Life Goes On

Title: Life Goes On
Rating: Will be R or NC-17—right now it barely warrants a PG
Spoilers: All five books
Warnings: Nothing yet. Brutality, violence, rape, and other unpleasant things in future chapters.

Disclaimer: Characters and setting belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.

Author’s Note: I just thought I’d give readers a little background on what’s going on in this story, so twenty people won’t review me asking something along the lines of, “why are they all so depressed?”

This story takes place during Hermione’s seventh year. The war against Voldemort is still going on, and it’s expected that he and Harry will have their final showdown sometime at the end of the year. In the meantime, the wizarding world is becoming increasingly dangerous. Death Eaters are much bolder than they have ever been before, and a general cloud of fear hangs over most wizarding communities. Though it has yet to be officially recognized, it is getting harder and harder for even the bumbling Ministry of Magic to deny that a war is underfoot.

A heavy burden has been placed on Harry, and by continuation on his best friends. Hermione and Ron know that they are actively sought by Voldemort and his followers. They are also suffering under a general lack of direction: though they have been placed at the very crux of the unfolding conflict, they are as of yet unsure what role they will play. Dumbledore and the rest of the Order are trying their hardest to see that they and Harry have a normal year at Hogwarts and are able to engage in standard teenage activities, but it may be too late. What they have already seen and done has forced them to grow up very quickly, and now they stand poised on the brink of adulthood, but prevented from crossing over by a horde of well-meaning professors and parents. Understandably it is a very trying time for everybody.

**********

It was the day before the official beginning of the Hogwarts school year, and Remus was just settling into his beautiful new office. He’d put up such resistance to Albus’ repeated insistence that he return to teach this year—citing his werewolf status, his solitary habits, and his work for the Order to no avail—that the old wizard had finally resorted to bribing him with an offer of new, more luxurious quarters and a private office he could retreat to when not in class. It was very hard to resist, especially since the total space he could call his own was now much larger than it had been living in the small, rundown cottage he’d moved to after he left Hogwarts the first time.

Remus was not a man who particularly cared about his physical surroundings, but even he had to admit it was nice to have plenty of room to move around. The suite he now occupied consisted of a bedroom, a bathroom, a small living room with a dining table for taking his meals in private if he so wished, a little kitchenette, and a large, bookshelf-lined study. This last was fast growing on him, though he had only arrived the day before. It was so comfortable, so perfectly suited to his tastes, that he had felt an instant rightness when walking in the door.

All the furniture was wood, a dark, burnished, gleaming shade that looked so nice by candlelight. It was very simply carved, but there was a subtle beauty to the curves and lines of the wood. The walls—where not covered by shelves and shelves of books that contained his entire collection and still left room to spare—were papered in a rich shade of burgundy like good wine. There was a roaring fire he had just lit himself in the fireplace. Candles provided the room’s only other lighting, but they were abundant. An elegant, wooden candelabra dangled from the ceiling over the desk, and candle stands were placed at intervals around the study to provide a dim but adequate glow. It was one of the few advantages of his werewolf condition that his night vision was much sharper than a normal human’s. He did not need the bright light others required to write or even read by.

He was standing by the desk, reviewing his schedule for the upcoming year when a timid knock sounded on the door. He frowned. He had already greeted all of the other faculty—most of whom he already knew from his tenure at the school four years ago—so none of them would have any reason to be visiting at this time in the evening, and he doubted Albus would need to talk to him again before the school year started unless something unexpected came up. Was there some kind of emergency? He doubted it.

The knock sounded again, a little more persistent this time, and Remus crossed the room and opened the door. Standing on the threshold was Hermione Granger.

He did a double take upon seeing her, as she and Ron and Harry had been very much on his mind as of late. He had been thinking on what could be done to relieve the burdens these three people—all so very young—were bearing on their shoulders. It didn’t seem fair that they should lose all that was left of their childhoods to an evil madman bent on destruction and conquest. Though it was easy to forget at times, one did have to remember that that was all they really were—children.

