A/N: My profuse apologies for the delay on this. Just a quick reminder, this story will have only one more chapter after this. Thank you to everyone who has followed, faved and kindly reviewed this story. And lastly, thank you for shipping a couple I simply adore and for giving me a reason to write about them. You all are the best :)

The rest of the reception was a blur. As guests offered the newlyweds kisses and warm congratulations, Hermione tried her level-best to remember to smile and be gracious to all of her new family members, but with each hand she shook and new name she learned, she found herself feeling more and more detached from the happiness around her. She honestly couldn't take any of it in.

With each moment that passed, she felt her heart grow heavy and numb, cold even, to the whole joyous affair. Not that Ron noticed her sudden withdrawal one single bit. Laughing and chatting away with every, single guest, he adored being the center of attention far too much to notice his new bride's waning mood. The hours ticked by both painfully slow and exceptionally quick and before Hermione knew it, guests began to slowly bid them good night and take their leave as the tent slowly, mercifully emptied.

As Hermione thanked Arthur and Molly once more for all the time and effort they poured into the reception, Hermione prepared to depart for her honeymoon. She felt confident that once she could take off this ridiculous dress and have some quality alone time Ron, some sweet peace and quiet with her husband after this dreadfully long day, she could feel herself once more and put to rest the worrisome feelings currently clouding her mind.

Her hopeful thoughts were immediately dashed, though, as she found Ron passed out at the head table, his head resting on a balled-up linen napkin, a small trail of drool puddling beneath his slack-jawed mouth.

"Ron?", she called out softly, while gently prodding his shoulder. But the newlywed simply slept on.

"Ronald!?", she called more sharply, but to no avail.

"Ah, looks like Widdle Ronnikens had a bit too much tonight, eh?", offered a smiling George who joined his new sister-in-law and eyed his baby brother with a good bit of amusement tinged with disgust.

"It would appear that way," Hermione sadly agreed. "How in the hell am I supposed to get him to our honeymoon suite now?", she asked looking both highly aggitated and thoroughly exhausted.

"Oh, not to worry, 'Mione. This isn't the first time this young gentlemen has been intoxicated. I've got you covered," George offered with a wink.

"Oy, Bill! Give us a hand, would ya?" George bellowed from across the tent to his older brother.

Together, George and Bill were able to hold Ron upright to transport him to the honeymoon suite in Barcelona via a port key. Hermione bid a quick good night to Mr. & Mrs. Weasley and Ginny and apparated moments after, just managing to wedge their several pieces of luggage under her arms without falling flat on her face.

Arriving in the honeymoon suite a few moments later, she saw George and Bill unceremoniously dump their baby brother onto the king-sized bed overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.

"Well, looks like our job here is done," said George with a smirk.

"Congratulations, Hermione! You sure did catch yourself a live one. You two don't go having too much fun tonight," George offered with an exaggerated wink.

"Welcome to the family, Hermione. Ron sure is lucky to have you," said Bill with a warm, sincere smile.

Lucky to have you. She suddenly felt anything but.

Taking in the sight of her tight smile and sagging shoulders, George and Bill knew it was time to depart. They each gave their new sister-in-law a sweet peck on the cheek and off they apparated back to the Burrow, to leave the new couple in peace.

With Ron sprawled out across their wedding bed, face down, fast asleep still in his now-crumpled formal robes, Hermione dropped the luggage on the sofa. She sat down heavily upon a settee, still in her beaded gown and watched her new husband snore loudly.

With each breath he drew, his body grew more and more languid and relaxed, safe in the deep recesses of drunken slumber. As her eyes swept over his lax form, she felt anything but peaceful. Hermione's body and mind seemed to ignite with upspoken anxiety and fear. She was finally alone and rather than calming down, her mind sprung into a furious action, turning over her earlier conversation with Remus, over and over again, the words buzzing through her mind like a beehive suddenly cracked wide open.

What if you could have more?

What if you could have a real love?

A real love.

