Chapter Text
Hermione shivered a little, pulling her cloak tighter over her shoulders. The sun shone into her eyes, but there was still a lingering bite of winter in the spring air. The cloak belonged to Remus - it smelt of Hermione’s laundry detergent and the ghost of his clandestine cigarettes, the ones he thought she didn’t know he still smoked at the bottom of the garden in the dead of night.
She had stopped to look in the window of Tomes and Scrolls, but she could feel his body heat as he stepped up behind her - saw his warped shadow looming in the glass over her shoulder. Large hands resting on her shoulders, squeezing lightly. “Where to next? I promised we’d meet Minerva in the Three Broomsticks at two.”
“I’m nearly done, I just need to pick up a new quill.” She turned to face him, the wind skittering her hair in all directions - she was sure she looked a fright, but when her eyes met his, all she saw there was reverence. He reached up and picked a delicate pink petal out of her tangle of curls.
He held it up between finger and thumb for her to examine. “Make a wish?”
“That’s eyelashes.”
He shrugged, raised an eyebrow in challenge, his mouth twisting into that light little smirk that was only for her. The one that made her feel a rushing, queasy wave of love flood through her like it was the first time. He was still brandishing the petal at her expectantly, had placed it in the centre of his palm and was holding it up for her to blow.
She closed her eyes and blew the petal up into the air. Opened them again to watch the soft pink spiral and dance down the street. Cherry trees and apple trees lined the avenue of shops, pink and white clouds of pastel colours dancing in the chill of the first strained notes of spring.
His hand, now empty, fell down to lace his fingers through hers. He always held on just a little bit too tight. Afraid of losing her, even now, after all these years.
They turned, and headed down the street, under the arbour of flowers, hand in hand, their sides knocking together as they walked, bodies magnetic, unable to leave space between them for longer than a moment. The other occupants of the town went about their business, called to each other from doorways, stopped to chat, fumbled with their shopping bags as they struggled up the gentle slope. But Hermione and Remus only had eyes for each other - the rest faded to a blur, just meaningless murmur against the sound of Remus’ pulse through his fingertips. Against the way that Hermione’s skin matched the pink of the trees, the blush of the cold on the apples of her cheeks.
The petals continued to fall on them as they walked, the trees showering them with a celebration. The cobblestones carpeted with pink and white, confetti tangled in their hair - chocolate curls and golden brown, flecked with grey.
Under the bower they wandered, and Hermione wondered at the way this open affection, this simple togetherness of walking hand in hand down a crowded street, would have felt impossible once upon a time. Him and her, out in the open for anyone to see. Not a war heroine and her teacher, anymore, just a couple like any other, two hearts, the bride and groom of the springtime.