Hello hello lovelies!

I'm dreadfully sorry it's been so long since I last updated. Things have been more than a little hectic. I really hope you all enjoy this chapter, and if you do please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the storyline and any OC's belong to me.

The Manor is eerily quiet as the trio pass through the front door. There is not a sound from any of the house's occupants. The three bid each other farewell as they separate: Harry back outside to the Orchards, Ron to the kitchens to grab something to eat, and Hermione to her room.

There is an odd sensation that prickles across the back of her neck as she ascends the grand staircase, her hand smoothly gliding up the handrail. She silently reaches the landing. Her feet don't betray her as she creeps towards her room, the corridor seems longer somehow.

Hermione holds her breath as she approaches the door, there is this sense of pressure building up, and the air is taut with tension. She places her hand on the brass doorknob, and a deep voice behind her almost causes her heart to stop. Even with her keen sense of hearing, he'd still snuck up on her.

Hermione's heart is pounding in her ears and she peers over her shoulder to find Remus there; frowning. Darkness shrouds his face, and the tight way his jaw is held leads her to believe that he is not a happy camper.

"I'm home," Hermione whispers, facing forwards again, turning the door knob and pushing her door inwards. The witch enters her room, one hand flat and pressed against her abdomen as if to steady herself.

Remus follows after her, silent, brooding almost. He gently closes the door and leans back against it, arms folded over his chest. His eyes are roving over her body meticulously, presumably looking for any injuries.

Hermione turns to him, but keeps her gaze firmly locked on her feet.

"Where were you?"

"You probably aren't going to like it..."

"Really? Well what I would have liked was a little forewarning that my girlfriend and her two best mates were going to disappear for hours. I would have liked to have some idea of where you went, and it would have be an utter delight to not have worried myself silly for the entire day," Remus says calmly, but she can hear the bite to his words.

Hermione cautiously strolls over to him, staring up into his hazel eyes, and she reaches up to grasp his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I should have told you I wouldn't be back until late, but truthfully I wasn't sure how long I was going to be gone."

"Where were you?" Remus softly repeats his earlier question, and Hermione just wants him to pull her into his arms but he is as stiff as a metal pole.

"We went to see Snape," Hermione admits reluctantly. Remus's eyes widen.

Remus swears under his breath, "you went to see Snape? He's a Death Eater, Hermione."

Hermione flinches. Remus shrugs her hand off of him, his jaw working and his hands curling into fists.

"I think he might help us—"

"Really? And why would he do that?" Remus snorts, and he clenches his fists so tightly that his knuckles turn white. His shoulders are rolled forwards and he looks like he has slightly compressed inwards. His breathing is slow, measured.

"We showed him—"

"Showed him what exactly?"

"Our memories."

"You showed him your memories? Are you three bloody insane?!" Remus's voice rises in pitch and volume, his eyes have shifted to the golden colour that she loves, but quite frankly for once she isn't glad to see it. In an instant he expands, his anger burning off of him.

"No. We aren't. Now will you let me bloody TALK?" Hermione practically screeches, and Remus jaw drops, gobsmacked. There have been times when she has been mildly annoyed with him, irked even, but he's never had her hurl this level of ire at him before.

Some of the werewolf's heat evaporates, but it's still there, barely contained.

"You won't let me get a blasted word in," Hermione huffs, hands folded over her chest, and the tips of her hair are sparking.

"Well I'm cross—"

"Oh, you're cross are you?" Hermione asks almost mockingly.

"Yes! I'm cross because you've been gone for bloody hours! All three of you up and left without a word. No note, nothing! We thought you might have fucking disappeared into thin air just like you arrived!" Remus yells, a vein on the side of his neck bulging as his face stains bright red. Hermione deflates instantly. He was scared. Scared that he'd lost her forever.

"Remus…my sweet Moon," Hermione steps into him, unfolding her arms and lightly grasping onto his biceps. Remus stiffens, avoiding her gaze and she can see the tears brimming in his eyes.

"We thought that whatever deposited you into our dimension plucked you up and swept away with you," Remus says, his voice watery and soft. "I kept telling myself it wasn't true though, because I could still feel our bond."

There are no words— none of the ones flitting through her mind seem appropriate. Still she tries. "I didn't want you to worry," Hermione says. "We didn't think it was going to take as long as it did—"

The gold in his eyes fades to hazel, and he heavily breathes out through his nostrils. There is a hardness to him now, a cool indifference that causes painful little stings to jump across her nape.