The young woman standing on his doorstep, however, did not look as if she had been a child for a very long time. There was an aura of weariness and cynicism about her that was not usually associated with the very young. At seventeen, she had already faced more of the evils of the world than man people had by seventy, and it showed in the hardness in her eyes.

“Professor Lupin,” she greeted him warmly, like an old friend, and for some reason the formal title sounded odd coming from her lips. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

“Hermione,” he responded in kind, glad to see her, but at the same time puzzled by her appearance on his doorstep. “It’s great to see you, too. What has it been, two years since we last met?” She nodded acquiescence. “But what are you doing here? I thought the students weren’t coming until tomorrow.”

“They aren’t, for the most part. Only the Head Girl and Head Boy are expected to be here a little before hand, to learn our duties and help the staff set up for the coming school year. Terry and I got here yesterday morning, and have been busy putting together patrol schedules and planning events so that things will be able to run smoothly once everybody else arrives. I had a free moment, so I thought I’d run by and say hello to you, and welcome you back to Hogwarts. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Oh no, of course not. Come in and sit down,” he instructed, ushering her into a comfortable armchair near the fire and sitting across from her. “I’d love to have a talk with you. How are things going? Are Harry and Ron all right?”

“Yes, they’re fine,” she assured him with a smile that appeared somewhat tinged with sadness. “Things are....well....I won’t lie to you. They’re not great.” She paused.

“What’s wrong?” he asked concernedly.

“Oh, nothing in particular. It’s just—the war is taking its toll on everyone, I think. Harry is more short-tempered than ever, Ron stubbornly refuses to grow up, and I, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing anymore.” She trailed off again, seemingly lost in thought, and Remus took the opportunity to study her for the first time since she’d come to see him. The two years that had passed since he last saw her had wrought great changes. Whereas before she had been a precocious and bright girl, always intelligent and always mature for her years, now there was no hint of the carefree child she must have once been. With her hair pulled back in a braid and dressed in simple, flowing robes, she looked both saddened and young, but not overly so. Had he not known her, he might have thought her simply one more unhappy woman in a world full of unhappy people, not one of the amazing teenagers on whom rested the weight of the world.

When Hermione didn’t finish her thought, he got up and walked around in back of her chair. “If we’re going to pursue this line of conversation,” he called back, “I think I’m going to need a drink. Would you like something?”

He could hear her laugh a little, ruefully, as he headed towards the door on the opposite side of the room. “What are you having?” she asked.

“Firewhiskey, I think, but I have iced tea and lemonade, if you want...”

“Firewhiskey would be wonderful,” she returned, and he refrained from commenting. He wasn’t sure he was allowed to be serving students alcohol, but she was seventeen, and there wasn’t a rule he could think of specifically against it. Nor did he want to be rude and refuse her one.

As he poured the drinks, Remus realized how worried he was—about her, about Harry and Ron, and about the fate of the wizarding world in general. That she had come here, apparently to confide in him about her problems, was even more troubling. Though they had developed a familiarity with each other when he was at Hogwarts, and then again through the Order of the Phoenix in her fifth year, it was hard to imagine that there weren’t other people, closer friends and people nearer her own age, with whom to discuss her worries. Why then was she here?

He returned with the drinks to find her gazing into the fire with a distant expression. What he was able to see of her face was a perfect profile view, illuminated dimly by the flickering light of the flames. She was lovely; there was no other word for it. Her bone structure was fine and evident through her skin, the cheek bones high and prominent, the chin firm. The fire brought out the red and gold shot throughout her auburn hair and the warm tones of her skin. It occurred to Remus that she had found a beauty in her sadness that was quite beyond anything she had ever appeared when younger and happier. Then, she had seemed a rather plain child, far more remarkable for her wit and brilliance than for any particular physical attribute. Now it was impossible not to be moved by the sorrow that lay behind her features. Remus wondered what it was in particular that had been horrible enough to bring that haunted look to her face.

