Disclaimer – I do not claim to be the author of anything that is part of the Potterverse, except for the plot of this particular story.

Author's Note - Hello everyone! I've been sort of dead for a while now and I've just got a hold of everything (uni has been particularly tough) so now I'm back! I hope you all forgive me for abandoning the story for quite some time, but hopefully I can make it up to you with some great chapters.

You

Morning came and went, but the couple slept, undisturbed, finally in each other's embrace, taking and giving wholly. Both had wished and wondered; in the privacy of their rooms, behind the walls of their hearts, they had both desired to experience what the other felt like. Today, wrapped up in any body part they can wrap, they clung to each other, sound asleep. Discarded shoes lay on the carpet, just inches away from a belt, some socks. The mess was enough to drive a normal person to cleaning, and these were two very particular people. But despite the oncoming afternoon and the hurricane of clothes that seemed to have swept through their room, they did not stir.

Hours passed and Hermione let out a lazy yawn, her eyes blinking open. She looked at the soft face of the man still passed out beside, or rather underneath, her. His hair fell around his face like a messy, rustic, halo, like nature and warmth and something raw. She lifted her hand from his chest to stroke the side of his face, and then reconsidered. She didn't want to end up in the hospital ward, and have to explain why her own husband attacked her. For the ordinary person, this war hurt their country, their friends, maybe even their family, but for the people who were closest to it, the war affected their very being. Gone were the days when Hermione strolled through town without getting anxious at the sight of even one person who looked at her for longer than necessary; gone were the days she trusted the people around her, opened up to them. She had only the few friends left, and others who she had gained a camaraderie with after what they shared during the war. Gone were the days she sat in her home carefree, wondering what activity to fill her time with. The fear of things turning out badly, as they did so much in her life, was overpowering. Heaven forbid, if anyone were to try to touch her while she was asleep, she would probably petrify them wandlessly, without a second thought of what was happening. Her childhood was entrenched in violence and horrors that even an adult would have a hard time getting through. Then she had been a mere child.

Self-pity? This beautiful man is asleep right in front of you and you are busy pitying yourself!

Hermione snapped out of her quickly spiralling thoughts and turned her focus back to Remus, only to find big, questioning eyes, staring back at her.

"Oh! You're up!" She glanced at her hand, hovering near Remus' face, and then let it drop into his hair.

"What were you thinking of?"

"What?"

"You had a sad look on your face, and you were obviously lost in thought," Remus felt her fingers thread through his hair, and turned his head, sighing into her hand.

"I was just thinking of the war, and where it has brought us all," Hermione smiled and slid up so that her face was right above his, "But then you woke up and made me forget all that."

A small smile cracked at the side of his lips, and he reached up to give her a small peck, "I want to kiss you so much right now," he placed a hand over his mouth, "But I've probably got horrible morning breath and - "

"You know you can't hide morning breath from your wife for too long right?" she teased, "I'm stuck with it now that we are already married, so you might as well just move that hand away and kiss me properly."

Remus thought about it for a second then grinned, "Well does that mean that I get more mornings where you're the first thing I get to see when I open my eyes?"

His question made Hermione blush. They hadn't really talked about it, but they had confessed to each other in the heat of the moment last night. Embarrassment coursed through her, flushing her cheeks with even more color, and she looked away. She hadn't planned on letting her old feelings for him slip. What would he think of that? She was very young when she had met him, and though she had become an adult and was entitled to like whom she pleased, she didn't want him to think she used his friendship to get close to him. She didn't want him to be afraid of the emotions she felt, and shy away from her; not when they were making so much progress.

Remus berated himself mentally, annoyed that he asked her such a big question so casually. Of course she wasn't ready! They had only been living together for a short while, and they had shared beds before but never in the same way; not as husband and wife. Why the label changed things so much, he didn't know, but it did, and apparently it was too much to ask of her so soon. He remembered last night so clearly, he could watch it like a seamless movie in his head. He remembered her words, telling him not to stop, telling him she had been waiting for this moment, just like he had. But did she mean those things? Hermione was smart and talented and too kind for her own good. She might have just gone along so that she didn't hurt his feelings or ruin the mood. It excited him when she told him those things. It made him feel good to be wanted, and tingly to be wanted in secret, by the same woman he had pined after too. The feeling was unlike anything he could explain. For a while now he felt dirty about his feelings, as if he were overstepping the bounds by being interested in her, but circumstances had brought them together and allowed his feelings to blossom, giving him what he thought was a stamp of approval. But was it all in his head? Did she pretend for the sake of the cameras, and to keep up a brave face in front of the Order? She cared for him, that he was sure of, but was he mistaken about what way she cared for him in?

"Would you like that?"

Hermione's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he blinked at her blankly, "What?"

"Would you like that, I said, for me to be the first thing you see in the morning?"

"I – no one's ever asked me what I would like." He stared at her honestly, baring himself. Why he did it, he had no clue, but Merlin this woman made him want to say and do things he had never imagined.