"You're a big girl, Hermione. Do what you want." Remus says, shrugging her off of him.

Hermione takes a few steps backwards as if he'd struck her, "Remus—"

"We're in a relationship, Hermione. That means we need to be able to trust each other—to talk to each other about things!" Remus huffs, exasperation radiating off him.

"I do trust you," Hermione says reticently, feeling like a schoolgirl who had just had a firm talking to.

"Really? Then why didn't you tell me about going to see Snape? The three of you went off gallivanting and didn't consult any of the other parties that would be affected by that decision."

"It was a risk, yes, but…"

Remus's arms unfold and he gruffly rubs at the scruff on his cheeks as he regards her, "so what? When Death Eaters break down that door I'm just supposed to tell everyone that you lot fancied taking a risk? Our lives are at stake, Hermione. Yours, mine, not to mention Alice—"

"That is not fair. If this works then—"

"There it is! If it works!" Remus shakes his head, scoffing.

"I get that you are upset—justifiably so—but Severus is not evil incarnate, and I believe that he will help us," Hermione says, hands on her hips, closing the distance between them and staring defiantly up at him.

"I hope you're right. For all of our sakes," Remus says softly. The werewolf is stiff, arms now limp at his sides. Hermione reaches up and fists her hands in his burgundy t-shirt, quietly imploring him to forgive her.

"I'm sorry—"

"Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?" Remus says bitterly, his tongue swipes across his bottom lip, pausing to play with his lip ring for a moment. Remus cautiously places his hands over hers. There is a coldness to him: an icy maw bites into her heart, shredding it as he speaks, "let go of me, Granger."

"Remus," Hermione pleads, tightening her grip.

A burning anger boils in her gut, a fire scrapes at her throat, hands squeeze her lungs cruelly and her whole body is fraught with an unbearable amount of tension. But I'm not angry, Hermione thinks. Remus winces, his eyes once more molten gold, burning.

Waves of sadness erupt from her and crash against his heat and his fire. Their bond is flaring up in her chest. Remus's hurt and ire engulfs her fully and she desperately tries to rise to the surface, to breathe.

Hermione releases Remus and sneakily retreats, hands curling around herself as a persistent tremble grips her limbs, a slimy cold sensation coating her spine. The wolf inside of Hermione rouses, paces, unsettled.

Remus smoothes the front of his shirt and closes his eyes, breathing heavily through his nostrils.

"Was that…" Hermione tries, but falters, unsure of her next words. The unspoken question lingers in the air.

"Our bond? Probably," Remus replied curtly, hands thrust into his hair as he falls back against the door. His eyes snap open.

"So what? Am I just at your beck and call now as your beta, your mate?" Hermione asks. "As soon as I don't fall in line you remind me of my place?"

"What? No," Remus shakes his head, harsh lines appearing on his face in his confusion. He's working his Shaw as he tries to digest what just happened and what it means. "Our wolves seem to be clashing because we're fighting and our bond…I don't know, but no. We're equals in this relationship, Hermione."

Remus makes to push off of the door, and in anticipation Hermione flinches and takes two steps back. He freezes, the lines on his face smoothing out as he stares curiously at her. She feels the anger ebb, a rush of calm quickly floods in, taking its place.

Hermione's lip curls, she feels cowed into submission and she despises it. She knows that wasn't his intention, but that doesn't make her any happier about it. "I think I should go."

Remus's brow furrows, "go where exactly?" His hands fall from his hair and he tucks them into his faded jeans pockets.

"I think we both need space, and that we should revisit this when we're both more calm and collected," Hermione says, slowly nodding her head as she arrives at her conclusion.

"Hermione—"

"I think you mean, Granger," Hermione bites coldly. His face drops and she can taste the apology on his lips. She doesn't wish to hear it. Not now.

"If anyone asks, I'm going to be staying with the Weasleys for a few days," Hermione says swiftly, raising an open hand to indicate that he should save his breath. Remus swallows thickly.

Hermione hesitantly heads towards the opposite side of the room, needing to put as much distance between them as possible. He is blocking the only exit. Though, she briefly considers jumping out of a window and using a cushioning charm.

Stubborn werewolf that he is, he ignores her. She's positive that he can sense the depths of pain and sorrow digging into her chest through their bond.

"Hermione, I'm sorry. I was worried and afraid of losing you and I…I may have overreacted," Remus apologises. Hermione's breath catches in her throat.

