While The Weary World Is Sleeping

While The Weary World Is Sleeping

Soft the drowsy hours are creeping

Hill and dale in slumber sleeping

I my loving vigil keeping

Hermione Granger padded silently down the stairs, idly trailing a finger down the smooth oak banister and pulling her red fleece robe tighter around her shivering body with her other hand. If she hadn't woken up for a glass of water, she would have preferred to stay in her warm nest of a bed, because the hallways in Twelve Grimmauld Place were always cold, and no more so than in these early morning hours; the worn wood floors were downright icy against her bare feet, from the chill of the underlying stone.

However, she mused as she slipped along the hallway to the kitchen, the passageways seemed less dour, more forgiving tonight, as it was Christmas night. It might have been a horrid Christmas, what with Mr Weasley gravely injured from the snake attack. If it hadn't been for Harry seeing it happen...but Mr Weasley was recovering in St. Mungo's and would be fine in a few days. So to be closer to husband and father, the Weasley clan stayed at Grimmauld Place for Christmas, at Sirius Black's insistence. And Hermione was there, well, because she'd come to feel that this was her family too, her world; and the Weasleys and Harry welcomed her into it and treated her as if she belonged. Sirius had opened his home eagerly and with such a houseful of company, Hermione had never seen anyone more cheerful. She had her suspicions of course, not that Harry ever wanted to listen to them; that maybe Sirius had been in fact alone so long that he would start living precariously through Harry just for something to do. She simply bit her tongue though, because they both seemed so happy.

Professor Lupin was back from his latest mysterious mission abroad, and would stay until at least after the holidays. Hermione was extremely pleased; Lupin had been her favourite teacher at Hogwarts before he'd resigned, and she was looking forward to discussing the more detailed matters of goblin rights with him. Hermione had noted that as long as Professor Lupin was around Sirius seemed even more relaxed than ever, maybe even content--which was probably to be expected of course, their having been close friends for so long. So Hermione was happy that Sirius was so cordial, and that Christmas, despite Mr. Weasley's predicament, would be a happy holiday.

She was glad for Professor Lupin's company too, because as much as she loved Ron and Harry and Ginny, she sometimes just needed someone with whom she could talk about books and spells and her SPEW plans--someone who wouldn't roll his eyes or think she was utterly daft or worse, only pretend to be interested. Professor Lupin genuinely was interested, and Hermione glowed when he turned those wonderfully warm brown eyes on her, intelligent and thoughtful and encouraging. He was like that with everyone of course, Hermione knew, but he had a way of making one feel like one was the most special person in the world to him in that moment, and he was indeed a true teacher that way. Now he insisted they all call him by his first name, but she couldn't bring herself to do that just yet, not aloud anyway; she suddenly didn't trust herself to say his first name without a squeak belying a certain nervousness. Sitting curled at his feet in the library in front of the fire; watching the light of the flames from the fireplace highlight the silver in his hair and softening the lines around his eyes and mouth; she was lulled into blissful contentment just listening to the rising and falling tones of his husky voice as he relayed the latest Wizarding World's opinions on the ethics of house-elf magic.

When they went to St. Mungo's on Christmas day to visit Mr. Weasley, Hermione stumbled over the kerb when she exited the car that Mundungus Fletcher had "borrowed", and Lupin, who had got out first, caught her, his long elegant hands steadying her back and keeping her from pitching off-balance. A small part of her thrilled at the warmth of his body against her as he solicitously helped her up with a gentle "Come now, up you go, are you all right Hermione?" and Hermione had smiled brilliantly at him, oh yes Professor I am quite all right thank you. Oh, and he smiled back, rather shyly and it was so endearing, and she noted his faint scents of parchment and tea and could that be spice? And something else too, in the way his fingers gripped her hand, still warm even though his thin gloves were frayed right through at the tips; curling around her mittens with a firm but gentle pressure. He could hold her hand forever and she would be happy, she thought fleetingly.

In the hospital, Lupin took the time to talk to a fellow, newly ordained werewolf who was obviously so terribly lonely with no one to visit him on Christmas; and that simply raised her estimation of her former professor. They were all subdued though after leaving St. Mungo's, having met Neville and his grandmother and his parents on the closed ward. Hermione especially was upset, not having known about Neville's parents; she truly liked Neville, and simply could not get the worn and lost appearance of Neville's mother out of her mind as she gave Neville the sweet wrappers. Sitting in the car on the way back to Grimmauld Place, Hermione stared out the window wide-eyed and glassy, thinking about Neville's unhappy holiday; she squeezed her eyes closed against the sudden prickle of tears for Neville and his parents, so lost at Christmas of all times... Then she felt a comforting touch on her shoulder, and when she turned, lower lip trembling a bit, Professor Lupin was observing her with a sad, knowing expression. Hermione, blinking rapidly, bit her lip and turned back toward the window; Lupin kept his hand on her shoulder the rest of the way home, and Hermione felt grateful for that small comfort he offered.

