aiden. 'Three successive transformations? Utterly and excruciatingly draining.'

It then went on to talk about possible causes of the occurrence. Hermione looked apprehensively up at her boss.

'Interesting isn't it?' he remarked, smiling at her.

She didn't return his smile. 'Will you get to the point?' she said tetchily. 'What do I have to do with it?'

He put his hand to his chin importantly and leaned against her desk. 'You, my dear,' he averred, 'are going to do a report on it.'

Her fingernails dug into her palm. 'I - I'm sorry?'

'Meaning, you will look up all the registered Werewolf dwellings in Britain, find out who's alive and who's not - the famous and interesting ones, you know the drill - then visit the surviving families and interview them.'

Hermione's stomach plummeted. It had been so long since she'd thought of Remus, the only Werewolf she knew. Actually, that was a lie; she thought of him almost every day.

After she'd left him in Dumbledore's office, he had resigned from his teaching job. She hardly ever saw him, except for when she visited Grimmauld Place on Order of the Phoenix business. Even then they didn't talk to each other besides courteously and only in front of other people. Sure, she'd moved on with her life since then - she had a career, an apartment, a boyfriend - but it didn't stop her from thinking about him. She prayed desperately that he wasn't dead.

She gave a nervy laugh. 'Are you sure I'd be the right person for the job?' she said quickly. 'I mean, magical creatures isn't my best field.'

'Granger, everything is your best field,' Paul said, slamming his hand on the desk in a gesture that seemed to settle the matter. 'I expect the full report on my desk by next week.'

He went back to his office, leaving Hermione staring hopelessly after him. When he was out of sight, she groaned and put her head down on the desk, knocking over her cup of coffee again.

'Damnit!' she said, banging her fist on the desk. This was not going to be easy.

*-*-*

To Hermione's relief, she soon found out that Remus was not as she'd feared, dead. On the other hand, this meant she would have to pay him a visit; interview him, do a report on him, talk to him. This also meant awkward moments - many awkward moments. Hermione couldn't decide whether she was happy to be seeing him again or in a mad state of dreading, or both - either way, she was scared out of her wits.

It was one of those overcast, windy, delightfully cold days that England so often had when she set off, although nothing felt delightful about today. Hermione drew her red, double-breasted coat tight around her as she stood outside the undersized, unadorned flat that was Remus' home, her nerves as taut as the strings of a violin.

She'd spoken to his wife - she thought the word with an almost resentful attitude (though she'd never admit this to herself) on the phone the previous day and, as a result, half knew what to be expecting.

*-*-*

'A report for the Ministry? If that means it's going to be published in some horrid magazine like Witch Weekly, then I'll have to say no - I'm sorry dear,' she had said in a firm but polite manner.

Dear? Hermione had thought irritably, I'm not that much younger than her.

'No, Mrs. Lupin, it's merely for the Ministry record and future polls,' Hermione had assured her. 'Maybe a small mention in the Daily Prophet, but that's all, I promise.'

'Nothing too demanding or strenuous? Remus is still in a very weak state - he hasn't left his bed since the last Full Moon.'

'Nothing like that, no.'

'Well ...'

Hermione had held her breath while biting her lip nervously in avid anticipation on the other line.

'I suppose half an hour or so can't hurt.'

*-*-*

So he'd be in bed, probably very tired, and not in the mood to see the likes of her. Perhaps he'd think that she had specifically requested to do the report on Werewolves, and assume that she expected something from him; or he might be in such a daze or state of weariness that he wouldn't even recognize her. Well, there was always hope ...

Hermione stop, she ordered herself, you're acting juvenile and you know it.

Fuck, the stupid inner-teen voice was still there.

Due in no way to feelings of procrastination or foreboding on Hermione's part (this is what she liked to tell herself) had Lupin's been the last on her list of Werewolf lodgings to visit. Of course, she would have visited it first if it weren't for some genuinely rational difficulties (not that she could think of any at that moment). It wasn't that bad, was it? Once she'd finished at his place she could simply return to her warm, complication free office to write up the official account and have it on David's desk by the next day - easy. All she had to do was get herself to move.

After standing outside his flat for a good fifteen minutes in ambivalence, she finally decided to stop making such a fuss and get it over and done with. That and she was worried that if she didn't go inside soon, she might either freeze to death standing there immobile, or get frostbite. Touch choice.

Hence, Hermione began taking unrushed, Sunday-morning-stroll paces up to his doorstep. She raised her hand to knock when she stopped herself.

'Am I really doing this?' she asked no one in particular.

The answer "yes" popped to mind as the door opened all of a sudden, leaving her without a chance to react otherwise. Hermione brought her hand down and looked into the face of a rosy-cheeked, auburn-haired little girl of around five.