The witch hisses out a sigh through her teeth, sparks spitting from her fingertips as she jabs a finger in his direction. She regards him as steam whistles out of her ears, and Hermione finally finds her words. She throws her hands out on either side of her, "I'm afraid of losing everyone. The stakes have never been higher for us! Do you know how hard it is? Being here? Knowing all of you?"

Remus straightens out and this time he warily approaches her, and when he finally does he removes his hands from his pockets and he lightly cups her face.

"They—You all died. You died, Remus," Hermione sniffs. She hadn't realised she'd started crying, but the liquid is salty and plentiful as it rolls down her cheeks, she chokes on her words, but she forces them out. "I don't think I could bear to lose any of you, not again, especially not you."

"So you took a risk," Remus says kindly, the corners of his eyes crinkling, his lips turning down at the corners.

"He will help us. I saw it when I looked in his eyes," Hermione sobs. Sniffing harshly, the wet sound filling her ears. Her ears are pounding.

"And if he doesn't?"

"We'll deal with that when we have to."

"Hermione, if he tells Voldemort what he saw then—"

"I'll kill him myself," the woman said resolutely, her hands grabbing hold of his wrists as she peers up at him.

Remus sighs, but smiles softly, "well let's hope you're right and that it doesn't come to that."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you. I should have told you," Hermione rambles. "You're right, we need to talk to each other."

Remus grasps her face and presses his lips to her forehead. The witch melts into him, relief coursing through her veins. He pulls away, bends at the middle so that his eyes are directly in line with hers. There are no words, but their souls are humming to each other. Humming a tune that she cannot place, that she doesn't hear, but feels. It's intoxicating.

It's soft, the way his lips brush over hers, barely there. Her eyes flutter shut, and his arms engulf her. His lips are firmer, more insistent this time as they press against hers, and she gasps lightly. Shivers run down her spine.

Remus's fingers roughly grab fistfuls of the material at the small of her back, and she almost swears she hears something tear. She frankly doesn't care.

Hermione's hand slither down his body, finding their way into his trousers and she grips his length. Remus hisses softly into her mouth. His smell is heady, thick, and it fills her head until it makes her dizzy.

"Witch, you will be the end of me," Remus pants against her lips and Hermione smiles.

There's nothing slow about their movements after that. Remus tears Hermione's clothes off of her, and she barely has enough time to undo his jeans before he shoves her up against the bedroom door. The wood bites into her supple flesh, and she knows she'll have bruises covering her body on the morrow.

Remus's body is caging her against the door, and she bites her lip in anticipation as he removes his length from his jeans.

Hermione's fingers ghost down his torso, and she stops to playfully poke his belly button. He scowls, and to repay her, in one swift movement he moves forward and rubs his cock in between her folds.

"Remus," Hermione says, her hands grasping onto him.

"Remus," she breathes as he enters her. Her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands holding her up as he drives into her. She's sandwiched between him and the door. Small bursts of pain explode from where the wood is digging into her back. Her fingers are threaded through his hair, holding onto him with everything she has. Sweat glistens across their bodies as they meet thrust for thrust, her heels digging into his lower back to give her a better grip on him.

Her chest is tight, her airway constricted, her vision blurs, and spots swell and contract in front of her in psychedelic colours.

All she can do is cling to him, her hands slip onto his back, and her nails rake across his pale skin. She is intently focused on the way his muscles coil and move underneath her fingers.

Remus's mouth kisses sloppily down the side of her face and neck until his mouth finds the space between her neck and shoulder and he latches on. Biting and sucking at her flesh.

They are moving now with wild abandon. Remus's hairline is damp with sweat. Hermione's body feels impossibly hot. She momentarily forgets how to breathe as he pulls almost all the way out of her. He stills suddenly. Remus presses his forehead against hers. Hermione's eyes are hooded as her gaze locks with his, and she drinks in the feral heat in his molten gold eyes.

"Remus—"

The wizard snaps his hips forward, slamming back into her and profanity spills from her lips. He has the audacity to grin toothily at her.

Hermione risks letting go of him with one hand, and it slithers down her body under her fingers find her clit.

"Come for me, sweetness," Remus commands, voice gravelly and hoarse. He catches her lips in a searing kiss.

"You first," Hermione smiles against his lips. Remus grunts. Breaking their kiss and his head falls to her chest, his mouth hot and almost unbearable as he captures one of her nipples. It's his teeth grazing the sensitive bud that send her toppling over the edge. The werewolf follows shortly thereafter with a loud groan and his forehead in the valley of her breasts.

