So, annoyingly, I was going off of the HP wikia in terms of dates, but the Lexicon says the Marauders graduated in 1977, not 1978. So here I am, telling you all, they are graduating in 1978 in this story. Hermione has conveniently arrived at the beginning of their Seventh Year (this has a reason, I promise, it's not just me being lazy). Shit's about to go down.
I spent like two hours creating schedules for all houses, as well as Hermione's teaching schedule. That shit is harder than it seems. But it's done. If anyone's interested in knowing, let me know and I'll hook you up.
CHAPTER TWO – ADVANCED LESSONS
The door to Hermione Huxley's quarters burst open, banging against the wall as a blur of robes and bushy hair ran to the bathroom and slammed the door.
Adrenaline pumping through her veins, Hermione wiped her mouth of the vomit she'd just expelled, leaning her head heavily against the clean toilet seat, shivering. She may as well have not eaten at the Great Feast.
Her breathes came in big gulps, as if so thirsty for air she forgot it came so freely.
How could this happen? She thought frantically, The odds alone…
Shaking her head clear of the pounding thoughts, she shakily flushed the toilet, pushing herself up to wash her face in the basin.
This was too much to deal with. Too much, too much…
Her sobs broke out in the bathroom, echoing off the tiles. She held her head in her hands, leaning heavily against the sink as if it was the only thing that could hold her up.
She cried for her friends, who she knows will end up facing a similar fate to herself. Threatened, chased, attacked, lost to everyone but themselves… She cried for the Marauders, so happy and so alive, but so near the end of anything good for them. She cried for herself, now a werewolf destined to a life of isolation and social pariah. She cried for herself, never able to see her friends again as a young woman, never able to be the same kind of friend. She cried and cried and cried.
But if she was good at one thing, it was compartmentalising.
This was her time, now. The future could not be returned to, because the future did not exist. It was her duty, now, to make sure things went as scheduled. It was her duty, to watch everything fall apart.
She was Hermione Granger, time traveller, and she would witness history.
The first day of classes fell on a Friday, which seemed to help everyone acclimatise to being back in a learning environment. Having received Nettle's lesson plans overnight, Hermione had briefly brushed up on the first, second, and seventh year assigned texts that morning in her free period, all of them heavy on theory and lacking the edge Hermione preferred in her personal reading. But she was not the professor, she had to keep reminding herself, she was the assistant. And so assist she would.
She was just thankful she didn't have the Gryffindor seventh years until the following Thursday. Nearly a whole week to prepare herself, that would have to be sufficient.
Hermione wasn't expecting Severus Snape.
Monday was her only fully scheduled day in the week, and so she did not realise until lunch that seventh year Hufflepuffs and Slytherins awaited her after dinner.
Both lessons after lunch – fifth and sixth years respectively – flew by too fast and dragged on too slowly. Hermione felt like she was walking to the gallows, anticipating the piercing eyes of her former professor, and the man who had given his life and his death for Lily Evans.
Hermione stood by her smaller desk, shifting around papers to avoid looking at the curious faces of the seventh years who entered around eight o'clock, obviously tired from a long day of unfamiliar study. Their lives seemed so simple in comparison, Hermione almost envied them.
"It seems like everyone's here – good! Welcome to your final year of Defence Against the Dark Arts! This is the second lesson for our Hufflepuffs in attendance, so we'll be repeating part of their first lesson and moving on to more interesting material. I've been told this year's Slytherins could keep up, so we should be on even footing by the end."
Although the two houses did not seem to have any outright animosity with one another – at least not like Hermione expected given the relationship between them back in the 90's – they were clearly separated down the room, with the Hufflepuffs on the right and the Slytherins on the left. It was thanks to this that Hermione, studiously avoiding the left hand side in a very unprofessional manner, did not glimpse the former Head of Slytherin House until the second half of the lesson.
"Miss?"
Hermione froze, closing her eyes in barely contained fright before plastering on a blank expression and turning. She had been pacing the middle aisle, hoping to be called on by a Hufflepuff in the corner.
Seventeen year old Severus Snape looked up at her, his heavy brow fixed in a frown and his hands covered in smudged ink. His nose, larger than it should have been, dominated his face. But he was as she expected, if a little less hostile.
