Chapter 62: Daft
Friday night shifted seamlessly into Saturday morning, turning Remus from the luckiest boy in school to the single most despondent. There was no clock to indicate the time, no calendar to tell him the date. He needed neither, for he could feel the pull of the moon as it rose and fell across the sky; he knew by that terrible, primal tug that the moon was past its apex and had already started its descent. They were into the wee hours of Saturday. Not just any Saturday. The last Saturday he would ever spend with Hermione.
He rolled onto his side to see the girl next to him. Her face was partially obscured by a mass of curls, but he could just make out the shape of her mouth and jaw. While he had memorised every bit of her, he could not keep himself from admiring what was before him.
"You shoul'be 'sleep," the girl mumbled, drowsiness slurring her words. "S'almost the full moon."
"I'll sleep when I'm dead. Until then, I want to be with you."
"M'bout to fall asleep."
"Some tea?" he offered, eager to keep her awake for as long as he could.
"Don' have any."
"We're near enough to the kitchens," he said. "The house-elves could make you some."
If she were fully conscious, he would have been subjected to a severe talking-to about using the poor, overworked house-elves for his own gain and pleasure. Thankfully, the girl was so far gone she just nodded and began a languorous search for her clothes. It took the better part of an hour to make the short journey from their empty classroom to the kitchens. Normally, it would have been their cautiousness that made the trip so long, but on this particular morning they were simply moving too lazily to make good time.
Hermione was barely able to lift her feet. She leaned on him most of the way, her face pressed against his jumper, arm under his cloak and fingers in the back pocket of his trousers. He ached knowing that he would never feel such a touch again; more than mere physical intimacy, it spoke of the comfort she felt in his presence. It spoke of trust.
He shook his head and forced himself to think of something else before the word 'love' entered his mind. Knowing he loved her was painful enough, but he refused to lose a girl who loved him back.
"Tea?" he asked as they settled down on the bench in the kitchen.
Her reply was interrupted by a yawn but sounded enough like a 'yes' to send a house-elf scurrying off to boil some water. With their natural magic, a steaming mug of tea was before them within seconds. Even that was too slow. Hermione was already asleep.
"Damn," Remus cursed softly, brushing the curls from her face and hating himself for wanting to wake her.
"Really ought to give that girl a break, Moony," Sirius chided dully from the doorway. The boy crossed to the table and dropped onto the bench opposite with none of his usual gusto.
"She's not the only one who needs some rest," the prefect commented. "You look like hell."
"Thank you."
"I'm not joking," Remus insisted as he studied his friend. His hair was a mass of tangles. His eyes shot through with tiny red vessels. With the heavy shadows weighing those eyes down, Remus could guess than the boy hadn't slept for a week. Generally, that would mean very little when it came to Sirius, who often went days without sleep when someone caught his full attention or, more likely, when a mad prank had taken root in his brain. However, his manner was all wrong. The casual and effortless elegance he normally exuded were gone, making his appearance something worth worrying about.
"What the hell have you been doing?"
"Thinking mostly," Sirius replied. Those bloodshot eyes fell from Remus to the girl at his side. "You think she would tell me about the future if I asked? It's not as if she'd be breaking any rules. I'm dead there."
"You and me both," he muttered, but shook his head. "No, she's refused to tell me anything specific."
"Thought as much," the boy sighed, his hands running through his hair as well as the knots would allow.
"Why? What do you want to know?" Remus questioned. He knew the things he would want to ask her if he dared. He wondered about precisely when he would die, how long after teaching at Hogwarts. He wondered how well he and Hermione knew one another, knowing the answer would be painfully platonic. How old would he be when they met? Would he still be jealous watching her interact with the boys her age? So many questions, but he refused to voice any of them. She wouldn't tell him even if he pressed her, so it was best to keep to himself his petty jealousy of boys not yet born.
"Harry said I died," Sirius replied slowly, as he considered what it was he really wanted to know. "He gave me all the details down to the date."
"You want to know if you can stop it happening?"
The answer came quickly and with a consternation Remus hadn't expected. "No," the boy said, as if it was the stupidest thing Remus might have said. "I want to know how different I was then, what I was like."
"Foolhardy, same as now."
"Git."
"Maybe, but it's still true. From what little Hermione's been willing to share, you— he ran headlong into danger and died." Remus watched his friend's face as he considered his future death. Sirius had always been the one among them least likely to give a damn about consequences, which made his dwelling on so distant an event all the more troubling.
"That's what Harry said," Sirius nodded as a frown pulled across his already strained face. It was clearly not the answer he wanted.
"So what are you going to do about it, if you've no plans to stop yourself dying?"
"Don't you worry your pretty little head, Moony," the boy offered a pale shade of his usual smirk. "I won't do anything too daft."
Worried as he was for his friend, Remus couldn't help but snort. "I'll believe that the day you sprout a second head."
The boy across the table quaked with silent laughter.
"What?"
Sirius could only shake his head as he fought the merriment that only he understood. He was clearly off his nut. Lovesickness did not suit him.
