Work Text:
Let It Snow
Remus trudged through the snow feeling on edge. The full moon was a few days away and he’d been dreading this transformation as Sirius and James were both too busy practicing Quidditch to distract him. They’d be available the night of the full moon, as usual, but until then he was left on his own. He’d been walking through a fresh layer of snow until he saw, there against the tree line, a cabin. He increased his pace as the snow began to fall harder, driving him toward the promising shelter of his destination.
The door opened easily and he strolled in and threw back the hood of his cloak. Spread before him was a richly brown, one room cabin. A sofa facing the fireplace, a bed pushed back in the opposite corner, a counter with two mugs and a bottle of firewhisky. He removed his wet shoes and draped his cloak on a peg in the wall before walking toward the fireplace. As he got closer he noticed a stack of firewood beside the hearth and a warm, burgundy rug on the floor in front of the couch. He stooped to build a fire, without the use of magic, because it gave him something to do.
Remus wasn’t one to throw a pity party, there were plenty of people in the world worse off than he, but at this moment he felt a heavy sense of how truly alone he was. As the fire grew in the grate, he sat back on his heels and watched the flames engulf the wood.
I wish someone were here to share this with.
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Hermione sat in the Room of Requirement reading a book, for pleasure, on the magic of time travel. She enjoyed hiding away with a book since the war ended. She’d returned to Hogwarts to finish her education, but her celebrity as friend of The Boy Who Lived was often overwhelming and she often tired of trying to hide in the library to read when adoring fans were constantly seeking her out.
She propped her feet up on the chaise and scooted her socked feet closer to the roaring fire. She was trying to finish this chapter, but the cracking of the fire, the intense heat, the sheer power of it was consuming her mind and slowing her breathing. She began to relax deeper into the lounge and fight to hold her eyelids open. One more page…
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The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He was sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire, staring into its depths when he heard a thud behind him. He unsheathed his wand and assumed a defensive position. There was a book on the floor; it had an hourglass engraved into the leather front and he was sure it wasn’t there before. He would have noticed such a large book. Such an interesting cover he squinted— hello. He blinked; stunned. There was a girl, a cute sleeping girl on his moments ago empty sofa. Just sleeping away like she belonged there. Surely, she wasn’t there when he first walked in. He had looked right at the sofa and the deep brown suede that covered it.
Did I just wish her here? He knew the thought was ridiculous, but considering where he was it wasn’t completely out of the question. Can I wish for more things? His mind began racing through things he could wish for: a feast, a beard, a cure— wait where did she come from!? Then, he realized with grave embarrassment, she appeared unarmed and if she woke to a strange wizard pointing a wand at her, she may not feel very welcome. He lowered his wand and took a few hesitant steps forward. She was quite pretty. Wild, curly hair framed her face and stuck to one of her cheeks, her lips were soft and rolled down toward her adorably pointed chin. I’m gawking. He sighed, shook his head, and tried to decide what the formal etiquette was when a stranger suddenly appears on your sofa.
He put his hands in his pockets, took them out and ran his hands through his sandy hair, which immediately fell back to it’s proper place across his eyebrow. He cocked his head to the side and inspected her. She seemed to be about his age, she was wearing thick blue and white-flecked wool socks, dark jeans, and a red sweater. But where did she come from? He dropped back to the floor and put his head in his hands do I wake her? What’s standard protocol for accidentally wishing someone somewhere-- if that’s what I did? Merlin’s beard, I’m a kidnapper. He felt himself full on freaking out.
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Hermione slowly began to wake up. She opened her eyes to the fire roaring. Her heart jumped into her throat when she realized she was no longer alone, “Who are you? How did you get in here?”
Remus’ head snapped up and his distressed green gaze met Hermione’s angry brown one. She was angry because she didn’t like being disturbed by obsessive fans, she didn’t think the Room of Requirement would allow her to be disturbed, and she had never seen the boy in front of her in her life. Although, something about him did remind her of someone, but now was not the time to discover she had a surreptitious stalker, not when she was unarmed. She reached toward the coffee table for her wand only to find there was no table. No table and no wand. What in Merlin’s name… her anger flared to panic as she tried to reign in her emotions.
Remus let out a breath, “I think the question to be answered is how did you get here, miss.”
“What?! I fell asleep. I haven’t moved!” she was exasperated at this point. Her psycho stalker was already trying to convince her that she was the one who walked into—a cabin? The fireplace looked exactly the same as the one she’d fallen asleep in front of, but the rest of the room had transformed completely: a burgundy rug on the floor, a brown sofa instead of a green chaise, a bed in the corner, a counter, the walls here were wood instead of stone… She sat up quickly. She stared at the man before her. She couldn’t figure out who he reminded her of.
