Dark Side of the Moon

Chapter Twelve: Before something breaks that cannot be fixed

As they pulled away from each other to breathe, Lupin gazed down into the lovely face of the girl who had kissed him, her eyes still gently closed with sleepy adoration. He studied her freckles, lightly splashed across her skin like cinnamon-colored confetti. Her lips were curved upward in a smile, peach-soft flesh made rosy by desire. Her lush, dark eyelashes skimmed her flushed cheeks, holding onto the moment by keeping themselves shut against the intrusion of light. Hermione's whole face was a celebration; perfect and surprising. He had never seen anything so beautiful.

It made what he had to do next all the worse.

"Oh, Hermione..." Lupin whispered, speechless.

She opened her large brown eyes. "Remus." It was a statement, but what did it mean? He could tell she was searching in his eyes for the answer.

"We can't."

His two words went off like an Unforgivable Curse between them, red and terrible. He hated himself for saying it. He hated himself for getting into a position where he needed to say it. Most of all, he hated himself for the cracked look Hermione's eyes got as they registered this devastating collection of only six letters.

We can't.

Her eyes had broken into shards of hurt, clouded and muddy as a Butterbeer bottle smashed carelessly against a brick wall. She stared at him a moment, almost as if she were mentally collecting every tiny fragment of his betrayal into her endless beaded handbag, to file away and never think about again. And then she stumbled backward, removing her hands from the side of his face and the back of his biceps. He almost lunged forward at her retreat, his body unconsciously desperate to return itself to the mercy of her warm and tender touch. But he held back. He always managed to - eventually.

He had just fucked up this time, was all. Taken by surprise.

"We can't," he repeated for emphasis, and the two words seared like acid against his tongue. "I'm your professor. I'm...in a position of power over you. We can't. It's not right."

"A...position of power?" She sputtered. "I could take you in a duel."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

"You have no power over me. I'm here at Hogwarts because I chose to be. I will excel in Defense Against the Dark Arts with or without preferential treatment. I survived a year on the run and the Battle of Hogwarts. I can make my own decisions." Her eyes gleamed with determination.

"That's not...Hermione, I am your professor," Lupin repeated. "I am 20 years older than you."

"19."

He grimaced. "Please. It's not right."

"Do you not want this?" The prideful shine had left her eyes, replaced by pained uncertainty. He cringed at the sad and shamed look coloring her face, and reprimanded himself once more for making her ever feel anything negative about herself. She deserved only to know how much she truly meant to him. But there was no way she could. He knew what had to be done.

"No, Hermione. I don't want this. I'm sorry." He paused, internally begging himself not to twist the knife deeper into her heart. You have to, a quiet answer came. It's the only way to keep her safe from you. Lupin's eyes drifted to a deep gash in the wall, and he remembered back to making it in 6th year during a particularly horrific transformation. Dried brownish blood smudged the edges of the deep tear. He had ripped his nails down to the quick that night.

You're a monster, Remus Lupin. And she deserves more than a monster.

"And I'm sorry if you feel you've embarrassed yourself, but really, it's no problem." That did it. Her face finally fractured into a million pieces of shame, as unmendable as the glass would've been if he'd thrown a chair at the damned mirror behind her.