Feelings of What?

A friend indeed would know many secrets, know many desires and have the wings of an angel. For Remus Lupin, the only friends he really ever had were James Potter and Sirius Black. Peter Pettigrew had shown himself to be a real ass and not know anything but of course the occasional whimper of fear. Betrayal is all that needs to be said about Peter. He had betrayed James for telling Voldemort the whereabouts of his and Lily's secret location, their secret hide away. He had betrayed Sirius, for pretending his own death and leaving Sirius to clean the mess or go to Azkaban for him. And he had betrayed Remus for ever even coming back to see him, to think that their relationship was still good, to think that he could be trusted. Remus learned all that the hard way. But he had learned that once a friend has betrayed, they could never be trusted again, until he had seen Sirius again many years later. He had considered Sirius a fool, trying to get closer to Harry by getting out of Azkaban with his dog form and expecting a party of welcomes? Certainly not!

But once he, Remus, had seen the blackness of his eyes and the way they folded into sadness and pity, and the way that Remus could not see even the slight of happiness (unlike Peter's eyes that danced with betrayal and glory), Remus thought that maybe a second chance wasn't a bad thing...

"Friends are friends as long as they have gifts to make it up for what they have done," Remus said, before taking a swig of Fire Whiskey and replacing the cup onto the mantle of the roaring fireplace that he had so many times looked into, to hope that answers could be found, to hope that for once, in all the years, he could find happiness. Only when James, Sirius, Peter, and Lily were actually still friends, the years in Hogwarts and the years that followed, had he been happy enough to click his heels in mid-air. It almost seemed impossible to think that maybe, just maybe, there was still hope and chance for things to change?
"No... never... things never change once they are set and done," Remus said a loud. He looked away from the fire and furiously looked about his living room, the books lying about, the way his chair was ripped and how his cauldron covered the head of man not even Remus recognized anymore. He wanted to get rid of the pain, the sowry, everything! But why couldn't he?

"Because... because nothing, no one, not one thing can make me happy ever again," he said a loud once more. The persistent voice, the last voice of will in Remus that tried so hard to make him listen and make him realize that something good would come, could make him feel better. As silent tears strolled down his paled cheeks, it told him, shouted to him, screamed at him! to not think about death and to not think about what he could and would do to himself soon, now, or even later. It told him that things would get better, to look up and see the ray of light, the hand that was held out to him by one of his students, and to take it, kiss it, and give it love and in return it would love him. He ignored it as he had ignored many times before. He turned around to look at the fireplace and the Fire Whiskey that rested on the mantle. Remus went up to it and gripped the glass in his hand tightly, before throwing it hard into the fire. He went about and tore things up, ripped things, crushed things, broke things, anything to help him rid his anger but nothing would work, would it? The little voice tried hard to tell him to stop, to tell him that she loved him, to tell him that all the signs that she had given him were true to the meaning.

"She's my student, my student! She knows and she can't love a thing like me, nothing will! Nothing! She doesn't love me, she doesn't! Why can't she love me?" Remus screamed, hot, blood-thirsty tears hurdling themselves down his cheeks. The little voice said softly, in all the rage he was feeling, it said, 'Former... she's your former student Remus... and she does...' And in all this commotion, not once did he see her, not once did he stale when she had opened the door, and not once did he stop throwing things and having a rage, did he see her, the girl that he had wanted to hear, feel, and smell the love that he had shown to her, standing there, by the door, looking at him plainly, like she had seen this before. Nor did he know that what he had screamed out, she heard. A tear came down her own cheek, this one being pink from the wind that she had walked in to get to his home or what was left of it. Hermione stood there and watched him, not knowing what to think...