Down in the kitchen, dinner is almost ready and the pleasing aroma of Molly's cooking fills the air. Most of the work is done now: only the gravy left to make and the table still to be laid. I oblige with the latter, carrying the plates and cutlery to the table by hand and humming softly to myself as I work. We're soon joined by Moody, Tonks and Arthur: home from the Ministry and talking in low, serious voices as they make their way down into the kitchen. Hestia follows closely behind. She's been on Privet Drive all day and I'm relieved to hear that all seems to be peaceful. I know it can't be pleasant for Harry but he is at least protected there. I make myself useful by serving the drinks. The flagon of firewhisky that Dumbledore brought us is almost empty now: a sad sign of the pressure that we are all feeling.

Minerva appears barely a quarter of an hour later. She has pinned her hair up into its usual tight bun and put her glasses back on. The hated muggle dress has been discarded in favour of a black velvet top and an ankle length skirt that trails on the steps as she comes down into the kitchen. She greets the rest of the group in her usual reserved manner but, despite her seemingly sedate appearance, Mad Eye only just manages to avoid spitting his wine across the table. I swear I've never seen the man go so red. I can guess the reason for his discomfort and, now more than ever, I can't wait for dinner to be over so I can find out exactly what his magic eye is seeing.

There's a clatter of footsteps on the stairs and the children arrive in a noisy crowd, several of them giving Minerva a double take. I notice Ron immediately straighten up a little at the sight of his Head of House. The twins merely roll their eyes when she's looking the other way: yet another teacher here to spoil the holiday. The only one amongst them to offer a greeting is Hermione, and this earns her a 'Good evening, Miss Granger' and a fond smile from Minerva. Once everyone's settled Molly serves up dinner and the conversations around the table abruptly end.

As soon as I've finished my food I excuse myself, too impatient to wait for dessert. Finally I'm free. The rest of the evening is ours and I intend to make it as special as I possibly can. I take the stairs two at a time, running through the options in my head. Grimmauld Place is hardly the ideal romantic setting but I'm hoping we can work around that somehow.


Sirius and I both have rooms on the third floor of this impossibly proportioned house – two floors above Molly, Arthur and any guests and one floor above the children. I decide that a hot bath would be a pleasant start to the evening. Minerva has always been fond of baths. And Sirius won't be up for a while. Female company is one thing he particularly misses (his cousin and Molly not withstanding) and as I left the kitchen he was busy plying Hestia with more wine. I suspect he's a little envious of me. After all, if any of the Marauders had been daring and suave enough to seduce the teacher it was surely Sirius. But deep down I think he's glad that I'm happy. I only wish that he could be happy too.

Anticipation thrills through my veins as I run the bath, adding a liberal splash of Minerva's favourite bath oil. Something of Sirius' old self emerged when he saw it on the shelf. He teased me mercilessly for using 'girlie' toiletries and I gladly indulged him.

The creaking taps are eventually persuaded to dispense hot water, though the groans from the antique pipework suggest that this state of affairs will not be maintained indefinitely. I light a few of the candles that Sirius left up here in half-hearted anticipation and the softer light helps to disguise the gloom. The walls are grimy and the tiles stained beyond salvage: neither magic nor elbow grease makes a difference. It's a far cry from the comfortable private bathroom and huge tub that Minerva is used to at Hogwarts but it'll have to do for now. I want this evening to last. I want it to be special, because it i is /i special, even without having to wait three weeks for it.

Does she know how much I've missed her? I can't wait for her to appear. Communication by owl, floo and patronus cannot replace the intimacy we once shared freely. And yet, despite that intimacy, I feel strangely nervous now, almost as if none of that had ever happened.

There's a gentle tap on the half open door and I turn around with a smile on my face.

"Hallo, Remus. I wonder if I might borrow some of your shaving soap?"

Arthur beams at me and I nod weakly, gesturing towards the small cabinet in the corner and praying he'll go before Minerva arrives.

"Thank you. Molly threw mine away, you know. Of course, it'd nearly run out anyway, but somehow I haven't quite had the time to pop out and get some more."

"No problem."

Arthur smiles jovially, one man to another, but his forced cheeriness cannot disguise the lines of worry etched around his tired eyes. I have the distinct impression that he wants to stop and chat. A few times we've shared tumblers of whiskey and fake reassurances in the drawing room, much to the dismay of Sirius, who'd far rather have me playing poker with himself and Nymphadora. Still, there will be plenty more evenings for both. Tonight I think I am justified in being selfish. I say nothing more and merely smile politely. Arthur gets the message and, soap in hand, turns to go.

"Having a bath, eh Remus? Jolly good way to relax. I'd better leave you to it."

The door finally clicks shut and I exhale in relief. The bath is soon ready and the bottle of Mme Maurier's Ever-Chilled Finest Champagne that I've been saving since I left Hogwarts is sitting on the floor beside the tap. There are clean towels on a nearby chair. To make things complete I slip my hand into my pocket and draw out my wedding ring, placing it firmly back on my finger where it belongs. Then, I slowly remove my clothes and settle myself into the tub.


Barely five minutes later she slips through the door. Now she's back to the Minerva I know: tumbling waves of raven hair and cream silk robe and wine glass in hand and cheeks flushed.