Hermione can't feel her legs. The pair stay joined for a few moments before Remus says, "I think one of my legs fell asleep."

"What?" Hermione heaves out, chest rising and falling as she pushes some of her hair back and out of her face. Her other hand curling around his neck in a weak attempt to hold herself up.

Slowly, Remus's hands slide behind her back and the wizard cautiously moves them towards the bed—stepping over their discarded clothes in the process.

Remus carefully lays them both back against the bed, and only then does he pull out of her. He rolls onto his back, and throws a hand over his eyes.

Hermione cuddles into his side, an arm strewn over his chest, and one of her legs is hiked up and onto his thigh.

There is a brief silence. Remus clears his throat before he breaks it, "not that I wish to be talking about Severus Snape whilst I'm naked…but why him?"

Hermione's fingers starts playing with the planes of his chest, and she exhales deeply.

It is far too warm in here, Hermione thinks, eyes flicking over to the slightly ajar window. A feeble breeze whistles through the crack, and is toying with the partly drawn curtains. She narrows her eyes, focusing intently and the window slowly creaks open. She makes a satisfied noise in the back of her throat.

Remus had observed the interaction, and correctly came to the conclusion that she isn't going to elaborate or answer his question. The werewolf presses anyway, "the Severus you briefly mentioned when we went through your memories lost everything, that's why he did what he did…what makes you so sure that this one will change alliances and help us?"

"Because we gave him a choice…and we showed him what his life could become," Hermione sighs. She is drawing an absent picture across Remus's chest as she speaks. "We showed him what years of bitterness and inner turmoil will contort him into. He didn't seem thrilled at the prospect."

"But who is to say that he won't choose self preservation and share everything with his 'Dark Lord'?"

"He could, but I have faith that he won't," Hermione says.

"Okay, love," Remus sighs, pressing a kiss to her hairline.

Hermione stares at the curtains as they billow in the breeze, the cool air swirls into the room and kisses her skin with reverence. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. "What are the chances that Sirius doesn't lose his shite when we tell everyone?"

"Nil," Remus replies honestly, his voice thick with sleep.

"Bollocks."

"Mm," Remus says. Hermione can tell that he isn't listening to her anymore, too exhausted to think. I'm not going to worry about Sirius right now, I'm going to sleep and I can worry about telling everyone later. Hermione decides. With that idea firmly taking root in her mind, she allows herself to slip off into the land of dreams in the arms of her mate.

Delicate white flowers tied together with a pale pink ribbon are being daintily held by manicured hands. A lace veil, dusty pink shoes with pointed toes, an ivory dress with a high neckline that cinches at the waist with an asymmetrical skirt that cuts off just below the knee.

Muted light fills the room, white flowers weave intricate designs across the walls, a gentle melody drifts through the room—a tale being sung as the fingers of a frosty-haired witch dance across piano keys.

It is a quaint affair, only the closest of friends and family are in attendance. They'd put together the whole thing in less than forty-eight hours. (They'd cleared out all the furniture in the Sun Room at Potter Manor and used it to hold the binding ceremony.)

The ceremony is short, sweet. The bride and groom are both beaming from ear-to-ear. The jovial rays that emit from the pair as Charlus binds their magical cores together and announces them witch and wizard are blinding.

Alice happily squeals as her husband swoops her off her feet and kisses her soundly before spinning them both in a circle. The guests cheer vociferously.

It has been a few days since the Golden Trio visited Lilium Cottage: the day after they'd called a meeting for the occupants of Potter Manor, their close confidants and colleagues and confessed everything.

They were met with a variety of reactions, the most visceral was Sirius's—he was livid, but Lily managed to placate him—and eventually they were allowed to properly explain themselves.

The majority of the wix assembled were unhappy about the situation but agreed that perhaps the risk was valid. Either way it was done, and they were more concerned with dealing with the repercussions, whatever they may be. Dorea had been oddly silent, expression unreadable. Hermione found herself perched in Remus's lap the whole time, his arm wrapped protectively around her middle.

Alice had cleared her throat, and rather primly said, "perhaps this isn't the best time to say this… or perhaps it is the best time, but Frank and I decided to get married."

The room was quiet, they all turned to face the witch with wide eyes.