When they got back to Grimmauld Place, thanks to the combined efforts of Fred and George and Sirius and Tonks, they all had a rip-roaring and thoroughly enjoyable Christmas evening.

While they'd been away, somehow Sirius and Tonks had been able to conjure up the most delicious supper of turkey and mince pies and a flaming brandied Christmas pudding that almost singed Sirius' eyebrows when it was lit. Golden candles floated over the air above them as Harry and Ron tussled over pulling crackers that released miniature flying broomsticks. Fred and George entertained them during supper with an outrageous pantomime of Professor Umbridge's kitten plates, and Professor Lupin had charmed his gramophone to play carols continuously. Hermione surreptitiously watched Lupin throughout supper, melting with his easy, relaxed smiles; and when their eyes met over a toast for good cheer and as they clinked goblets, she blushed a little with the attention.

After supper they all moved to the drawing room (Lupin stayed behind to clean up; he shooed Hermione away when she offered to help). Presently Ginny and Hermione were slightly tipsy from the homemade eggnog; Hermione had no doubt someone (probably Fred or George) had earlier spiked it with a generous dollop of Firewhisky. Sirius had fastened a sprig of innocuous-looking mistletoe above the entranceway to the drawing room and stood not-so-innocuously underneath it, ready to ambush those who unwittingly walked under it.

Sirius had already favored both Hermione and Ginny with a kiss on each of their cheeks; Hermione had bowed her head shyly at the brush of his dry chapped lips against her cheek and, forgetting herself for a moment, giggled back. Mrs Weasley had blushed like a schoolgirl when he bussed her forehead, admonishing him firmly with a tight smile on her face; Tonks had all but stumbled through the doorway so all Sirius had caught was her spiky hair.

"No way, not me, mate!" Ron had yelled before he was caught by the elbow and forced to succumb to an enthusiastic peck on his temple, and Harry (smart devil) had ducked, grinning, right under Ron's arm and into the room before he could be caught. Fred and George and Harry positively screamed at Ron's shocked expression. "Blimey, little bro', your face is redder than your hair!" Bill had called, wheezing with laughter. Then Ron had wrestled Harry back to the doorway where Sirius enveloped him in a huge bear hug, sending Harry's glasses askew, and Harry had positively beamed with that.

The absolute best however, had been when Professor Lupin stepped in the doorway.

"Where's Remus?" Sirius asked, looking around with a wicked smirk after releasing Harry.

"He's coming," Harry grinned, inclining his head in the direction of the hall. Sirius nodded eagerly and slid behind the door, holding his finger to his lips. The room immediately fell silent with anticipation.

Professor Lupin stepped into the doorway and stopped at the threshold to survey the room. He obviously missed the mistletoe hanging above him and he didn't see Sirius, gleefully crouched out of his sight. Everyone seemed to be avoiding his gaze and hiding--knowing smirks? He raised his eyebrows suspiciously. Then Lupin caught Ginny's merry eye and his face grew just a little bit wary, realizing the room was far too quiet for the number of people sitting inside--

Then Sirius swooped right down on him, bent Lupin back almost to the waist, and planted a solid, lingering kiss right on his lips, long black hair draping down over both their faces.

Hermione and Ginny, perched on the sofa and able to see everything, had laughed hysterically; the boys howled, clutching their sides, Fred and George were cat-calling (for Merlin's sake!), Mrs Weasley was watching with a rather stern air of disapproval and Tonks' eyes had widened to saucers. Hermione didn't know which had been funnier: the kiss itself, grand and sweeping like a ballroom curtsey; or the utter shock on Lupin's face when Sirius released him. It was just like Sirius to do that, she thought primly, and the professor was such a good sport about it too.

At the end of the night, when everyone was traipsing off to bed, tipsy and tired out from laughing and conversation, they all exchanged hugs and handshakes and good wishes for the season. Hermione kissed Lupin on the cheek shyly and she simply glowed when he held her hand and kissed it in return. The fire in the grate roared merrily and she could almost hear the glittering fairies on the Christmas tree singing as she went off to bed.

Now the fire had reduced to glowing embers, the fairies had dimmed to a faint snoring shimmer, and it was very, very late. Passing by the drawing room doorway on the way back from the kitchen, she saw a silhouette on the sofa in the drawing room and smiled to herself knowingly. Professor Lupin had fallen asleep again reading in front of the fire no doubt. It wasn't uncommon, as she'd heard Mrs Weasley chastise Lupin more than once for it. So she went to wake him, tell him to go to bed if only to avoid Mrs Weasley's clucking sighs in the morning, and she had already bent down to shake his shoulder gently when she froze--

She straightened reflexively.