Her throat closed as tight as a sealed jar and she suddenly found it hard to breathe, the stuffy air of her luxurious suite felt hot and stifling, the creme-colored walls quickly closing in on her. Doubt and worry weighed upon her like a boulder, stealing away her breath, her confidence, her voice. That claustrophobic feeling, that she was irrevocably trapped without hope of escape, made her skin crawl and her mind seize with fear, she simply had to banish these thoughts.

Rising from the settee on heavy, shaky legs, she quickly yet quietly rushed out of the French doors and onto their spacious balcony overlooking the sea. Grabbing ahold of the railing, and hunched over, her stomach turned viciously with her meager dinner and her eyes watered from lack of sweet air.

Her eyes closed and head bowed, she focused on listening to the tide roll in. The fresh, salty hair brushing across her flushed cheeks and the steady crash of the powerful, distant waves grounded her to the here and now and she found her breath slowly returning. She sank down in a heap on a small chair on her balcony as she fought desperately to find her composure and steady her heart.

I'm married.

I'm married.

I'm married now.

I'm married to Ron, she chanted silently over and over again, rocking back and forth on a wrought iron chair. Her shaky hands wrapped tight around her bare arms trying to hold herself together as her skin felt clammy and goose-pimpled.

This is just nerves or...or jitters...this is going to pass. Yes, yes, deep breaths, she thought hopefully, trying to fight off the hysterical feeling that threatened to consume her like a wildfire from within.

But even in her panic-fueled state, her rational mind wouldn't accept the easy platitudes.

Don't jitters usually come before the wedding and not after?, her inner cynic helpfully piped up.

No, she said firmly, hopefully, this is Ron, my Ron. This was meant to be.

Ron and Hermione, everyone says we make such a lovely couple.

Ronald Weasley, my husband. My friend...my good, good friend.

The friend who...who turned his back on me third year and then again in fourth, tossing cruel and thoughtless insults at me like empty candy wrappers without nary a worry as to how I might feel.

The good friend who shoved my nose in his sexual escapades with Lavendar in our sixth year, snogging that trollop around the castle whenever and wherever they could find a free moment.

The friend who abandoned Harry and I in the forest when we desperately needed him.

The friend who seems to belittle my work, my thoughts, my passions, even my body, every single, damn chance he gets.

Ronald Bilius Weasley, she thought now with not a small amount of bitterness. The brave war hero, a defender of the light, a tireless civil servant, the man who could do no wrong.

But he had wronged her, in such subtle and small ways that it was hard for most anyone to really see it, including herself.

And yet Remus had seen. He saw her confidence wane and her spirits sag the longer she had been with Ron. Like a master sculptor chipping away at polished marble, Ron had taken his time and slowly broken her down, each insult and snide remark, leaving a mark on her spirit like a sharp chisel boring into soft, pliable stone.

The most eligible wizard in all of Great Britain and I'm the one that snagged him, didn't I? Lucky me, she thought angrily.

She felt bile rise in her throat at her caustic thoughts. She wanted to let go of all this bitterness and anger, send it out to sea with the tide and focus on all the good things that had brought them together. But these grievances, while they may have seemed bearable only a few hours ago, now seemed insufferable and they simply wouldn't budge. Remus' words had struck such a cord deep within her, resonating like clear sound waves across the silent, night air. Their talk had the unintended and devastating effect of trudging up every single doubt and insecurity she had been secretly burying for months and she could no longer bare to ignore them.

As hot tears spilled down her cheeks, she looked down at the new, thin gold band on her left hand as it glistened in the soft moonlight.

Her fingers were shaky as she gently touched the ring, carefully caressing the precious metal. For this was no ordinary muggle wedding band. This gold band had been forged by hand by the most-skilled goblin craftsman and had come from one of the last remaining gold mines in Morocco. It had been Arthur's great-great-great-grandmother's wedding band and it had been worn by four Weasley women, all of whom had long, seemingly happy marriages. In its ridges and curves, it held secrets and whispers of untold magic and love. Arthur had told her before the wedding that he had saved it especially for Ron to marry with. For this ring was foretold by their family to strengthen the aura of any witch who was lucky enough to receive it from a Weasley male and Arthur and Molly had wanted Hermione to have it.

