[Remus pulls back to try and look her in the eye, search for what might be wrong, and see if it's on her face. He adjusts the blanket around himself slightly - grateful that it's as large, soft, and warm as it is, tucking it into some semblance of a toga of sorts, before leaning forward to take her into his arms once more.]
Please, Hermione. I'd like to help you, if I can... [Please let him know what's wrong, what's happening, so that he can try and help fix it.]
[ She can't look at him; that's all she can think for a long while. She can't look at him because he'll see her and think of how awful she is, how horrible, the disgusting thing she had done with her own hands and teeth and claws. They had fought in a war, of course, herself and Remus and the rest of their friends, but nothing could prepare them for this. Surely not. ]
I - Remus, someone came and - and they killed Adela, they hung her in a tree and then came after me, too. Dorian tried to protect me and she stabbed him, he died in my arms, I can still feel it all over me...
[ She chokes back on the rush of tears, her hands gripping at the blanket, unconcerned with what she's doing. She's shaking, her throat tight, but she has to continue. She can't hide this from Remus; not when he's trusted her with so much. ]
I was so angry, she'd hurt innocent people, it's not - I didn't want to do it, I just got so mad and I thought if I transformed then I'd be able to defend myself! But she ran!
[ Anyone that's seen television or read about wild animals knows what happens when you run from a predator; you bare weakness, you show them you're afraid, and they take you down. ]
[Remus isn't quite sure who Adela is, but that doesn't matter in this moment. What does matter is that someone has killed her, and that this has upset Hermione. That that someone killed Dorian, and he died in her arms. He wonders whether she knew about his immortality - surely she must now, if not before. What a shocking way to discover it, however.
That too is a discussion for another time. For as soon as she speaks of transforming, and the woman running, and mentions blood, Remus has a fair idea what might have happened. He has been a predator before, after all. Hell, he is one, every day of his life. He knows what such a moment would present itself as, especially in such a heated and emotional moment as that.]
Oh, Hermione... [He murmurs softly, reaching a hand up to brush through her hair, cradling her close.] I'm so sorry.
[ She knows that, of all the people in the world, Remus might be the one best suited to understand her. He had almost killed her, once, she thinks, remembering third year and his transformation, her fear and her panic, but she also knows that none of that matters. Remus, when he turns, has no control over himself. The werewolf, Moony, is something without the same rationale that she and Remus share when they're like this, human and human alike. When she turns into a lioness she is still Hermione, even if her mind is a little numbed by her traditional lioness instinct and the fact that the mind is less human.
Still, her hands grip at him, her body moving and pressing closer, desperate for his comfort, desperate for someone to tell her that it's truly okay. His hands are in her hair and she breathes out, a sharp little noise, hitching through her sobs as she tries to force herself to calm down. She can't brush the thoughts from her mind, the memories of blood and pain, the taste of flesh in her mouth and the feeling of it clamped under her jaws, and it makes her feel sick even now.
Dorian had woken up, of course, and Gilgamesh had come and cleaned the blood from her face, but the memories haunted her all the same, her eyes squeezing tighter and tighter until it hurts, burning, aching inside of her and leaving her feeling weak and bereft, as if something has been taken from her - as if someone has reached inside of her and ripped out a part of her and left it there on the ground on that day, destroying her. ]
It was my fault, all of it, all my fault. If I had been better, if I hadn't lost my magic, if I had moved, if I hadn't...
[ If I hadn't failed, she screams at herself, then none of this would have happened. ]
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Please, Hermione. I'd like to help you, if I can... [Please let him know what's wrong, what's happening, so that he can try and help fix it.]
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I - Remus, someone came and - and they killed Adela, they hung her in a tree and then came after me, too. Dorian tried to protect me and she stabbed him, he died in my arms, I can still feel it all over me...
[ She chokes back on the rush of tears, her hands gripping at the blanket, unconcerned with what she's doing. She's shaking, her throat tight, but she has to continue. She can't hide this from Remus; not when he's trusted her with so much. ]
I was so angry, she'd hurt innocent people, it's not - I didn't want to do it, I just got so mad and I thought if I transformed then I'd be able to defend myself! But she ran!
[ Anyone that's seen television or read about wild animals knows what happens when you run from a predator; you bare weakness, you show them you're afraid, and they take you down. ]
There was so much blood...
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That too is a discussion for another time. For as soon as she speaks of transforming, and the woman running, and mentions blood, Remus has a fair idea what might have happened. He has been a predator before, after all. Hell, he is one, every day of his life. He knows what such a moment would present itself as, especially in such a heated and emotional moment as that.]
Oh, Hermione... [He murmurs softly, reaching a hand up to brush through her hair, cradling her close.] I'm so sorry.
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Still, her hands grip at him, her body moving and pressing closer, desperate for his comfort, desperate for someone to tell her that it's truly okay. His hands are in her hair and she breathes out, a sharp little noise, hitching through her sobs as she tries to force herself to calm down. She can't brush the thoughts from her mind, the memories of blood and pain, the taste of flesh in her mouth and the feeling of it clamped under her jaws, and it makes her feel sick even now.
Dorian had woken up, of course, and Gilgamesh had come and cleaned the blood from her face, but the memories haunted her all the same, her eyes squeezing tighter and tighter until it hurts, burning, aching inside of her and leaving her feeling weak and bereft, as if something has been taken from her - as if someone has reached inside of her and ripped out a part of her and left it there on the ground on that day, destroying her. ]
It was my fault, all of it, all my fault. If I had been better, if I hadn't lost my magic, if I had moved, if I hadn't...
[ If I hadn't failed, she screams at herself, then none of this would have happened. ]