"Oh, Professor Lupin!" she teases. "I do apologise. I had no idea this bathroom was taken."

She pushes the door closed with her free hand and leans back against it.

"Perhaps I ought to go downstairs?" She arches an eyebrow, immediately taking me right back to my student days spent hopelessly admiring her from the front row of the Transfiguration classroom.

"Perhaps I might be persuaded to share," I offer in return. I try and match her best teacher-like expression with one of my own but I'm not nearly as experienced as she is and I can tell from the slight twitch of her mouth that it shows.

"Perhaps I should undress," she muses in mock seriousness. She moves her hand to the front of her robe and suggestively slides it open a few inches. And although she's trying to hide it, I notice that she's trembling and, in that instant, realise that Minerva - Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts as well as my long term lover and friend – is just as nervous as I am at the thought of the intimacy to come. This realisation rather takes me aback. I wasn't expecting it, not from her, but I feel curiously glad all the same.

Putting my thoughts aside, I shrug disinterestedly. "Entirely up to you, Professor. But" – and here I let the warmth back into my voice – "I might just have to do it for you if you don't bloody well get a move on."

This has the desired effect. Minerva beams warmly at me and I see her visibly relax. She comes forward to set her glass down beside the bathtub. One hand tangles itself gently in my hair, then slips down to caress my cheek. One tender kiss is shared before she steps away once more, ensuring that I get a good view of the reward I've just earned.

She unfastens the sash of her robe and shrugs her shoulders so that the fabric slides slowly down her arms. A moment later it falls to the floor in a shiny heap of discarded fabric. Beneath it she's wearing something new: ivory satin and lace. I realise it's what I should have seen three weeks ago but didn't because fate conspired to send us on separate paths before I had a chance to tenderly slide her bridal robes from her shoulders and make love to her the way I wanted to. I was hoping for black lace, perhaps, or possibly emerald, but I'm glad she's chosen this instead. I hope this means she feels the same way as I do: that this is not just a simple reunion but at last our chance to seal our marriage completely.

"Come here," I manage eventually, though I'm struggling to contain myself now. I've had enough of the games. I want her. I want her i now /i .

Obediantly she steps forward and I marvel once more at the sight of her: this woman, this wonderful woman whose strength and integrity and intelligence far outstrips all of her contemporaries. Who has all the courage and pride of the lion that symbolises Gryffindor House. Who can be stern and professional when the occasion demands but still remains the most sensual and passionate woman I have ever had the fortune to know. My heart wills me to grab hold of her, to pull her close and never let go. When she lifts one foot onto the edge of the bathtub I unclip her stocking and grunt impatiently as I try to tug it down.

With a sudden loud crash the door flies open. Minerva's head jerks up and her foot slips off the edge of the bath. Her heel connects forcibly with a certain rather sensitive part of my anatomy and pain explodes like the Cruciatus curse across my groin. This, surely, is torture in its purest form.

When I finally recover enough to raise my head Minerva has already put her dressing gown back on and is doing her best to calm down a red faced and clearly horrified Nymphadora Tonks.

"I'm sorry, Professor! I didn't know you were… you were…"

She runs a distracted hand through her bubblegum pink hair.

"You weren't to know," Minerva says soothingly. "It's not your fault we forgot to lock the door."

"The kids were messing about downstairs," Tonks protests, "and I thought this bathroom would be free."

"It's fine, Nymphadora. It was an accident. And please, call me Minerva."

"Tonks," comes the muttered reply.

A half smile flickers on Minerva's lips.

"Really? Still?"

Tonks shrugs unhappily and turns to leave, shooting me a miserable glance as she does so. When the door clicks back Minerva checks that I'm all right, then sits back on the edge of the tub and sighs. Now there is another who knows our secret. I know she'd promised Dumbledore that she'd keep it quiet. I know, too, that Dumbledore is thrilled to see her happy at last and that he'd understand and forgive even if she'd announced it in the Daily Prophet. Sadly, I don't think Minerva sees that.

It's not as if she wants to keep it quiet, though. Minerva is a Gryffindor through and through. She'd gladly have proclaimed her love for me from the rooftops, angrily defying anyone to cast aspersions on her choice of partner. But, luckily, my wife is as intelligent as she is proud. Hogwarts needs Minerva just as it does Dumbledore. The stakes are high and this isn't a game any more. We cannot afford to be selfish.

But even so…

…sometimes in my darker moments I fantasise about leaving. Just the two of us. We could pack what little we needed and travel far away from Grimmauld Place, from Hogwarts, from the Ministry and from all that threatens them. We could find peace somewhere far away, and put an end to the sneaking around and passive lies that strain our relationship despite our best attempts to resist them. I know in my heart that I couldn't, of course. But, even so, sometimes the thought is there and I feel like a coward for daring to entertain it, even for just a second.

This silence has gone on long enough. Surely the evening is still salvageable? I smile wryly at her and she holds the towel out to me as I climb awkwardly out of the tub. I move to kiss her but then see that the mood has evaporated along with the steam from the bath.

She sighs heavily, weary now. The journey is catching up with her, as is the dishonesty.

"Maybe we should just go to bed," she concedes. "There'll be time tomorrow for… the other thing."

And, much as I hate to admit it, I think she's right.