Phases of the Moon

Chapter Two:

"Runes of a long forgotten time, ancient spells in endless rhymes,"

-- "Blood On My Hands", Demons and Wizards

"Happy birthday to me," Hermione Granger whispered softly to herself. She had just gotten up from a very disquieting sleep. God, she could hardly sleep through the night nowadays. The only time she was able to was --

No, just forget about it.

The sun was shining quite brutally for the mid-September day. England had gone through quite a downpour for the past few weeks, but now, the sun was certainly making up for lost time. Hermione wished the rain never stopped.

Constant torrential water sweeping outside her windows - the outside looking desolate and depressed. Yes, that was more like it.

Waves of suffering and depression had come over Hermione in the past few years and it had aged her mentally and physically. She didn't look twenty-one. More like thirty. Her brown hair was no longer bushy, but limp and constantly greasy no matter how many times she washed it. Not that she cared much about it, anymore. Her eyes were bleak and dull. She never smiled anymore.

"Hermione," Draco Malfoy said. He had changed too - his hair was darker then ever, mostly because of his Death Eater's hood that practically covered it more then it didn't. His tone arms were interrupted with the carving of the Dark Mark. His eyes had also lost their arrogance, now they were just plain tired.

His girlfriend whimpered softly at his acknowledgment. She leaned over the edge of the bed, and her head in her hands, and cried. Her nails were bitten and unpolished, her ragged cuticles scratching at her face.

Draco placed an arm around her back and rested her head on his shoulder. "Stop crying, please. Look -- happy birthday," he rubbed at her hair gently, and she hiccuped into his shoulders.

"Why?" she muttered. "Why did you have to do it for?"

He let go of her head. "I didn't have a choice, Hermione. You know that. Surely, if we waited, he'd suffer a more painful death later on." Draco paused. "We had to kill Remus."

Hermione awoke suddenly. She clutched a hand over to the left side of the bed, where Draco was still sleeping. Her heart was racing something terrible. She was having that dream again. That dream of Remus Lupin dying.

Why? She'd lost him years ago.

Hermione quietly got out of bed and put her robe on. She didn't remember what day it was until she saw her owl in the corner, holding a package. "Oh," she said softly. She remembered what this day had meant to her in the past. It seemed like a different lifetime ago.

The package was from Dumbledore, wishing her a very happy birthday and many more to come. She sneered at it and threw it aside. At least he remembered.

She remembered, too. Remembered all the nights she'd spent away from her dormitory and in his room. They were so alike, in so many ways -- They needed each other. He was left alone and friendless, mourning the recent death of a best friend, and a death that had happened seventeen years before.

Hermione was always lonely, even though she was rarely alone. She had begun to felt only used for her answers on essays and homework, and when she found out her boyfriend, Viktor, had girls stashed away in Bulgaria, she strolled in the hallways, crying her eyes out.

And bumped right into Remus Lupin.

He'd been kind. "Tell me what's your trouble," he said. "Maybe I could help." She shook her head, and gulped for air.

"No," she said, "you can't."

He had smiled a wicked smile, and sat down upon a chair and offered her the bed. "Please, Miss Granger. Try me." Then she had spilt it all. Her heartaches about Viktor, her fear of being "dumped" by Ron and Harry, and her shame.

Her shame of being Muggle-born. She never really was ashamed of it, but after being attacked in her second year, and hearing all of her friends' talk about their families and traditions, Hermione couldn't help but feel left out at times.

Remus looked quite dispirited after her woes, but he nodded grimly. "I know, Hermione," he said, using her first name. "I think I know how you feel. I know how horrible it is to lose your friends,"

Hermione blinked back a couple of more tears. "You mean, James and Sirius?" He nodded. He sat down on the bed next to her and laid his head down into his hands and pulled his hair back. When he looked up, she noticed he looked older and more tired then she had ever remembered him being.

"Exactly." He looked at Hermione. Surely, she shouldn't have any problems with men, should she? She had grown quite pretty since he had had her as a student. She was a woman. Then he looked down.

"Professor," she said timidly.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Could, I...Could I stay here tonight? Possibly?" Remus was taken aback. But he nodded and got off of the bed, and offered it to Hermione. She nodded her thanks and lay down and sighed.

"You really shouldn't worry, Miss Granger," Remus had told her, standing over the bed. Before she had a chance to answer, he'd kissed her softly on the lips. She didn't know what to do, or how to react. But it felt right, so she had kissed him back.

Then it happened. In April of her Seventh Year (about three months after she had begun to sleep with Professor Lupin) she'd began to get feelings for Draco Malfoy. Draco, most like a great deal of the Seventh Year Slytherins, had just received the Dark Mark -- a calling.

Remus had been most upset when Hermione had told him. "He's a future Death Eater," he said, consumed by rage, "and you're Muggle-born. Voldemort will kill you both." Hermione had looked up at him, her eyes filling with fearful tears.

"Then I'll die." The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor looked at the young girl, who was bound by her mistakes. He shook his head lightly and then whirled around to face her.

"You don't mean it, Hermione. Please, tell me you don't mean it." Hermione hung her head low. She chewed on her bottom lip, a habit she did whenever she was feeling frustrated, Remus knew. He'd seen her do it so many times, it was uncountable.

Remus took a step back. "Hermione, do you know what he is? What his father is? I can understand going into a relationship not knowing his demons but Hermione, you know! That's even worse. You can help it."

"I can't. I'm in too deep. I've got myself in, and there's no way I can get myself out." Hermione's voice was shaking -- no longer was she the confident, clever, poised witch that Remus had thought he'd come to love. He'd almost told her he was beginning to fall in love with her, but now he couldn't bring himself to find the words.

He gulped hastily, as if he'd seen the full moon without drinking his potion. "Go, Hermione." She turned around, looking mortified.

"No, Remus, you can't just banish me -- Remus, listen to me!"

"I can banish you from wherever the hell I want. You've seem to forgotten that I'm still a teacher and you're still a student, and this is my room. Please leave."

Hermione walked to the threshold of the door, and stood, her back facing the teacher. She'd wait for him to say something else.

"And once you leave, Miss Granger -- I don't want you coming back."

Her body curled, and she shed a single tear before leaving.

Light had finally begun to seep through the bedroom she shared with Draco. He was still asleep, being more tired then Hermione could ever imagine a person to be that tired. She looked over to the table by the bed and saw a picture of them together when they went to America for Draco's twenty-first birthday in the middle of February.

Hermione's face was bitter with cold -- it was pink and the background was emulated with snow. Draco was wearing a fleece, black sweatshirt and had his arm around her. Both of their eyes were smiling towards the camera. Now, Draco was waving heartily, and Hermione was getting ready to sock her boyfriend with a snowball.

Anyone who saw the picture would have thought them a happy, normal couple. Anyone who saw the picture who didn't know them personally, didn't know that under Draco's fleece sweater, was a carved, hideous creature that burned when it needed his service.

"Happy birthday to me," Hermione sang again. She heard the rustle of the sheets, and saw a form of Draco that was stirring. He had groaned and placed his muscled arms over his head. "Get up, sleepy," she yawned.

Draco's silver hair was glistening in the sunlight as he threw an arm over Hermione's breastbone and leaned her up against his bare abs. "Happy birthday, baby," he mumbled.

>

Hermione allowed herself to be nuzzled on the neck by an affectionate Draco, and tried not to think about how the full moon was tonight.