Her mind drifted to her wedding ceremony, clearly recalling the vows she had spoken, echoing through her mind.

"Do you, Hermione Jean Granger, pledge your honor and loyalty to the wizard before you who has claimed your heart?", asked the tall, gangly wedding officiant from the ministry.

For reasons she couldn't quite understand, her eyes had suddenly flickered away from Ron's and off to the right, just for a moment and caught sight of Remus, watching her from his seat next to Neville and Luna. His usual happy posture had been replaced with a quiet, serious look about him. His steely gray eyes held hers and she found she couldn't look away.

A slight squeeze of her hands brought her drifting gaze back to Ron. He raised his brow expectantly at his fiancé, as the assembled crowd waited with bated breath for her response.

Her mind snapping to attention, she smiled and said a rushed, "I do," nodding enthusiastically as much as to reassure herself as Ron.

As the magical bonds were invoked and placed across the golden ribbon that intertwined their clasped hands, Hermione felt an acute absence of magical energy. The magical bonds of wedlock were purported to be among the most potent of all bonds, effectively binding a witch and wizard to a lifebond of trust and fidelity. And yet, that moment had felt empty, not just lacking or weak in magical energy, but truly, profoundly hollow. She had chalked it up to nerves and excitement but now she wasn't so sure.

Sitting alone with these somber thoughts, her head spinning, her body shaking, she realized suddenly that she hadn't fully committed to these vows, for she hadn't really been thinking of Ron at all but rather of Remus. Her heart and soul had been pledged to another. Ron had never had her heart, not even for a minute.

As she traced the smooth gold, she felt absolutely nothing. Love, tenderness, passion, devotion, it was all absent from the ring. The ring that should have produced an immediate and powerful connection to her spouse was completely devoid of any type of magical bond. It was heavy and cold and inert, much like her foolish heart.

She swallowed hard at the sudden wave of nausea that swept over her as a cold sweat broke out across her skin. She rested her weary, spinning head in her hands as the terrifying realization hit her full-force.

Remus had been right.

She had settled.

She had taken the safe route and stuck with Ron because deep down, she had been afraid. Not afraid of being on her own but of living the rest of her life without love. She had thought that even the tepid love she shared with Ron was better than nothing at all.

But...did she really not love Ron at all? Did she in fact promise her heart to another? She was too distraught and confused to produce a suitable answer.

Uncertainty and fear and guilt gripped her heart tight, making clear, concise thought hard to manage.

Remus had come so close to saying it, saying the words that could've changed everything. But he didn't. Had Ron not arrived there when he had, would Remus have said it? Did he really feel anything stronger than friendly affection and concern for her?

Staring out into the starry night sky, she knew she couldn't rest or even function properly until she had a firm answer.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she stood and quietly went back into the suite. Without pausing to analyze what she was about to do, she grabbed her wand. Holding the smooth, vine wood in her hand gave her a small sense of courage and steadiness. Gripping it tight and casting one last glance at Ron, who was once-more slack-jawed and drooling onto the silk comforter, she focused her mind and silently apparated.

Landing a moment later along the rich, verdant Scottish countryside, a soft rain was falling. A small, stone cottage, surrounded by a garden sat alone on the hilltop. Ivy and jasmine grew intertwined along the stone edifice, an old bicycle rested against the front door and smoke wafted gently from the crooked chimney.

Hitching up the train of her dress and slipping off her heels once more, she began the arduous climb to the top of the hill, her wand in one hand and her shoes in the other.

As the rain began to pick up force and drench her hair and gown, her feet slipped over and over again in the wet, thick grass but she pressed on, determination clear on her face.

As she reached the front of the small cottage, she saw the flickering hearth through the window and approached the door.

Her heart pounded in her ears, she raised her hand to knock but just before it reached the wood, she felt doubt clutch her heart.

She was married less than six hours ago and now she was standing on another man's doorstep.

This was foolish.