"Isn't that why you've got his Grandmother's fancy ring on your finger?" Sirius asked, his tone a bit callous (even if he meant well). He was still on edge and bitter about Snape. Hermione was surprised that he hadn't stormed off. She supposed the look James shot him had kept him rooted in place.

"Uh, well, what I meant to say is that we are getting married on Tuesday—we were going to floo call you all and invite you tonight," Alice said with bright pink cheeks. Frank nodded beside her, arm around her shoulders, his thumb rubbing soothing circles across her skin.

"That's in two days," Lily gaped. "Do you have a dress, a caterer, or—"

"We don't want to make a fuss, I'll probably just use some of my fancier dress robes," Alice started but swallowed her words when she caught sight of Lily's face.

"Poppycock!" Lily exclaimed. "Allie, we are going to make your wedding a gorgeous affair."

"Lily—"

"Alice almost Longbottom, don't you worry your pretty little head, I am going to take care of everything!" Lily declared, and that had been that.

Hermione is standing at the edge of the tent they had pitched up in the Orchards (not too far away from where they'd held James and Lily's reception) watching Frank twirl his bride across the dance floor. Alice's baby bump is now visible, barely, but it's there.

Hermione wriggles her bare toes against the smooth, temporary oak flooring. She'd kicked off her strappy black open toed heels right after the ceremony, and abandoned them beside the door mat by the front door. She hums nonsensically as she gazes at all of the guests joining the happy couple, and soon the tent is a blur of vivid colour as wix gracefully glide across it.

Arms wrap around Hermione from behind, and she starts for a moment before she catches their scent. Roaring fires, peaches, honey. She deeply inhales. She sinks back into her ginger haired knight.

"The Half-Blood Prince just gave us an answer." Ron's words are soft, hesitant. Hermione stiffens.

Before Hermione can say anything, she senses movement and glances to her right to see Remus approaching them, a boyish grin on his face. "Oi, Weasley. You trying to steal my witch?"

Hermione feels the laugh rumble in Ron's chest.

Hermione turns in Ronald's arms, hands splayed on his chest, her right thumb absently stroking across his velvety Prussian blue robes. "What did he say?"

Remus moves in closer, arms now folded, head bowed as he asks, "he contacted you?"

"Sent me a Patronus," Ron nods slowly, ruminating over every word before he lets them pass his lips. "It accosted me on my way to the loo."

"Accosted?" Remus asks with a bemused tweak of his features.

"Bloody right. Just wanted to relieve myself and the ruddy doe leapt at me right before I went inside."

"Ron," Hermione says drolly.

"What? I could have wet myself in fright," Ron grumbles, looking rather put out. Hermione allows what he just said marinate in her mind for far longer than she should. A slow exhalation of breath releases some of her irritation at the tangent they've managed to wander down.

"What did the bloody Patronus say?" Hermione demands, her hands involuntarily twitching.

Ron's bright blue eyes crackle with electricity, and the corners of his lips turn up as he says, "he's going to help us."

The uncertainty that had haunted her every waking moment for the past three days simply slips away as if it had never been there, and she can't help but throw herself into Ron's arms. He catches her and lifts her easily off of the ground. The insane risk they'd taken hadn't been for nought.

"Thank fuck!" She erupts jovially, a breathy laugh escaping her. She has goosebumps as she vaguely becomes aware that her exuberant proclamation has drawn politely curious stares from some of the guests.

"How do we know he's telling the truth?" Remus asks. The rational question siphons off some of her blind relief that had come with Ron's words. A tiny frown graces her features. Ron's arms tighten around her.

"We don't," Ron says truthfully. Hermione's heart sinks. The hope in Ron's voice is almost suffocating as he continues, "we don't know if he's telling the truth…but I really have to hope he is."

"For all of our sake's, I can only pray that he is," Remus says in agreement.

Hermione's fingers twist into the cropped locks at the base of Ron's skull, "what did he say exactly?"

"This may be a trick, and if it is then it is ingenious. I want to believe you three, and obviously I don't wholly trust you, but I give you my word, and swear on my magic that I will help you to the best of my ability. Don't disappoint me." Hermione snorts. The witch buries her face in Ron's neck, intently focused on his words.

Ron pauses, and Remus asks, "That it?" Ron shakes his head and he finishes, "also, I would like to make one thing clear. James Potter is still a fucking wanker…but I don't want him, or Lily, especially not Lily, or anyone else to die because of me. Not even Black, well, maybe Black. I better get a fucking Order of Merlin if we survive this bloody war. Bollocks. I must be going soft in the head…I'll be in contact."

