Title: Wolfsbane
Rating: K
Genre: General/Humor
Setting: Summer of OOTP
Ships: None definite, but potential RLHG or RLSB if you want to look at it that way.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: This is my first character POV fic, and it's Hermione, which is odd because I rarely write about her. I'm actually happy with it though, and I hope you are too. Please review!
Everyone in the house shivers when they first hear him howl. Deep down, we all know there's nothing to fear – he did take the potion, after all – but even so, it's a bit disconcerting having a fully-transformed werewolf in the house. Ron especially is nervous after what happened last time. Me? Not so much.
This is our first full moon at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place; the Weasleys, Sirius, Prof – Remus (he's not my professor anymore, and he told me not to refer to him as such!) and me. We've all known it was coming; the smell of Wolfsbane potion has permeated the house for the past week. It's not an unpleasant smell, but Remus obviously hates the way it tastes. Once I asked him what it was like and he said it tasted like pickled licorice that had been marinating in formaldehyde for a week. He scrunches up his face in disgust every time he has to drink it, which is always right before dinner. Well, he doesn't so much drink it as he chugs it. He practically gags when the goblet is empty. Once Sirius made a joke about how if only Remus could take his alcohol like that. Remus must have thought he was on to something because now he chases the potion with a shot of vodka. I guess it helps, though I can't imagine how. And anyway, having to take a disgusting potion a few times a month is worth it for what it does for him. For years after he graduated Hogwarts, but before the potion was invented, he'd have to lock himself up in an empty mausoleum during the full moon. It was cold, small, and unpleasant, he said, but it kept him safe. Now he can curl up in bed and sleep. That's the best part of it, he told me: that he's calm enough that he can actually sleep.
Mrs. Weasley made dinner early tonight so that Remus could eat before he transformed. We had steak. I couldn't help but laugh when I saw he had taken his rare. A very wolf-ish thing to do. It's been fascinating to see the signs of an approaching full moon in a werewolf. When he was teaching at Hogwarts, the only symptom I could really see was that he looked extra tired. Now I notice other things. For one, he's home all the time (if you could call this dreary old mansion a home). I guess he's took weak to do work for the Order. He's also quieter than usual and sometimes a bit irritable, though he obviously tries to fight off the latter as much as he can. Usually, Remus is cheery and funny, but before the full moon, he can be almost as bad as Sirius is when he's having one of his sullen fits. I feel odd about choosing a favorite, but I must say, the best symptom Remus has is an increased obsession with chocolate. It's near impossible to find him without a chocolate bar in hand. (He says that as much as he loves Honeydukes, he's always been more of a fan of the Muggle stuff. I have to say, I agree with him.) Once Sirius joked that between the moodiness and the chocolate, Remus must have PMS ("Pre-Moon Syndrome," he called it). Remus almost broke his arm. While I in no way condone violence, I had to agree with what Fred and George said: "Wicked." Not that I'd ever let them know that, of course.
The moon has been up for about an hour now, and Remus isn't around. I assume he's upstairs in his room, alone, or maybe with Sirius. He knows that Mrs. Weasley in particular has reservations about him staying here tonight. Sirius and I assure her that he's fine, but she's still nervous. He seems to have expected such a reaction because he rented a hotel room on the other side of town that he had planned to spend the night in, but Sirius wouldn't hear of it. He told Remus that he needs to be around his friends. And yet he's not. Maybe he's just used to spending full moons alone.
I'm curled up on the couch in the living room, reading a novel that Remus lent me. It's called American Gods. It's a great book so far, but it's certainly not something I ever expected he would read. I always figured he was more of a fan of science and history, like me. As it turns out, as much as nonfiction fascinates him, he's always loved Muggle novels. He has a massive collection of them and, knowing of my love of reading, told me I was welcome to borrow a book anytime. When I told him that I'm not really used to reading fiction, he looked astounded. "Well," he had said, "we'll just have to change that, won't we?" One of the things I love most about my former professor and now friend is how passionate he is about teaching. And not just Defense Against the Dark Arts either. He was so enthusiastic, so passionate, when we went through his collection, searching for something he thought I'd like. His eyes lit up when he found what he thought would be perfect for my first novel. It was called A Study In Scarlet. It's one of those Sherlock Holmes stories I'd heard about, but never even considered reading. When he gave it to me, I could tell he really hoped I would enjoy it. I finished it in two days and, that night, he and I stayed up until 3 AM talking about it. Well, not just that. We moved on to other subjects too. I swear, sometimes I think he is the only person in this house who listens to me. Anyway, from there I moved on to The Great Gatsby, Catch-22, The Phantom of the Opera, and Watership Down. ("Bunnies?!" I had asked him incredulously when he told me what it was about. "Well," he said, blushing, "It's not just about bunnies...") I learn so much about him just from reading the books he's read. When I read something he lends me, I wonder what he was thinking at that point in the story: What does he think of that character? Did the plot twist surprise him, because it sure as hell got me. Was he sad at the end? After reading the first Sherlock Holmes novel, I got the insatiable urge to know the answers to these questions, and more. So that's how we first stayed up until such an ungodly hour of the morning, just talking. It's become tradition with every novel I finish reading. Life at Grimmauld Place is rarely eventful, but nights like that are always something to look forward to. And the subject never stays on literature for long. We talk about everything from Muggle movies to...well, to things that I've probably never even told Harry or Ron or Ginny (and she's practically my sister, for God's sake!). And yet, I feel comfortable doing so, and I know he's comfortable listening.