Hell, given her current muddled thoughts, this was downright dangerous.

She suddenly panicked as she realized that she might be making an even bigger mistake by showing up here.

She lowered her hand, feeling defeated and shaken. She turned away from the door, her head bowed in shame. As she let the rain wash over her, she prepared to apparate and reluctantly return to her slumbering husband. But as she closed her eyes to cast the spell, she heard the door open behind her and turned at the light and warmth that poured from it.

"Hermione? What on earth are you doing here?", Remus asked, looking as equally stunned and confused as the unexpected, drenched visitor standing on his doorstep.

"I...I'm not sure," she stammered in response.

Remus seemed frozen for but a moment before he was able to take in the sudden turn of events.

"Gods, you're soaked through! Come in, for Merlin's sake!", he finally managed as he helped the drenched, young lady into his home.

As she entered the small, cozy cottage, Remus shut the door and blocked out the stormy night sky. The pair stood in awkward silence for a moment, as Remus stood beside her, an anguished, mournful look clear on his face.

Remembering his manners, he softly said, "Please have a seat please, I'll fetch you a towel."

Off he bustled down the small front hallway and darted into a side room, his quick steps across the creaky wooden floorboards perfectly echoing her wildly beating heart.

She stood beside the door, dripping a sizable puddle onto his doormat, feeling painfully out of place in his warm, lovely home. His worn leather couch, the crackling fireplace, flanked with near-to-bursting bookshelves, a mug of tea and a small bar of chocolate beside his wingback chair, a red, hand-knitted throw across it, an open book upon the coffee table; it all felt welcoming and warm, just like Remus himself.

She held tight to her wand and wet shoes in a vain attempt to keep her hands from jerking the door open and fleeing into the dark night.

He returned a moment later to find her still standing just inside his doorway, shaking slightly and clearly upset. He handed her a soft, warm, gray towel, stepping back several feet from her before their hands could touch. She carefully dropped the items in her hands into the floor and held the towel in her hands but made no move to dry herself off. Instead, she held it in her hands, her thumbs stroking circles on the soft fabric, her eyes downcast.

"I'm sorry to barge in like this," she admitted, chancing a glance at the man standing before her.

"It's no trouble, you know I...I love your company," he said with a regretful smile.

Sensing that she wasn't planning on using the towel anytime soon, he picked up his wand from his coffee table and cast a thorough drying charm on her. The magic that tingled her skin was gentle and careful, crafted by Remus to envelope her with great care. It flushed her skin with a beautiful warmth that soothed her frazzled nerves, if only slightly.

She offered a small smile at this and breathed out a soft, "Thank you."

Remus nodded, returning the slight smile.

The silence hung a moment, neither knowing just how or where to begin. As always, Remus settled for the safe, middle ground of polite courtesy.

"Would you care for some tea?", he asked, as he turned from her to head into his small kitchen to put the kettle on.

"No, thank you, Remus. I didn't come here tonight for tea," she said boldly.

"No...no I can't imagine you did," he said, stopping his progress and turning to reluctantly face her once more.

"I think we have more to discuss," she said softly, matter-of-factly, her eyes never straying from his.

"No, Hermione. You were right earlier, I think we've talked enough tonight," as he headed once more into the relative safety of his kitchen. Hermione heard the sink turn on and the dishes being washed.

She closed her eyes and summoned her courage, the vital attribute that had been, until this evening, on an extended break, and willed her bare feet to move forward. She crossed the small living room and approached the kitchen, and the occupant within, with purpose and determination. She had backed down for far too long and was finally strong enough, finally bold enough to stand her ground.

She found him rinsing a few tea cups, his shoulders bowed, his face turned away from her but she could see it reflected in the small kitchen window, and it was clear from the small frown and creased brow that he was desperately trying to put on a brave front.

"No, I need to know, Remus. If Ron hadn't walked up when he did this evening, I need to know what you were going to say to me."

He looked up from the sink and shook his head, resolute, eyes full of shame.