“What’s going on?” she was trying not to sound frightened. The man before her hadn’t said much and was studying her quite closely.
“I wish I knew, honest” he shrugged, “I was sitting here building that fire and I thought about how nice it would be to have someone to share it with, I didn’t even say it out loud, I know that sounds really pathetic, but my friends are busy and I’ve been having an… off week.” He blinked, surprised with himself. Good job, chap, now she’s going to think you were here throwing a pity party…
“Who are you?”
“Remus Lupin” it almost sounded like a question.
Hermione’s jaw dropped and she felt herself pale. She was hallucinating, dreaming. She was staring a dead man in the face. She stood up, quickly, and the blood rushed from her head; he reached out a steadying hand, not daring to move closer to her. He wasn’t sure of her reaction and assumed she’d heard the rumors about his condition… “Steady there.”
She stared at his hand where it rested on her arm. He was touching her? She shook her head and looked up into his beautifully young green eyes. Bloody hell. She reached out with both hands and embraced him as her knees turned to jam. Remus stood still, unsure if he should return the embrace or if she were merely holding him to keep from meeting the carpet face-to-face. He couldn’t help but sniff her frizzy hair; it smelled of vanilla and sandalwood. He sighed and wrapped his arms around her in a careful embrace. He didn’t want to trap her.
“Remus?” she whispered into his brown jumper, tears welling up in her eyes. She’d dreamt of the dead plenty of times since the war, but this felt so real. He felt warm and very much alive in front of her. She turned her face up to him ran her fingers over the tuft of hair that covered his brow, down his cheek, across his lips, and down to his neck where she traced his Adam’s apple before burying her hand in the scruff of his hair at the base of his neck.
He felt overwhelmed and dumbfounded by her intimate touch, but didn’t shy away. Instead, he pulled his hands flat across her back and lowered them to the small of her back, holding her close. Remus wasn’t sure how to ask a witch her name when holding her so closely. This encounter felt like a sentence with words and punctuation all out of sorts or a dance he didn’t know the steps to. “Uhm…” he began, but she pulled his face to hers and crushed his lips in a teary kiss.
When she released him, she took a step back and put her hands in her pockets, blushing, “Sorry, mistletoe” she shrugged. She mumbled something about dreaming, but Remus was too dumbfounded to pay attention; he inspected the ceiling and sure enough there was a sprig of mistletoe hanging from a red and white striped ribbon.
“Ah, yes, those are the official rules of mistletoe. You’d not want to neglect those lest you receive coal from Saint Nick…” he said in a mock formal tone. “I’m sorry, I seem to have missed your name?” he added with a grin.
She hesitated. Could she be sure this was a dream? What if she really had somehow time traveled? She hadn’t had a time turner when she fell asleep, “I’m Hermione.”
“Hermione,” he extended his hand and she placed hers in his, “pleasure to have you here with me” he smirked and planted a kiss on the back of her hand. Electricity shot up her arm and warmed her breasts. Ah, one of those dreams… she felt her core warming between her thighs.
Their hands remained grasped as they stared at one another. Remus felt an odd connection to Hermione; a tension of anticipation filled the air. He reached his free hand to move a sprig of Hermione’s bushy hair behind her shoulder, his hand grazed her cheek and she shivered. The sly grin that stole across his face made her heart skip. “Care for a drink?” he whispered “I saw some firewhisky on the counter when I came in.”
“Yes,” she tried to remove her hand from his, but he merely laced his fingers between hers and pulled her along to the counter. He used his wand to open the bottle and pour shots into the small coffee mugs.
“Cheers,” he picked up his mug with his left hand, his right hand still intimately laced in hers, “to happy meetings.”
“Cheers” she tossed the whiskey back and focused on the snow falling heavily through the window above the counter as the alcohol burned down deep into her belly. “It’s snowing.” They took another shot.
“I wonder how long it’ll keep snowing?”
He took a swig straight from the bottle,“I don’t care about the weather.”
“Pardon?”
“I’d like to kiss you.”
“Oh,” she flushed and smiled widely up at him, feeling the warmth of his voice settle a bit further south than the whiskey had.
