Keeping Secrets

In a desperate effort to catch up with some of her lagging homework, Hermione visited the library after dinner and worked furiously, even staying late into the night when everyone else had left and the library was empty, the long aisles dark and silent. She worked by the flickering candlelight until her head began to pound and her hand to shake from pressing so hard with the quill.

Finally she gathered up her quills and parchment, balanced her library books on top, and shuffled down the aisle towards the library door, which led onto the fourth floor landing. As she walked across the large central room, she glanced around the corners of the library, noticing a few candles still lit on a table over by a small fireplace in a reading area. Books were stacked up high on the desk and a long, low couch sat facing the fireplace and the desk, but its back was turned to her and no-one appeared to be sitting in it. However, the candles and the books indicated that someone had been there. Absently, her head still throbbing, she wandered across the room, setting her books down on a desk and walking towards the unlit fireplace and the messy desk.

As she approached the couch she noticed a wand sitting on the desk among the books, and wondered who would have left their wand unattended, even this late at night?

Then she stepped around the couch and saw the figure lying there, and her heart jumped. She stifled a gasp. The figure was stretched out on the couch, unconcious. It looked as if he had fallen asleep while reading- a large red leather book was resting open and facedown on his chest, his hands loosley gripping the sides. It was, of all people, Professor Lupin.

Hermione's heartbeat settled into a strong, nervous drumbeat. She stared at Lupin in mixed fear, longing, and fascination. She noticed that a strand of brown hair had fallen across his forehead above his closed eyes and suddenly had a wild urge to brush it away; then she took a few steps away from the couch and tried to get control of herself.

I need to leave now, she thought desperately. I need to go back to the dormitory and go to bed. I need to get out of here. Now.

But, even as she turned to leave, she glanced over her shoulder for another look, and was drawn back to the couch. It felt strange watching Professor Lupin while he slept; almost like she was spying, and a guilty blush crept over her face. Still her heart pounded rhythmically, and her throat was very dry.

Get OUT, Hermione!

She stood fixed to the spot, watching him. Watching the gentle rise and fall of the book on his chest as he breathed. She stared at that soft strand of hair and ached to touch it.

He's going to wake up any second and see you!

But still she stayed, in spite of the warning. The candle flickered and jumped, pushed by an invisible breeze, and the wax dripped slowly down its side, pooling into the dish below.

Hermione was in a kind of trance now. Her head still pounded, but it was dull, and far away. The whole world was silent, and the only things in existence in this dark, forgotten hour were her and Professor Lupin, enclosed in the wash of light from the candle flame.

Very slowly, she stepped forward up to the couch. Lupin's head was slightly raised; his neck was resting on some pillows stuffed against the arm of the green velvet couch. She became transfixed by the strand of hair on his forehead and found herself imagining what it would be like to lean down and kiss him...

Her breath became very shallow. She could hear the drumbeat of her heart in her temples and it was the only sound in the world, only that and the slight rush of air from his breathing.

If he wakes up now... If he wakes up now...

Her mind started to chant this over and over, but it didn't seem to matter anymore. Hermione felt like she was in a dream; and in her dream if he woke up it wouldn't matter, because she would tell him how she felt and he would understand...

He might even feel the same way.

Suddenly her love for him was overwhelming, it filled her with a glowing, charging light, and on a mad impulse she leaned down close to his face. Very gently, she brushed that soft brown strand of hair sway from his eyes, and at the same time, she placed her hand over his eyes and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

Immediately all other sensations ceased except the touch of her lips on his. Nothing else mattered in that infinite moment, and when she felt his lips stir against hers there wasn't the flutter of alarm but just a complete and pure feeling of joy, and she smiled as she kissed him. Then she pulled back, and sound and sensation flooded back into the world, and she came back to herself with a jolt.

Remus was stirring. His eyelids flickered, and his lips moved, mumbling something, which Hermione didn't make sense of. All of a sudden the fear had returned- the fear of being caught; of what would happen to her, but worst of all, what Remus and Harry and everyone else would think of her.

Oh my god, what am I doing?

A startled, panicked flush coloured her cheeks and without glancing back at Remus, she skirted the couch and sprinted for the door, her black school shoes clicking loudly on the polished wooden floor and echoing around the vaulted ceiling.

As the last of her footsteps faded into silence, Remus opened his eyes.