"Do you think Dumbledore will wipe our memories once they've gone?" Remus asked.
"Merlin, I hope so. I don't think I can bare another day of this," the boy answered, his mad mirth ebbing with the reminder of the ache tearing at them both. "He'll have to," he said, but after a pause added, "Won't he?"
The uncertainty in his voice was painful to hear. Not just because it was so unnatural a sound coming from Sirius, but because it was a doubt Remus, too, had felt ever since learning the truth. Knowing even a hint of those future events would be dangerous enough, so he was certain the headmaster wouldn't allow them to retain any memories that might be deemed hazardous. Yet, there was a niggling worry, a sly little voice that spoke to him in the darkness, which made him ask why Dumbledore would have allowed any of this to happen to begin with. Why, if it was so dangerous, would he allow either Harry or Hermione to get involved with anyone in this time; why would he permit them the opportunity to divulge anything? Surely, prevention would have been the wiser course. That man was deceptively outlandish; his eccentricities belied a cunning mind. To so strange and wily a man, perhaps a little knowledge was not a dangerous thing.
Struck by the horrifying thought that Dumbledore might leave them to suffer, Remus suggested, "If he doesn't, maybe we ought to do it ourselves."
"Good plan."
"M'not asleep," Hermione muttered.
Remus wanted to smile, but hearing even that sleepy declaration made his heart clench painfully. "Tonight, after they've gone, we start studying memory charms."
"No arguments from me," Sirius replied, slapping his hands down on the table and hoisting himself to his feet. "Let's go. Prongs will murder me most foully if I'm not halfway decent during the match."
"From what I hear, he's planning to murder you slowly regardless of how well you play. You deflowered his son, Pads. Such things cannot go unpunished."
For a moment the old Sirius was there in the kitchen, radiating confidence and charm. "Worth it."
"Git."
Sirius offered no retort as he walked away, leaving Remus to carry the twin burdens of a sleeping Hermione and the worry for his friend. Weighed down as he was, the trip from the common room to his bed was simply too much; he dropped the girl onto the couch and fell asleep where he stood, too exhausted to care where he landed.
"Oi! Moony!"
"Fuck off," the boy said into the hearth rug.
A determined foot prodded his backside, irritating him enough to make him roll over. "You seen Padfoot?"
"What time's it?" Remus groaned.
"Nearly seven," James informed him. "The game starts in a few hours, and no one's seen Sirius."
"You check Harry's bed?"
He swore he could hear the boy's teeth grinding down to the gums. "Paid Wormtail ten Galleons to look for me."
"If he's not there, then I dunno."
"Useless as always, Moony," James muttered. "Don't miss the game. I'll not have you miss the glory of watching my son and me take home the trophy." He gave the boy's ribs a gentle kick before leaving.
Remus groaned and sat up, staring unseeing at the ashes in the grate as his exhausted brain thought over what James had said.
Saturday. Game day. Sirius missing. Where might the boy be hiding? He remembered their conversation and considered the possibility that the heartbroken boy might have tried to cast a memory charm on himself. Brilliant as he was, not even Sirius could manage something so precise and delicate on his first try, not as preoccupied as he was. There was a real possibility that he had lobotomised himself and was currently drooling on one of Madam Pince's precious books.
He had done something daft, Remus just knew it.
He cursed as he stood, blinking away the sleep still clinging tenaciously to his eyes. Of all the things he wanted to do on his last morning with Hermione, hunting down a moronic Beater and freezing his bollocks off in the Quidditch stands were each very far from his first choice.
His first choice was still asleep on the couch.
"Hermione," he said gently. The girl offered a groan and rolled over in her sleep. "Hermione."
"Too early."
"It's Saturday," he reminded her. "Game day."
"Seen it. Harry wins. Yay, Gryffindor," she muttered into the cushion.
"I don't doubt it, but James is fairly insistent."
The girl squinted over her shoulder at him, sleepy frown on her face. "You going?"
"Not without you." He thought that would give her incentive enough to get up, but she smiled and rolled back over.
"Then you're not going."
He sighed. "Hermione, you may not have to deal with James after today, but I do. He will never let me forget it if I miss his last game with Harry." He found her arms and pulled her upright. "We can go sleep in my bed for a while, but I can't miss the game."
"Fine," she grumbled. "But do we have to sleep in your bed?"
"I can't carry you up to yours," he reasoned.
"No, I mean can we do something else in your bed beside sleep?"
Remus froze where he stood, his body on fire with her suggestion; he didn't have enough blood left to be capable of forming words. Several seconds passed while he thought of the most unpleasant things he had ever experienced. Even then, it was too much to look at her. "Dammit, Hermione. Why are you leaving me?"
She offered a knowing giggle in reply.
Dammit, his life was unfair. Why had he been offered a girl like Hermione when he wouldn't be allowed to keep her?
"Come on," she said as her fingers entwined his. "They left while you stood there gaping. Room is all ours now. The game won't start for another three hours. Plenty of time to make sure you remember me for the rest of your life."
He muttered a curse under his breath, but made no effort to stop her taking him up to his room.