Chapter Text
Remus walked down the familiar cobbled lanes of Oxford, strolling leisurely past Merton Street while watching in awe as a group of young and bright students that were still excited by what life had yet to offer filled the stiff, old air with their laughs.
The cold, September night winds swished against his face, stinging him with a pleasant numbness that prickled his skin. Normally, he would’ve found the chipper noise of youth to be infectious, and perhaps inflicting a pang of nostalgia in his ever-aging soul.
But not today.
Truth be told, Remus was starting to feel significantly older simply by being in their bright presence alone, aimlessly orbiting around them as their brilliance shone, blinding him. The pain of growing old was a burden everyone in their mid 40’s were reluctantly forced to bear.
Still, that didn’t mean that he enjoyed reminiscing over the fact that his mischievous days had long since passed and turned into nothing more than a faint, distant memory that lingered in the back of his mind just beyond his reach.
Nevertheless ponder just how steep the world he knew, and the world they knew had become.
The gap between them was world’s apart and only seemed to grow wider by the minute. It was somewhat strange to consider that they actually co-existed at the same time when their lives couldn’t be more different.
The clock was ticking, cruelly so, and every day seemed to pass quicker than the last as the wheel of life slowly but surely slipped through his grasp, disintegrating into thin air and swirling around him like a dense fog that constantly hanged over his consciousness.
Christ, he was beginning to sound like an old geezer. Something he’d naively sworn in his youth to never become.
Now here he was, an almost fifty year old hermit, reflecting on the wonders of life with the small but noticeable wrinkles and circles under his eyes as proof of the wear and tear he’d sustained over the decades.
Heartache, grief, loss.
Feelings that every adult thought they’d somehow foolishly escape, yet life’s sharp clutches always managed to catch up, right on their heels while slowly reigning them back in, reminding them just how fickle life was.
A sudden laugh broke his reminiscing train of thought, snapping him away from his own mind that he often escaped to for solace.
It felt like minutes had passed since he crossed paths with the cheerful students, when in reality, it was mere seconds ago. It never ceased to amaze him how strange time was, the way it could warp and fool even the most brilliant of minds by disorienting the senses with its unpredictable flow.
Shaking his head, Remus picked up his pace when he felt a few scattered raindrops crash against his face as he walked towards his usual pub.
A few minutes later, when he’d finally reached his destination and stepped inside, he was met by a warm atmosphere and intoxicating scent of ale and roast that instantly warmed him up from within.
Waving a hand to call the barman over, he made himself comfortable on one of the empty stools by the counter as he waited for his pint while pulling out his faithful book that followed him wherever he went.
Remus quickly fell into his usual Saturday night routine that just about met the absolute bare minimum requirement of human interaction.
He drank his ale in silence and escaped to the immersing world of fiction, thus shutting out his surroundings and the world around him as if he were the only person left on this earth.
That was when he heard it, the sweetest voice in the entire world. “I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me, I cannot even explain it myself,” she quoted from the novel tucked in his hands, speaking Kafka’s words as if they were her own.
As cliche as it sounded, Remus’ heart raced at her voice and he slowly lowered the book in his hand so that he could lay eyes on the mysterious woman who was standing in a dingy pub, quoting one of the most brilliant authors of all time.
The moment his moss-green eyes flickered upwards, he expected to see someone his own age, if not slightly older. Not a beaming young woman who looked to be no older than the students he passed on his way there.
A pair of vividly warm brown eyes that looked like two pools of melted caramel stared back at him, thick, long curls cascading down her shoulders.
Taken slightly aback, he awkwardly cleared his throat while returning his attention to the book in front of him after taking a generous swig of his now room-temperatured Guinness that went down surprisingly smoothly.
Noticing the change in his demeanor, she shifted on the spot while nervously eyeing him. “The Metamorphosis,” she muttered under her breath, gesturing towards his book. “One of my personal favorites, in case my first impression didn’t make that abundantly clear already.”
Remus observed her for a moment, trying to gather as much information as possible through a single glance, but it was hard to get a read of her. Usually, he was quite perceptive when it came to people, but there was something puzzling about her that was strangely unique.
Intriguing.
Nodding politely, his gaze fell on her for a passing moment. “It’s a good book,” he gruffly answered from the back of his throat, not really knowing what else to say. “You have excellent taste.”
“Are you a Professor?” she then cautiously asked as she took a seat on a stool next to him despite there being plenty of unoccupied ones further away, much to his surprise.
A small chuckle escaped his lips at her inquiry. “No, nothing as glamorous as that,” he replied hoarsely as the words on the page dwindled and blurred in her presence. “I’m an English teacher at a secondary school nearby.”
“Do you enjoy it, teaching?” she was quick to add as she raised her hand in the air, trying to get the barman’s attention while her kind gaze watched him curiously.
“Initially,” he answered honestly. It had been a long and trying week so Remus didn’t have the strength to minimize his true feelings.
Clearing his throat, he continued. “It’s complicated. Some days, I’m warmly reminded that it’s the most marvelous profession there is. On other days, I just want to march straight out of there and pursue a new career before I lose whatever sanity I have left.”