'Mummy, there's a pretty lady at the door,' she said happily. 'The one who's been standing outside our house for ages.'

Hermione cringed.

'I'm coming, Isabella,' said the voice Hermione recognized from the phone. Hermione's eyes widened at the name. Soon, an attractive middle-aged woman with the same richly coloured hair and flushed cheeks as the little girl came to the door.

'I, er, was just checking that this was the right place,' Hermione insisted with a nervous smile.

'Of course you were,' Mrs. Lupin said kindly. 'Now come on in before you catch a death.'

Hermione nodded in gratitude and stepped inside.

'I'm Sarah Lupin, and you must be Hermione Granger.' She smiled, holding out her arm. 'From the Ministry?'

'Yes, that's right,' Hermione verified, taking off her coat and handing it to her.

'Daddy, daddy! The reportist is here! The reportist is here!' Isabella squealed excitedly, running off into another room.

'Bel,' said Sarah sternly, and her daughter came back out immediately.

'Yes mummy?' she said.

'Take our guest's coat and hang it up, please. And it's reporter, darling.' She handed the coat to Isabella, who pouted and stomped off with it.

'Just ignore her,' she said with a laugh to Hermione. 'She gets overexcited when we have company around. Now, will you be wanting a cup of tea to warm you up?'

Hermione nodded. 'That would be lovely, thankyou.'

Sarah headed into what must have been the kitchen, leaving Hermione time to have a look around what she supposed to be the living room. It was undoubtedly a very small place, but had every sign of a loving family home. It was the kind of loving family home Hermione remembered reading about in old Muggle children's books.

She browsed around, stopping to look at the assorted pictures messily stuck on a pin-board, obviously drawn by Isabella: rainbows, unicorns, owls, Mummy and Daddy - the usual things an innocent, happy witch would have drawn. Hermione couldn't help wondering vaguely what it would have been like if she was the one drawn in those pictures.

She went over to the mantelpiece and ran her finger along it - there were several framed photographs. One was of Sarah and Remus on what must have been their wedding day, and it was taken at a beach. Remus, who was wearing a handsome black suit, was holding a laughing Sarah in his arms, looking at her at the same way he had once looked at Hermione. There were several pictures of them with Isabella, all three smiling and waving up at her; one of Sarah in her younger years, and one of four boys in Hogwarts robes. The Marauders.

Hermione picked up the picture with a sad smile. James had his elbow perched on Lupin's shoulder, winking occasionally and flashing seductive grins. Lupin was smiling modestly, with his other hand making donkey ears above the cheeky Sirius. Sirius was poking out his tongue every now and then and not paying the slightest attention to Peter, who lingered awkwardly next to him. It must have been taken right around the time Hermione was there, as they looked just as she remembered them.

She almost dropped the frame as a throat cleared behind her. She put it back on the shelf and turned around, seeing Sarah standing there holding out a steaming cup.

'Thanks,' Hermione said, taking it hurriedly.

'You can go in now, if you like,' she offered, nodding towards the room Isabella had run into just before. 'My husband is expecting you.'

'Alright,' she said, but it came out phlegmy. Hermione cleared her throat and put the cup shakily onto the mantelpiece. 'I'll let it cool down, I think.'

Then, mentally punching herself for being so clumsy, she stumbled into Remus's room.

He was lying in a broken double bed with a few springs poking out the sides, eyes closed and his breathing coming out in throaty rasps. Hermione couldn't help but put a hand to her mouth in shock. Dangerously pale and with a great puffiness underneath his eyes, she almost didn't recognize him he looked so ill.

She moved slowly over to the bed, on tiptoes in case he was asleep. There was no need however, as his eyes opened when she reached him. At first he didn't say anything but merely smiled tiresomely, happily.

'Hi,' she said softly. 'How are you?'

'I've been better,' he said croakily. 'But then again, I've been worse.'

She looked down at him sadly and sat down on the edge of the bed, taking hold of his hand that lay despondently by his side.

'I'm so sorry this happened to you,' she whispered.

'Ah, Hermione, it was going to happen sooner or later. I've been getting steadily worse every year.'

She didn't say anything, but instead sat in a desolate sort of misery, trying to think of something encouraging to say. The words simply didn't come, but somehow, she knew this was all right.

She looked out the window across the room, it had started raining heavily and Hermione was glad she'd decided to come in when she did. Damn weather. She watched as a wooden chair outside swayed in the wind before violently keeling over into the mud. She vaguely thought this was kind of how she felt, about to be overblown by some gale force.

She looked down at the sudden gentle tug of her hand.

'You - you've still got the ring,' Remus said, outlining it lightly with his thumb. 'I didn't think you would.'

Hermione looked down at it, willing herself not to cry.