"It was nothing important, Hermione, really. I'm fine...and...and we're fine. So let's just leave it at that, alright? This was a good day and I'm so very happy for you," he offered with a weak smile.

"Are you really?", she asked critically.

"Absolutely," he said, smiling sadly, his heart stuck irrevocably on his sleeve.

"After what you said to me earlier, I can't really believe that," she said, stepping closer to him.

But Remus simply shook his head and tried to change the subject, shutting off the water and wiping his hands roughly on his slacks.

"Hermione, we just had a bit of a row. Sometimes friends fight, this is nothing to worry about. Believe me. Now you really should get going on your honeymoon, not talking here with me. I'm sure Ron is missing his new bride," he offered with a faint smile, trying to edge her out of the cozy kitchen and back towards the front door.

But Hermione wasn't budging an inch and merely blocked the exit.

"Ron's passed out drunk in our honeymoon suite, he won't be looking for me until well into tomorrow," she said bluntly, her arms crossed tight in defiance.

Remus' face fell at this news, sadness and anger pulling at his kind eyes. But hardly any surprise crossed his face.

"What were you going to say to me earlier?", she pressed on.

"Nothing, Hermione, please...please, just go. I don't...this isn't a good idea you being here," he said once more, looking increasingly agitated and worried, like a caged animal.

"Why isn't it a good idea?", she volleyed back.

"Because you're a married woman and you should be with your husband, not here with me."

She eyed him with some surprise at the sharp edge in his voice.

"Am I not safe here with you, Remus?", she asked, her eyes boring into his.

He looked taken aback by her words, the implication that she was somehow unsafe to be in his presence alone.

"Of course, you are, Hermione, I simply meant...I meant that you're Ron's wife now and being here on your wedding night is...probably not the best place for you to be."

She felt her temper rise and her heart ache for answers that didn't seem to be coming. Remus took this momentary pause as his chance to escape, or at least be set free from this line of unwanted questioning.

"You should really go, are you safe to apparate alone? You've been drinking and I don't want you to get hurt," he kindly asked, moving once more towards the front door.

But before he could brush past her, her arm shot out and blocked the small kitchen doorway.

"Forgive me, Remus, for this. It is not my intention to be rude, but I'm not going anywhere until you tell me," she said, bold as brass.

Remus merely sighed in defeat and after a moment's hesitation, he settled back against the weathered, green kitchen counter, a look of submission and damnation clear in his tired eyes.

He was quiet a long moment. Hermione didn't rush to fill the silence either. She just waited patiently.

"Hermione," he finally said, "what I had to say...it simply wouldn't make any difference. I had been drinking and feeling melancholy and I let that bleed into the happiest day of your life. Please, forgive me. I didn't mean to ruin your special day," he offered sincerely, arms crossed tight as he leaned against the counter and stared out his small kitchen window at the falling rain.

"Remus," she said softly, stepping forward to place a gentle hand on this arm, "you didn't ruin anything."

He smiled sadly at this and swallowed hard as his eyes met hers.

"You're my dearest friend, Remus."

"And you're mine," he offered earnestly.

"So, would you please tell me what you have to say."

"You know I can never refuse you anything, so please...please don't ask that of me," he begged, pulling free from her grasp once more, trying to break the invisible hold she seemed to have on him.

"Say it," she softly asked, inching towards him.

"No."

"Tell me," she implored, coming right before him.

"Hermione, please. If I say it, it will ruin your day and a whole lot more."

"I need to hear it."

He went to walk away, but she firmly pulled him to a stop, her small hands wrapping tight around his arms.

"Please. Please, Remus. Just say the words. I'm right here, it's just us...say it," she softly begged.

His last drop of control and reserve fell away as he looked deeply into her eyes. He leaned into her touch, afraid to break away, afraid to stay.

He sighed and forced the words out, the five simple little words he had been holding in, like a breath under the water.

"I'm in love with you," he whispered as his exquisite eyes held hers for a long moment and then his shameful gaze fell away from her beautiful face.