"Wow, you memorised all of that verbatim?" Hermione teases.

At the same time, "blimey," Remus whistles lowly. "Do we tell the others?"

Ron shoots Hermione a playful glare.

Hermione pries herself from Ron enough to meet Remus's gaze, "later. For now let Alice and Frank have their moment." Hermione peeks over her shoulder, and spots Alice throwing her head back in laughter after Frank whispered something in her ear, a toothy grin on his face. Harry and Emmeline are holding each other close as they dance right beside them and Hermione's heart is full at the sight.

"Talk of war and turncoats can come tomorrow, right now I vote we enjoy ourselves," Hermione breathes. Ron places her on her feet. Dropping a kiss to her temple before extracting himself from her.

At that moment, a raven haired, grey eyed man saddles up beside them quietly. There are two slender shoots of champagne in his hands. Regulus's hand trembles a touch as he holds one out to Ron, daring to sneak a glance at the ginger.

Hermione is mesmerised as she observes the interaction. Ron cheerily accepts the glass, and Regulus's cheeks flush as their fingers brush. She can't tear her gaze away as she absentmindedly seeks out Remus. His warmth envelops her as he pulls her into his side. Ron tucks his free hand into his trouser pocket.

Hermione blinks rapidly, and her expression must say something as Ron shrugs and smirks in reply. "I think I'm growing on him," Ron's head lolls to the side and he beams at Regulus. "Right?"

"Like a fungus," Regulus mutters, scoffing. He risks another look at Ron, and is startled by the intense gaze he is met with. His head jerkily snaps back to face forward, eyes fixed on something in the distance. The wizard utters something under his breath before scurrying away.

"Regulus?" Hermione asks in hushed tones, mouth parting in wonder as she peers at Ron.

"What about him?" Ron asks, naive smile in place, dreamily staring over her head at where she presumes Regulus has wandered off to.

"Are you…?" Hermione drifts off, hoping he'll fill in the blanks.

"He's brilliant," Ron states, expression now serious as he curtly nods. She highly doubts he's caught onto her insinuation, as he is preoccupied; affectionately watching Regulus.

Ron's face lights up. He's spotted Gideon across the room. "Ah, just remembered that I wanted to talk to Gideon about Fabian's birthday. Molly mentioned it was soon."

"Ron!" Hermione calls after her friend as his long legs carry him away from her. She sighs. Remus chuckles.

"What?" Hermione pouts.

"For a minute I thought Ron and Sirius were going to end up together," Remus says honestly. Hermione's head swivels to look up at him so fast she's convinced she's given herself whiplash. "I beg your pardon?"

"Sirius likes witches and wizards?" Remus informs her, words slow and wary.

"Oh," Hermione responds blankly. Suddenly finding the need to busy her hands, she plays around with the soft fabric of her floor length dress around her ribcage. The night air is cool across her bare shoulders. The sheer, lavender coloured halter straps of her dress do nothing to protect her.

"Ron does too," Hermione says. They don't discuss it often, but during the time they were on the run, they had a lot of time on their hands and the trio had bared their souls to each other. If one good thing came out of that whole ordeal—through all the obstacles they had to face—they'd come out on the other side with a unique bond; one that couldn't be broken.

"I think...even though I love them both, they wouldn't be happy together in the long run," Hermione says.

"Why do you say that?"

"Balance. They can both be a bit volatile when they let their emotions get the best of them," Hermione answers. Remus nods.

"So what? Sirius needs someone icy to temper his fire?"

Hermione shakes her head, "I didn't say that. He needs someone that can challenge him, who won't back down, but who will be patient with him."

"Perhaps, either way…whilst supposition over our friends love lives is great fun, I would much rather be dancing with my witch," Remus says with a coy smile. He twists so that he is in front of her, a hand on her nape, the knuckles of the other brushing against her cheek.

Hermione tugs at the lapels of his emerald dress robes, and she catches her bottom lip between her teeth, the corners of her lips turning up. "Maybe, but I have a better idea…" Hermione tiptoes and her breath feathers against his ear as she says, "I want you to fuck me up against the wall in our room."

She steps back, retracting herself from his hold. The wizard is gobsmacked, mouth agape and as stiff as a statue. Hermione saunters toward the house, the gentle light coming from the open front door beckoning her. The werewolf snaps out of his daze and sprints after her.

Tomorrow they could strategise and talk about war, but tonight, tonight is theirs.