Shifted

Placate

It was more difficult to pinpoint when Draco came out of his haze this time around. There was no exact moment of clarity, no sign of recognition that he was back completely in control. Just a slow release from where he'd been pinned to her side. The lazy, almost easy going slide of his Occlumency shields back into place.

It was a relief. To have her space back to herself. To feel the animal in her receding. Four days after the full moon and she almost felt like herself again. Before the bite. It was the most comfortable she'd felt in her skin in months.

Draco receded into himself for the next week. Avoiding her, though he might not outright say so. Finishing his meals just as she walked into the kitchen, leaving the living room to head outside just as the bedroom door was clicking softly behind her.

Their conversations had reverted back to short and rude. Half the time, Malfoy didn't see fit to respond to what she was saying, and gods— she was lonely.

When had that happened? She'd spent months on her own before, with nothing but a tent and her motivation to end the war to keep her company. Suddenly a week with minimal conversation felt like enough to send her over the edge she'd been teetering on for years.

She brought it up to Malfoy, eventually. Figured she'd already laid all her cards on the table. Maybe a direct approach was best with him.

"I'm not here for your entertainment, Granger." He was shuffling papers on the desk with no real system. Hermione felt he was just trying to look busy. "And did you ever assume what a chore it was for me to have to listen to you all day? I'd rather stick needles in my eyes than respond to all the fucking nonsense that flies from your mouth."

"That's not even true. Why would you say something like that?"

He'd just stared at her with eyebrows drawn and eyes disbelieving. Walked away like she was so easily dismissed.

She wasn't, but for the time being she couldn't rationalize pushing it any further. So she looked for things to keep herself occupied and away from Malfoy.

It had taken her another week to map out her plan the exact way she wanted.

Malfoy wasn't her only form of entertainment, and while his lack of warmth towards her was irritating, it wasn't anything to concern herself with.

At night her dreams were filled with visions of the two of them in bed. Waking up tangled together as the sun touched the horizon. A slow, lazy wake up. No rush to get out of bed— nowhere to be and nothing to worry about. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd had the pleasure.

The dreams, more than anything, gave her the courage to do what needed to be done.

She wrote to Lupin once more. Emphatically this time. Appealing to the humanity in him.

Remus,

I'm trying. I'm asking this time, not to fight and change anything, but because the desperation to understand what's going on undermines my ability to follow my instincts.

There are books at Grimmauld, in my closet. Please, could you send them? If I can't understand, this will never work. I'll never be able to hand myself over to my wolf like you wish. Not without a proper explanation.

Hermione

She took the black journal into her bedroom and wrote down every possible question or theory she could think of. Sometimes she'd jump out of sleep because something had popped into her head and it needed to be jotted down immediately.

Two days later, three different owls tapped at the living room window with large parcels, but no note.

It didn't matter. Hermione didn't need further explanation.