Knowing what he was going to say did not prepare her in the slightest to actually hear it. Coming from his pale pink lips, standing in his kitchen, in a wedding gown from a marriage to another man, Hermione felt dizzy and stunned, as if all the air had been suddenly squeezed out of the room. She slowly released his arms as she slumped against his kitchen sink, feeling positively spent.

"For how long?", she faintly asked, as she stared fixedly at a spot of peeling paint on a cabinet door.

He stepped away from her and he too leaned against the counter, his strong hands shoring up his weight.

"It's hard to say," he said honestly. "How can you know when your heart starts to beat for another?"

She wished she knew.

"I've loved you longer than I should have. Longer than I had any right to," he answered.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?", she asked, looking up at him, confusion and hurt plain on her face.

"Believe me, I know my timing is terrible," he uttered, looking down at her, "I wanted to say it, years ago. But the war was raging and you were so young and beautiful. I knew I didn't deserve you. So I made a bit of a bargain with myself; if we both survived the war I was going to tell you. And that day at Hogwarts, when Voldemort finally fell, I saw you enter the Great Hall, still standing and I've never known such a joy. I don't know if you remember but I came running to you, but just before I reached you, Ron stepped in and...and kissed you. And I well...I stepped aside," he admitted sadly.

"I cursed myself for my stupidity. To foolishly think I was the only one entranced by you. As if I could ever capture your heart," he said with a sad smile.

"I remember, Remus, I remember," she uttered softly. "I ran into the hall, looking for you and I spotted you helping Madam Pomfery with injured students. I had to see you too. You...you were going to tell me then?", she asked.

He nodded slowly, tears reddening his eyes.

"But when I saw you with Ron, you looked happy and contrary to how I've behaved today, I didn't want to ruin that for you. So now I've gone and mucked up your wedding day by telling you today. Some friend I turned out to be," he said with an angry, remorseful shake of his head.

"Remus, please don't be upset," she begged, instinctively wanting to ease his pain. She stepped closer to try and clasp his hand but he only shrunk from her comforting touch.

"No, please, Hermione, you don't need to console me. I'm a horrible a coward and a selfish one at that. I wanted you to know how I felt but I also wanted the safety of knowing you would never have any real choice in the matter. You see, I don't think I could bare to hear you turn me away, because you've always accepted me. You knew what I was in your third year, knew what a horrible monster I was and yet you were never disgusted by me, never turned away from me, you kept my secret. You're one of the very few in my long life who have, in fact. And that's been a gift, one that I've cherished ever since your third year in school. It's meant the world to me, Hermione," he offered earnestly.

"I don't know what to say," she honestly answered, feeling like her whole world had been flipped on its ear.

"Yes, well, that's understandable. It's not everyday someone lays their heart at your feet," he said sadly, his cheeks flushed, looking ashamed and embarrassed at his behavior. He wearily pulled himself upright and said quietly, "You really should go now."

He turned away from her and strode wordlessly from the kitchen and crossed the small living room in a few strides. He reached the front door and paused before it for just a second before pulling it open in one fluid movement. The gusty rain immediately swept in, adding a distinct chill to the small cozy house. But he held it open,waiting for her to leave and ease his regretful heart.

Eyeing her dearest friend and the storm brewing through the open doorway, Hermione found herself rooted to the kitchen floor, seemingly incapable of moving.

"What if I don't want to go?", she asked, suddenly fearful and uncertain at the path she was supposed to follow.

"Hermione, you need to," he said firmly, still holding the door open. His face may have looked resolute but his eyes betrayed a small glimmer of hope that sprung forth at her simple question.

"What if I like being here with you?", she honestly asked.

"Hermione, no, this isn't...this can't be fixed. It's too late, don't you see? I blew it, I lost my chance."

"What if you had told me that day?", she asked, finally finding her equilibrium and slowly walking towards him.

"What if you had reached me before Ron? What then?", she questioned, now standing right before him.

"Hermione, it's too late now," he answered softy, his handsome, scarred face marred with doubt and anguish.

"Maybe it isn't," she said with a small, hopeful smile, reaching forward to clasp his free hand. Thier fingers slipped together like two halves to a whole and it felt right.