After she'd left Dumbledore's office that day, she had run all the way down to the lake. There she'd really let out her emotions, collapsing onto the grassy banks, burying her face in her arms. In a blind state of distress she'd removed the ring from her finger and very nearly hurled it into the dark, lifeless blanket of water in front of her. She thought that then, perhaps, her pain would be thrown with it, disappearing into the cold depths and sinking into the sand, to be forgotten forever.

But something had stopped her that night, and she couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, embracing the pain, she'd slipped it back onto her finger knowing that she wasn't supposed to simply discard her emotions. She had to face them head on no matter how torturous they were; or how they made her think so bitterly of life with its hidden landmines, waiting for some fool who thinks happiness is theirs to stand on them. And so the plain yet invaluable piece of jewellery became a memory in itself. A memory of the love that she'd had, and lost.

'I was wondering Hermione, if you could fetch out of the wardrobe over there, my brown trench coat,' Remus pointed limply to it. 'There's something I want to show you.'

With a grave reluctance, Hermione did what he asked and removed a familiar brown coat she'd seen him wearing many times at Grimmauld Place. After getting a nod of assurance, she brought it over to the bed and lay it down beside him.

'You can sit down again, you know,' he said with a half grin. 'I won't bite. Well, not anymore.'

She gave a small laugh and sat down, glad to know he was still in good humour despite the circumstances.

With visible effort but no complaint, he fumbled through the coat and after a moment, removed what looked like an old, faded newspaper cutting. As Hermione looked at it closer she gave a sharp intake of breath and put her hand to her forehead. It was not a newspaper clipping but a black and white, nostalgic-like photograph. And the most startling thing about this photo was that the girl in it was her.

If she wasn't so shocked, Hermione might have laughed. The photograph showed her one moment sleeping like a baby, and the next, with her eyes shooting open and darting about wildly.

'But, how ...?' she uttered.

'When you went back to the future, I got my camera back,' he said almost triumphantly. 'When this picture developed, I carried it around with me everywhere so that I'd never forget you. Not that I could have, anyway.'

'Oh Remus,' she whispered feebly, seeing him closer than she had in years.

'I wanted to tell you,' he said calmly but with complete seriousness, 'that after today, I want you to forget about me.'

'Remus, no, I couldn't -' she protested.

'Please,' he wheezed. 'I never stopped loving you and, as a result, I couldn't love my family as much as they should have been loved.'

'But -'

'I don't want you to go through the same thing,' he said evenly. 'You need to move on.'

Hermione absently felt a tear run down her face and drop onto Remus's hand. She didn't wipe it away.

'I'm sorry you had to go through it,' she said, her voice trembling slightly. 'I'm sorry I came into your world and ruined any chance you had of true happiness.'

Remus gently reached his hand up to her face. 'Don't you ever say that,' he said fiercely. 'Because you coming into my world was the best thing that ever happened to me.' He brought his head up and kissed her softly on the forehead, his stubble prickling her skin.

'Thankyou Hermione,' he whispered in her ear, his soft hair brushing against her cheek, 'thankyou.'

Hermione's eyes were brimming as he slowly lay back down. She rested the back of her hand on them at a half attempt to wipe them, half attempt to recollect herself. When she looked back at Remus, he had closed his eyes and was no longer making heaving sounds.

'Remus -' she murmured.

She stroked the side of his face but he didn't stir. She squeezed his hand but he didn't squeeze hers back. She shook her head in bleak distress, it wasn't possible. She looked at his beautiful face with a feeble sob, her eyes searching desperately for something she knew she wouldn't find. He no longer looked ill, but in a heavy state of peace.

He had left her forever.

Resting her head mournfully on his chest, she remembered with him all the moments they had shared: from the time she met him on the train in her third year, to when as a seventeen year-old he'd rescued her from Snape, to the both of them dodging a vase in the dungeons, to their last, earth-shattering kiss. Each memory was as vivid and clear in her mind as a drop of rain on a rose petal.

When several minutes had passed, she sat up again and looked down at him one last time. She knew he was right, she had to let go now.

*-*-*

After Hermione left the house, she would make a deal with herself as she walked home through the rainy streets of London. She wouldn't forget Remus Lupin - she could never do that - and he'd be a part of her for as long as she lived. But never again would she wonder what life may have been like had her fate had been altered, what could have happened if she'd gone back to the past again, or acted differently. After all, a wise man once said that it does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live.

She stood on a bridge that overlooked a river, taking a deep, shaky breath. Removing the ring from her finger, she gave it a lingering kiss before pitching it into the water.

'Maybe we can both be free now, Remus,' she said, looking up at the dark sky.

Hands in her pockets, Hermione walked off into the obscure distance, knowing that through all the pain and the grief and the stormy weather, that she could fully move on with her life. She was just a little bit stronger now.

FINIS