She opened her mouth slightly, and when he noticed that his somewhat negative musings had gotten to her, the bright smile on her face faltering for a moment, he released a deep breath. “That’s—fuck, truth be told, I’ve had the shittiest week. I like it well enough, it’s just…”
“Complicated?” she offered with a small, bordering on teasing smile, to which he responded with a small nod. “The best things in life tend to be,” she then added, as if she were substantially older than her youthful appearance indicated.
The barman approached the pair, and Remus watched her for a moment before looking down at the book in his hand, determined to continue reading, that is, until she opened her mouth. “Could I get a Negroni, please?”
With that, he was unable to hold back the look of disgust on his face, something that didn’t go unnoticed by her. “A Negroni?” he questioned while rubbing his temples, placing his book up and down on the counter. “I want to revoke my previous statement about your so-called excellent taste.”
“What’s wrong with a Negroni?” she then asked while raising her voice ever so slightly, coming out much shriller than before.
“Well, nothing,” he answered with an impassive shrug of his shoulders, shooting her a teasing smile as a pang of nostalgic mischief glinted within his tired eyes. “If you’re a pretentious snob, of course.”
“It’s not that bad,” she replied with a roll of her eyes, brown locks cascading down her shoulders as she leaned forward on her elbows, trying to appear collected. “I enjoy the bitter taste.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he added sincerely. “You may like it now, but I’m willing to bet a thousand pounds that the first time you ordered it, you only did so to appear sophisticated, attempting to show off your exquisite taste and palette.”
The shocked look on her face immediately told Remus that he’d managed to press down on the right nerve. “Or am I wrong? Be honest now,” he added with a challenging smirk.
“That’s—I—yes, fine,” she stuttered before flailing her arms in the air while letting out a small chuckle, a warmth flushing across her rosy cheeks and down her neck. “How did you know?”
Remus took another swig of his Guinness before motioning for another, watching her over the glass’ foamy rim. “When you get to be my age you learn how to read people.”
“Oh,” she breathed as she tentatively reached out for the tangy drink in front of her. “So when I’m thirty I’ll turn into a bloody fortune-teller as well?”
“Not a fortune-teller per se, just blatantly more skilled at perceiving people,” Remus replied fondly, a small genuine smile tugging at his lips. “And thirty? I’m closer to fifty, I’m afraid. My roaring thirties have long since passed.”
“You don’t look it, almost fifty, that is,” she whispered under her breath, and he couldn’t tell if it was flattery or not. Not that it mattered, getting a compliment was a rare occurrence for him so he was thankful no matter if it was truly sincere or not.
“You’re too kind—” he answered as his eyes traced along the soft curve of her long neck and curly hair, getting more perplexed by the second as to why she was choosing to spend her time with someone like him instead of gallivanting around town with her peers.
“Hermione,” she eagerly cut him off, voice sounding smoother than a harp’s melody once more. “My name is Hermione.”
Shakespearean, Remus noted with interest. Quite a befitting name considering the young woman’s literary interest.
“Well, Hermione,” he began, her name rolled smoothly off his tongue, mixing sweetly with the bitterness of his ale, creating a mind-numbing explosion of taste that felt excitingly unfamiliar to him.
“Shouldn’t you be spending whatever remains of this lovely Saturday night with boys your own age?” Remus asked as his eyes tentatively roamed over the young woman’s face.
She smiled in return, and it was a vision of rare beauty indeed. “If you know any boys my age with impeccable taste in literature, then by all means, send them my way,” the woman, Hermione, chuckled brightly. “If not, well, then I guess you’re stuck with me.”
A warmly content silence wrapped itself around them like a fuzzy blanket and Remus couldn’t help but smile.
“Are you a student then?” he hesitantly asked, intrigue flaring in his chest as he inexplicably found himself wanting to know more about the mysteriously bright woman, Hermione.
She tensed the very moment Remus addressed the elephant in the room, their not-so-subtle age-gap that was looming over them like a dark cloud. “Yes, I–uhm, I’m a third-year literature major at Oxford currently working on my bachelor degree.”
“Ah, well, that explains your very memorable first impression,” he muttered. “Do you enjoy it?” he then asked, copying her exact tone from earlier when she’d asked him that very same question.
Smiling brightly, she nursed her drink tentatively while her warm brown eyes flickered towards his face. “I like it well enough,” she teasingly replied, throwing his choice of words right back at him.
A pang of nostalgia washed over him as they eyed one another with caution. As the seconds passed, a series of buried and repressed feelings that Remus hadn’t felt in over a decade resurfaced with a crashing force that completely numbed him.
Making him equally excited and terrified.
“So…” she began, doe eyes watching him closely with a mix of uncertainty and curiosity. “Do you have a name or shall I just call you Mr. Fortune Teller?”
Suddenly feeling anxiously unsure of what it was exactly that she wanted from him, he paused for a moment as he racked his brain for any piece of information that might help unravel the mystery quicker.
But much to his dismay, his mind was completely and utterly blank at the moment.