Now, I'm so engrossed in the story that the sound of the door creaking open doesn't quite register in my brain. I don't take my eyes away from the page until I notice a shift in the pressure on the sofa. I look over – it's Remus. Wolf-Remus, to be exact. His hazel eyes (not yellow, like those of a wild werewolf) are scanning the open page of the book. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he smiled. If he could talk, he's probably be saying, "I love that part! Did you like the part when..." He walks in a circle on the cushion in a very dog-like manner before curling up against my leg, his head resting on my knee. For a moment, I feel a bit awkward. Is it appropriate to pet a werewolf? He must be able to read my mind, because he looks up at my and wiggles his ears. If he could talk, he'd be laughing. He can't, so I do so for him. I scratch him behind his ears for a while and he wags his tail happily. I return my attention to the book. I'm now unconsciously stroking his fur, from his head down his back. His eyes are closed and his breathing is light. He appears to be asleep. 'He's quite cute when he's not trying to eat people,' I think before I can stop myself. His tail wags and his ears wiggle. I'm going to take that as a laugh. He must have some kind of telepathy when he's in wolf form, I'm sure of it! How else could he and the other Marauders communicate during their monthly adventures? I continue to stroke his fur, but I am sure to keep my thoughts quiet.
I don't know how long we've been here like this, but it can't have been too long. Ron and Sirius (in dog form) just entered the room, so I figure it must be early enough that most people are still awake. Ron sits down in the chair closest to me and Sirius pounces over to Remus, who lifts his head. Sirius is barking happily and jumping about the room. Ron and I laugh. Remus jumps off the couch to join Sirius. The room suddenly seems a little cold to me, even though there's a fire roaring in the fireplace. Sirius is obviously hyper and Remus knows he won't rest until he gets all of that energy out of his system. He and Sirius look like, well, like two dogs the way they're wrestling. The rest of the Weasleys are here now, laughing as the two friends wrestle.
"My money's on Remus!" Fred laughs.
George scoffs. "No way, Sirius totally has this one!"
We all cheer when Sirius rears up on his hind legs in victory after he pins Remus for a three count. The room erupts in laughter when Remus pounces on him and knocks him to the ground again. For a moment, Remus glances at me. Again, I think I see a hint of a wolf-ish grin.
It must be pretty late now. Just about everyone has left the room. It's back to being Remus, Sirius and me. Remus and Sirius are curled up together in front of the fire. By now my attention is only half focused on the book. I'm watching them. They're talking, I know it. I wonder what about?
The fire is dying. They've been still for a while, their eyes closed. They must be asleep. I've been half asleep for I don't even know how long now. The lines on the page are blurring and I find myself reading the same sentence over and over again. I can hardly concentrate, but it's not an easy book to put down. I look up when I notice Sirius move. He perks his head up and looks at Remus. He nudges him a few times, but the wolf doesn't move. Sirius bites his ear and Remus jumps, looking around the room, alert. It looks like Sirius is staring him down, but again, I know they're talking. Remus nods in response to whatever Sirius just said. He yawns widely and stretches. Sirius walks over to the door, turns to me and gives a quiet bark. I smile "Goodnight, Sirius." He looks over at Remus, who looks at him, then at me, lying here on the couch, my finger marking the page in the book and my eyes barely open. He walks over to the couch, puts his front paws on the cushion and in his jaws, he grasps the blanket that is covering the back of the couch and pulls it over me. He pulls the book out of my hand (I'm sure he'd dog-ear the page for me if he had fingers) and nudges me softly on the chin. "Goodnight, Remus," I say quietly, smiling. Before his tail disappears from the room, I am asleep.