He coughed surreptitiously to alert her to his presence. She looked up, startled for a moment, then smiled. “Thank you. I’m sorry I’m being so weepy. I guess I’m just in one of those moods—I mean, I know the world isn’t all dust and ashes. I’m not even that unhappy all the time. I guess it’s just that sometimes late at night I start to get a little fatalistic.”

He took his own drink back to his chair and sank down heavily, sighing as he took his first sip of the cold, fiery liquid. “I’m sure we all feel like that at times, Hermione. There’s certainly nothing wrong with wanting to talk about it. But is there something in particular that is bothering you? You seem very....burdened.”

“Yes, I suppose I do. I’m not sure whether you’re aware of this or not, but over the summer, I was....attacked. By Anderson Nott.”

No, Remus certainly was not aware. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what exactly “attacked” meant. Was she raped? Surely not. She wouldn’t be sitting here in his office, coolly talking to him about it if that were the case. “Yes?” he asked, trying not to get overly worried until she filled him in on the details.

“Yes. Well, I was in Hogsmeade by myself, which in reflection probably wasn’t the smartest move on my part, but Flourish and Blotts had just owled to tell me had received the shipment of books I’d ordered, and I was very excited.” Here she paused a minute, noticing Remus’ small smile. “Yes, I know. Typical Hermione behavior. Anyway, I was walking down the street in broad daylight—there weren’t many other people around, but I thought I was safe. Then all of a sudden there’s a man dressed all in black in front of me, wearing a mask, and he pulled me off the road and into a little alley between two shops. I had my wand with me, but I was too shocked to do anything...before I had time to react, he’d cast expelliarmus and silencio and I was pretty much helpless. Couldn’t even scream for help. He...knew who I was.” Her voice broke. “Apparently Voldemort is offering a reward to whatever Death Eater captures me or Ron.

“At any rate, he addressed me by name, made it clear that he was going to...to....rape me, then take me back to Voldemort to be tortured. I was lucky that Hogsmeade is watched: an Auror saw what had happened and came to investigate. Nott apparated away before they could catch him, but left me behind.”

“Oh, Hermione,” Remus said, horrified. “I’m so sorry you had to have that happen to you. It’s not fair.”
“I know it’s not fair,” she exclaimed. “Seventeen bloody years old and right in the middle of this goddamn war for no other reason than that I’m friends with the wrong person at the wrong time!” For a minute she looked like she was about to cry—or scream—but then regained control of herself.

“But that’s not even what bothers me so much,” she continued with emotion thick in her voice. “The really horrible part is that I couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t stop him; couldn’t protect myself. If that Auror hadn’t come along when they did, I’d most likely be dead by now. My God, I’d be dead. I can’t imagine it.”

Remus wasn’t sure quite what to say. Anything he could think of sounded either inane or patronizing. Everything wouldn’t be alright in the future; he couldn’t even promise that she’d be safe. The only comfort he could offer would be false, and she’d see right through that. Luckily, she saved him the necessity of having to respond.

“I’m so sorry to be taking this out on you, Remus,” she said, more calmly, and it took him a few minutes to realize she’d addressed him by his first name. “It’s just that you feel more like a friend than one of my professors. That’s why I wanted to ask a pretty big favor of you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t ever want to feel as helpless as I felt against Nott again. I want to know that I can defend myself, that I can give as good as I get. Besides, what use am I going to be to Harry in the upcoming conflict if all I can do is run screaming whenever Death Eaters appear? That’s why I’m coming to ask you to tutor me in more advanced aggressive and defensive magic. Things I’m not going to be learning in the classroom.”

Remus’ first instinct was to say that he was sorry, but it wasn’t within his authority to do that, that she should wait until she graduated and then enter Auror training. But then he thought about it a little more. The way things were going, it looked like the war was going to be over—one way or another—by the end of a year. Hermione Granger would either be dead or a conquering hero, and either way she’d probably never have a chance to train as an Auror. Her request was certainly reasonable, though he was sure it went against at least a dozen Ministry and Hogwarts rules. Still....

“Yes,” he said, surprising even himself, “I think that would be a good idea.”