“Remus,” he finally answered after what felt like an eternity while twirling his almost empty pint around, watching the liquid and foam swish against the edges like waves crashing against the shore.
At that, she perked up and shot him the warmest smile he’d ever seen and he couldn’t help but smile as well. “I guess we have something in common then.”
Her words made him freeze and he proceeded to stare at the bright student in bewilderment, mind racing as he desperately contemplated all of their differences instead of their similarities.
Just as he suspected, he couldn’t even begin to fathom, or so much as grasp at any straws that might lead him to the conclusion as to what they could possibly have in common besides belonging to the same species. “What’s that?”
“Our parents both have a weird and somewhat twisted fixation with Greek and Roman mythology it seems,” she warmly replied with a smile as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
Ah, Hermione, Helen of Troy’s daughter, so not a Shakespearean name then. “Perhaps we ought to start a support-group for like-minded individuals who also happen to be an unfortunate byproduct of their parents’ unhealthy historical kinks,” he sarcastically mused.
A genuine laugh escaped her lips, and it was by far the most wonderful sound in the whole world. “Do you have a brother named Romulus as well, or did they at least spare you that particular humiliation?”
Shaking his head, Remus leaned slightly forward. “No, no brother,” he whispered in a raspy breath. “I’ve always wanted one though.”
Despite not having a biological brother, his bond with both Sirius and James was thicker than blood and surpassed any social norms or absurd conformities of what a family was supposed to look like.
So maybe it wasn’t right to say that he didn’t have a brother, because, in reality, he had two. Nothing could ever change that, even though they were no longer with him.
Clearing her throat, she nervously observed him as her gaze landed on his left hand with a far too obvious interest that didn’t go unnoticed by him. “No wife?” she whispered so low that he was barely able to distinguish it from the bar’s otherwise loud chatter.
There was something new brewing within her warm eyes, a hunger that was sorely lacking before when they’d kept the conversation purposefully light. Sensing the sudden shift in moods threw him off more than he thought it would.
“No wife,” he truthfully replied.
He’d been married once when was young, but it didn’t work out. It was just one of those relationships that was forced from the very beginning, and the stress of life chipped away at it harshly, crushing any affection they might’ve had for one another.
Hermione looked at him for a moment before nodding her head in response, gaze glistening as she focused solely on him. “Girlfriend?”
Shocked at her continued inquiry about his non-existing romantic life, Remus parted his lips slowly, but no words came out despite his vast vocabulary.
The pair remained silent as neither of them dared to cross over the threshold of whatever it was that was brewing between them. At first, he figured that she was conversing with him out of some social obligation, but as he was somewhat slow to realize, that wasn’t the case at all.
Even though it had been many years, decades, really, since that particular look had been directed his way, he still managed to recognize it in a heartbeat.
She wanted him.
Despite being at least 20 years older with tell-tale signs of both emotional and physical wear and tear, she wanted him. Which could only mean one thing, she was either mad or had a thing for sad, lonely old men.
Quite frankly, he didn’t know which of the two options he preferred.
Not that it mattered, his conscience wouldn’t allow him to give into the ever-growing curiosity currently swirling around his mind, tempting him with obscene images of her soft lips.
“No, no girlfriend either,” he huskily breathed out from the back of his throat as his eyes roamed over her soft features with intrigue, compelled by her beauty. “You?”
Much to his surprise, she shook her head in response. “Oh, come on, I find that hard to believe,” he found himself blurting out, earning a small smirk from her.
“Why is that?” she asked, almost appalled as she challenged him, caramel-brown eyes burning with a roaring flame that drew him in like a moth that was about to have its wings burned off by her radiance.
“You know why,” he answered roughly, feeling a slight itch in his throat that made it hard to speak properly as his gaze fell on her soft lips, feeling inexplicably drawn to them.
Remus would be lying if he were to say that he wasn’t tempted to lean forward and close the distance between them then and there.
Staring at him with a hesitant expression, she twisted her glass in between her fingers. “Maybe I want you to tell me,” came her quiet response that was whispered so low that he almost didn’t hear it.
But before he could open his mouth to reply, the Barman’s boomingly sharp voice echoed loudly throughout the entire pub and made his ears ring. “Oi, last call everyone! We’re closing in ten minutes!”
The loud voice was enough to break him out of whatever trance he’d been stuck in for the past hour, and just like that, the tension that had been steadily building up between them deflated like a balloon that was emptying itself of air.
“Well, it’s been lovely to chat,” he began to say as he finished off his glass while stretching his arms and putting on his tweed-jacket, almost forgetting entirely about the book that he’d placed on the counter in favor of her company. “But I’m absolutely knackered.”
“Oh, right, of course,” she said as her face flashed with a myriad of different emotions. “I, uhm, maybe I’ll see you around someday, knowing a fortune-teller could be quite handy after all.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Smiling politely in response, Remus’ fingers tapped against the book’s binding in a steady manner as he took one last look at her before awkwardly excusing himself and taking his leave.
Leaving the warm pub behind him, Remus stepped into the rainy-cold weather, fully convinced and certain that was the first and only time he’d ever see her. But fate seemed to have another thing entirely in store for them.