"What are you saying?", he asked disbelievingly, his eyes wide with uncertainty as he looked down at her sweet fingers entwined so perfectly with his own.

"I'm saying...tell me now. Tell me all of it, as if Ron had never came and kissed me that day. Tell me now," she simply asked.

"What difference would it make now?", he asked.

"It might make all the difference in the world."

The rain poured in through the open door, soaking the curtains, the rug and them both. The wind gently whipped her curly tendrils, framing her face with soft, shiny strands. A single crack of lighting illuminated the black, night sky. But she stood there, beautiful and brave and perfect. And finally, for one incredible moment, Remus Lupin was brave and said the words he had held deep in his soul for far too long. The words he had whispered into his pillow each night as he fell asleep, the words he kept locked away out of fear and self-loathing. The only words that could ever set him free.

"I would have told you," he softly uttered, "what a wonderful woman you are, because I fear this is something you don't hear nearly enough. I would've told you how every single part of you is a miracle in and of itself, but when you add up all those pieces that make you up, it simply takes my breath away. Your fearless heart, your generosity, your unwavering sense of loyalty, your stunning eyes, the way your lips quirk into the most stunning smile I've ever seen, the freckles across your nose, the light and joy in your eyes...all those things add up to make you the most incredible person I've ever known."

"And I would've told you that I love you. Purely, honestly, absolutely. Any good thing in me only exists because I've known you. That I've loved you in a thousand different ways and in a thousand different lifetimes. I love you more than anyone has a right to love anyone on this earth. I feel it, in my bones...in my very soul, that you were meant to be mine, and I was meant to be yours."

"That's what I would've said," he finished, his hand reaching up to gently cup her face, his eyes a warmer shade of gray, his body mere inches from hers.

Any lingering doubt, any worry or concerns were banished with his words. She listened to her own heart for once and gave in.

Tilting her head up, she brushed her lips against his with a faint, soft touch. For as light and gentle as it was, she felt immediate fire and passion rush through her body. She reached up to pull him closer but Remus broke the kiss and reluctantly pulled away, her body raging against the separation.

"Hermione, we can't," he said with a pitiful look, backing away from her.

"Remus," she breathed, the name rolling from her lips like honey pouring from a comb.

"You're married to Ron. You know as well as I do, the marriage bonds you've promised will cause you immense pain and grief if they are broken. Please, I don't want any harm to come to you. So, just go."

He stepped around her and began to walk down the hall, leaving the young bride to show herself out. He heard the front door shut and stopped in the hallway, feeling his breath all but stop at the crushing sound. He leaned against the wall for support.

"Remus," Hermione called and he immediately turned, equally surprised and worried to see her still standing there.

Her eyes never straying from his, she used her right hand to gently pull the wedding ring from her left hand. In a single, fluid move it was removed and she set it down with a gentle clatter on his hallway table.

Remus stared wide-eyed at the action. A magical wedding ring could only be removed from a witch or wizard once a marriage bond was dissolved and that type of magic could only be accomplished by a select, powerful few. What she had just effortlessly accomplished had been essentially impossible.

"How...how did you do that?", he asked breathless.

"When the officiant asked me...when he asked if I would pledge my heart to the wizard before me, I wasn't thinking of Ron. I was think of you. So you see, I was never Ron's to begin with," she uttered softly.

"Please...don't you see? I'm already yours. Won't you please be mine?", she bravely asked.

How, just how in the name of all that was sacred could he deny her? Or continue to deny himself for that matter?

He no longer had the answers to these questions and quite frankly, no longer cared.

Remus wasn't sure who reached who first, he didn't know how her lips suddenly met his own with a beautiful, bright fire or how in the hell this exquisite woman found her way into his undeserving arms at all.

But he knew one thing for certain, she was finally there.

Living, breathing, beautiful flesh, no longer a dream or a fantasy. But real, warm and soft, holding him close with a passionate, tender love, one he could barely comprehend.

She was here, she was his and suddenly nothing else mattered.