“Let it snow, we have a fire,” he closed the gap between them and ran his free hand up her arm to her neck where he traced little invisible lines along her hairline, reading her goosebumps like Braille. His breath swept across her face and she closed her eyes, squeezed his hand, and braced for the impact of his lips upon hers. This kiss, compared to the one a moment ago, was wildfire. His tongue swept into her sweet mouth, she returned the passionate kiss by rolling up onto her tiptoes and pressing closer. His hands untangled themselves from her fingers and her hair and found the sides of her face. He sighed into her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling herself against the full front of his body. He felt himself throb behind the restriction of his trousers.
“Hermione” he sighed, “I feel like I know you, but I don’t. Forgive me? I’ve done this all out of order and gotten myself all out of sorts with the appropriate way to treat a woman and—“ she put her finger over his lips.
“I’m just happy to see you.”
That was all it took. He swept her up in his arms and kissed her. He put her down on the rug in front of the fireplace and began to finger the hem of her sweater. Hermione shivered under the question in his eyes, and gave him a brief nod of consent before she lifted the hem of his shirt over his head. His bare chest reacted instantly, sprouting goosebumps as anticipation washed over him. He pulled Hermione’s jumper off and inhaled sharply at the wonder that was her black bra hugging her small breasts neatly against her ribs. She smiled wide before pulling him down onto the rug with her and kissing, hungrily, every bit of his beautiful face.
He lifted himself up on his hands and held himself above her, marveling at the sight of her laying beneath him, wild brown hair fanned out in all directions, her chocolate eyes melting in the heat of their embrace, her soft pink lips inviting him back for more kisses, and the smooth skin of her neck, chest, and belly tempting him to continue his exploration of her body. He bent down to kiss her again before pulling away, locking his gaze with hers and raising an eyebrow, “Is this how you typically spend your Friday night? Appearing in cabins, drinking and undressing with strange men you’ve never met…”
She smirked, “Remus, you’re anything but strange. I’ll admit, this is a bit odd…” she trailed off, “but I’m not one to question things like this. I’m here for a reason. I’m here to be with you.” She reached down for the button of her jeans and he helped her out of her them, removed his own, and found his way back atop her. Only underwear and socks remained, and those only briefly, for then they shared moments of bliss before the fire that were reminiscent of a summer meteor shower: bright, hopeful, and filled with anticipation. When he finally found his way inside her she sighed with relief and found herself curled around him, holding him tightly as if she could change his fate by anchoring him to her body. She gave herself to him completely as he rocked sweetly inside her. He felt her grasping him, all of him; it urged him on with delight. Sweat and arousal mingled in the air intoxicating his senses and overwhelming him. He hoped she was close, because he was finding it hard to stay focused. She was everywhere: her hands on his shoulders, digging in; her lips on his neck, lips, ear, whispering; her legs clamped around his arse keeping him close. She muttered his name as she threw her head back into her curls, chest rising to meet his, her whole body grasping him in a spasm of pleasure. He shattered, crying her name into the night, collapsing atop her in a heap of oneness.
She kissed him sweetly on the cheek; his lips grazed her forehead. When she made no move to get up, he summoned a blanket from the bed to cover them as they dozed, tangled in one another, before the fire.
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Remus woke up feeling deeply satisfied and comforted, until he realized that he was alone. He sat up quickly and searched the room for his lover. There was no sign of her. He stared into the fire as a headache came over him. Was it a dream? He looked to the counter and saw the two mugs sitting side by side and a half empty bottle of Firewhiskey.. He had no explanation for what happened. No idea how she just appeared and disappeared without a trace… He stood to find his clothes; he needed to get back soon. He’d no idea how long he’d been asleep.
As Remus pulled his sweater from the floor, he uncovered a book. Her book. He picked it up and examined it closely. There was a bookmark that had fallen out onto the floor. It had, what appeared to be, a sort of hourglass encased in a disc on a chain. He’d never seen anything like it before, but it was quite pretty. He placed the bookmark in the book and set it on the sofa while he finished dressing. He donned his cloak and grabbed the book as he headed out the door. He trudged through the snow, the cabin disappearing behind him, until he came to a door. He opened it and stepped into the seventh floor corridor, facing from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He closed the door behind him and headed to Gryffindor Tower without turning back.
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She awoke on the green chaise in her stone walled Room of Requirement with the smell of Remus surrounding her and the taste of his kiss on her lips. The fire was smoldering and she rolled on to her side, curled into a ball, and allowed herself to cry. Ghosts, unlike adoring fans, were impossible to outrun. After she emptied herself of tears and sorrows she gathered her wand and vanished her mug. She reached for the book she'd been reading, but, it was nowhere to be found.
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The book rests on a shelf collecting dust in the cottage of the late Remus Lupin-- a reminder of the power of love and magic.