Professor Lupin wasn't alone.

Sirius was with him.

Professor Lupin. And Sirius.

Sleeping...

Oh.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

Luckily neither man stirred.

All she could do was stare.

Sirius lay stretched out along the length of the sofa, his dark head resting on the heavily stuffed arm. Lupin lay nestled against him in the crook of Sirius' arm, head pillowed on Sirius' shoulder. Both breathed in soft, rhythmic, tandem falls that hypnotized her as she watched them. They were wrapped together under one of Mrs Weasley's knitted afghans, the picture, Hermione mused at the back of her mind, of blissful boyish innocence...

Then she saw their hands, lying on top of the blanket, fingers linked together...like they would never let go.

Hermione's mind raced frantically.

They're bound to touch hands just being so close together--

(But they're both men...)

After all they're asleep and they probably don't even know they're doing it--

(And really, who else do they have but each other?)

She wanted to think that, anyway.

Sirius stirred. Startled out of her reverie, Hermione stood rooted to the spot, unable to flee. I'm caught.

But he didn't waken. Still in sleep, his head bent slightly to rest a stubbled cheek on Lupin's fire-kissed hair and she heard a faint contented sigh. His normally drawn and wasted face was so relaxed in the faint glow of the fire that Hermione glimpsed briefly the boy he'd been. Oh gods...

And Professor Lupin--It's like he belongs there, in his arms, and always has.

A lump rose in her throat, her thoughts flying madly in a twisted jumble.

They've both suffered so much...

(Why him? Him of all people? I just can't believe that!)

They need to take whatever joy they can find and who's to deny them otherwise...?

(Why can't that be me?)

They want to keep it private. I shouldn't be seeing this.

(That should be me.)

Does Harry know?

(Should I tell him?)

But in the end, Hermione had always been rather good at keeping secrets despite herself--especially where Professor Lupin was concerned.

She quietly started to back out of the drawing room, but not before Lupin stirred. She flattened herself against the stone wall trying to remain utterly motionless, hoping they wouldn't notice her in the sleepy shadow.

Lupin blearily opened his eyes and took in the long reddish flickers the last embers threw on the drawing room walls, and the gently snoring fairies on the Christmas tree. He whispered in Sirius' ear.

"Padfoot. Padfoot, wake up."

"Hmmh."

"Padfoot, time to go to bed." Lupin gently patted Sirius' cheek.

Sirius swatted his hand away drowsily.

"Padfoot. It won't do for the children to see us like this."

Hermione blinked furiously, her stomach sinking. But I'm not a child--she protested silently.

Sirius mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "Let 'em."

"C'mon, Padfoot, up we go." He roused a groggy Sirius and they slowly lurched their way together towards the door, Sirius' arm draped around Lupin's waist.

Sirius stopped dead though, right in the doorway under the mistletoe, throwing Lupin off-balance a bit, and he stumbled against him. In the shadow, Hermione saw only their dark forms silhouetted in the faint glow of the dying fire and the sleeping Christmas fairies. She heard a faint throaty chuckle, then saw Lupin turn to face Sirius.

She watched, transfixed, as Lupin's fingers reached up to touch Sirius' cheek with a feather-light caress, and Hermione trembled as she heard Lupin's low and slightly hoarse whisper.

"Happy Christmas, Padfoot, old friend."

Hermione watched stunned as Sirius inclined his head in the muted light to meet his gaze, smiling fondly back; as Lupin moved his hand to the back of Sirius' head, fingers threading through his hair, drawing him closer; as Sirius' lashes fluttered, bringing his hand up to cup Lupin's jaw; and as the silhouettes leaned in towards each other and kissed. There was nothing theatrically grand and sweeping about it like before; rather it was tender brushes of lips, shared puffs of breath, long and gentle and terribly intimate, everything that a proper kiss should be--

And it wasn't her.

Her own lips tingled and her chest clenched as they embraced; her arms ached as Lupin held Sirius close against him and the muted crackle of the fire thundered in her ears. Barely breathing, she stood rooted as they slowly left the doorway and ascended the stairs, Lupin's arm slung affectionately round Sirius' thin shoulder. Hermione listened to the low murmur of their voices, though she couldn't hear the words, and heard the soft footfalls up the stairs to the room at the end of the hallway. A handle turned, a lock clicked, then Hermione was left in the black drawing room alone.

All she could do was to slip back up the stairs to her own cold narrow bed, where she shivered under the thick covers and duvet for a very long time, and stared numbly at the ceiling, and tried very hard not to think of anything at all.