"Remus, what do you want?"

"You."

Gathering her things, Hermione threw a final glance back at the bathroom, catching Remus' eye. His wolfish grin made her blush and she turned back to leave the room. Closing the door behind her, she thought of exactly how much things had changed over the past few days. Remus' anger towards her had been totally justified. She had been stupid to think she could handle a werewolf on a blood moon, even if he was a part of her husband. Her husband. How odd it felt to say that. Hermione had never thought that after the war had cut her so deeply, that she could begin to leave those awful memories behind. There was still a long way to go. Merlin only knows, even her current situation is the fruit of the labors of some very dark witches and wizards. But somehow, things were working out for the better. She sighed and shook her head, reminding herself not to get too comfortable in this marriage. It was a mission set by the Order. And Remus wanted her now, but without the pressure of the Ministry on his shoulders, without the excitement of being someone to save, would their spark sizzle out?

Before she could take another step towards her room, she looked down at the dry, crisp feeling on her toes. Her feet had memorized the plush feel of the apartment's carpet, and something was off. Brown spots were tattered across a patch of the floor, caked on like juice. Hermione scanned the rest of the carpet near her, looking over the furniture closely.

Clean.

Clean.

Clean…

There.

She walked over to the couch and ran her finger across a crisp dot of something similar to what she found on the carpet. Small stains were common in houses and carpets were bound to get dirty but with the combined efforts of the couple, she was proud to say their house, or at least the beautiful carpet, was spotless. But what really sparked Hermione's curiosity was the odd spot itself. It felt like dried sauce… or… she stepped back, her head whipping around frantically. She opened closets, drawers, looked under the furniture, to no avail. Heart pounding, she stood up after inspecting the floor under the arm chairs, and her eyes widened. She could feel her heart beating inside of her ears, and her tunnel vision focused on, not only the words on the ceiling, but what was used to write them.

Blood.

Remus raced out of his room at the sound of Hermione's scream, and instantly followed her gaze to the ceiling. Fuck. He ran over to her, sitting on the floor, staring up, and grabbed her by the shoulders. He couldn't think of anything to do but just getting her away from the gruesome scene. He picked her up, cradling her shaking body in his arms, and walked back into his room, laying her down on his bed. She had gone pale as a sheet, and her hands were shivering. He sat down next to her, and pulled her to his chest, stroking her back, lending her his warmth. It was all he could do; until she processed what she had seen, until she was ready to talk, he just had to hold her. He had seen her this way before. It was familiar, and instinctually he had known exactly what needed to be done. Many nights had been spent this way, her waking up from a particularly bad nightmare to Remus holding her, calming her, allowing her to breathe and refocus. And it felt the same now. He didn't mind holding her at all. He felt selfish, knowing that he was the only one who was so close to her. But he also knew that no matter how many times Hermione needed him, he would never falter.

Hermione felt her tears on Remus' chest, and slid her hands up to his shoulders, borrowing from his strength. It had been a long time since she had been as shaken by something. Her privacy felt invaded and she felt naked and scared. Whoever this was had gotten into her home, while she had been in the other room, unaware. How had this person gotten past their wards? How could this have happened? How could this disgusting being have known? It could not be a coincidence. She didn't believe in those. But what would happen if she told someone? She would be cut out of everything. She would be compromised. But… she had to tell Remus. Remus. She shifted her focus back to where she was, sitting on Remus' bed, with his freshly showered body pressed against her. His shoulders glistened with her tears and clean water, dripping down his toned arms. He was only clad in a large towel, wrapped dangerously around his waist. The sight of him made her lose herself for a second. For a second she forgot what she had just witnessed, and only saw what was in front of her; the man who held her up when she felt like she was about to fall.

Tears brimmed her eyes as she looked at him, "What will I ever do without you?" She had been so strong and so methodical for so long, that she just wanted to surrender to her fear and be carried. She didn't bottle up her emotions the way she usually did. She didn't behave calm and cool and calculated. She lost it, but he found her and kept her from breaking.

"You never have to be without me," he pulled her closer and whispered in her hair, "I'm here. I'm always going to be here."

He kissed her softly, on her forehead first, wiping away the tears from her eyes, and then her lips. They tasted salty with her tears, but fresh and her, and he couldn't take himself away.

"Don't be scared."

He kissed her again. And again.

"I've got you."

Hermione relaxed into his embrace, hanging onto his every word. She would have to tell him, "Remus. What it said on the ceiling… I've seen that somewhere else before."

He gave her a puzzled expression, before cupping her face in his hands, determined, "I'll hold your hand no matter what Hermione. You know that. You can trust me."

"I've seen it in my dream. Except… now I'm starting to doubt whether it was a dream, or whether… someone put those thoughts in my head."

"You're sure that is exactly what it said in your dream?"

Hermione looked at him with confidence.

"Yes. It said, 'We'll take turns on you, Mudblood'."