"Yes?"
"Professor Nettle told us that when facing our opponent, we should always make the first move to establish strength..." Hermione waited for him to continue, "But wouldn't it be more strategic to wait on them? Then you could get a feel for the kind of dueller they are, and immediately you have the tactical advantage."
It was a simple deduction, but none of the other students had picked up on it.
"Twenty points to Slytherin." Hermione said softly, and saw the first genuine smile she'd ever seen grow on Severus Snape's face.
The following two days rushed by, only stopping to say hello briefly in meals and the changing of bandages. When Thursday hit, Hermione was wholly not ready.
Almost four hours of Gryffindors that afternoon. From two thirty 'til five, she'd be facing them, with another hour after dinner. It was almost as if Dumbledore had known, and decided to torture her.
She'd almost prefer the Cruciatus to four hours of smiling, dead faces.
"Take your seats, take your seats. Quickly now, we've got a lot to get through!" Nettle shepherded a few stragglers to their seats before grinning brightly at them. Hermione noticed a few of the students look slightly disturbed, and supposed their usual Defence teachers imposed more of an intimidating air than a friendly one. For all her uncertainty, Hermione appreciated a smiling face in such dark times.
"Now, it's important for all of you to know that the third class of Defence on your schedules is entirely deliberate, I assure you! Dumbledore insisted his seventh years get a bit of extra training in for their NEWTS," There was some muttering, and Hermione was sorely tempted to correct Nettle. Dumbledore had emphasised the extra lesson be about facing the world outside of school. But she was an assistant, nothing more. It was not her place.
"We've got a loaded course this year. Miss Huxley and I are going to be picking up the slack from some of your former teachers. Unfortunately, this means nothing quite as fun as my usual sort of lessons, but we'll get through them with a smile and hopefully a lot of Outstandings by the end!"
Half the class were murmuring amongst themselves by now, Nettle obviously not passing the test they probably put through each new teacher yearly. Hermione understood – it got easier to tell which teachers knew their stuff and which didn't by the time you were thinking about NEWTs. Despite this, Hermione found herself disgruntled – she liked Emilia Nettle, regardless of her rather meek approach to Defence. She was certainly better than the likes of Quirrell, or Lockhart – both of which hadn't even been able to articulate the course work properly, for differing reasons.
Although half the class were distracted, it was a certain group that had caught Hermione's eye – not for their familiarly, although there was that, but for their blatant disregard of Nettle entirely. In fact, one sentence in and they'd all but decided she wasn't worth listening to.
The Marauders were laughing at the back of the class. She saw an unsure Remus nudge Sirius to listen, but his friend waved him off. Professor Nettle was losing steam, her small voice slowly being drowned out by the raucous laughter of the Seventh Year Gryffindors, and the unwilling audience they always attracted. Sirius seemed to be demonstrating a particularly impressive Quidditch move when Hermione decided she'd had enough.
As quick as she could muster, which was far quicker than the students could fathom, she'd sent a silent Incarcerous toward the back of the classroom. As ropes surrounded Sirius, gagging him and tying him to his own chair, Hermione spoke.
"I suppose you think reciting Quidditch moves to a Death Eater will save your life, Mr. Black," she said conversationally, meandering forward as if she were walking along the beach with a friend, "And I suppose your friends will watch and laugh, too, when he kills you."
The room was suddenly deathly silent, and Hermione could feel the stares of every single one of her peers – for that was what they were, given the age difference – land on her.
Professor Nettle did not make a peep from behind her, and Hermione guessed she'd be getting a bit of a talking to after this. But this was a chance to assert her authority and teach them a lesson at the same time. She caught Remus's eye, and couldn't help but feel a little ashamed at the flabbergasted look she'd put on his face. He'd always been her favourite professor, and she was sure he wouldn't approve of a manoeuvre such as the one she was currently pulling.
Sirius had stopped struggling against the ropes now, and instead glared at her with a fierceness she rather admired, despite the lack of respect it implied.
"I'm not sure what your other classmates told you about Defence this year. But Professor Nettle and I have been tasked to prepare you to go forth into the Wizarding World and protect yourselves." Hermione looked around her at all the rapt faces, glimpsing Peter Pettigrew trying to no avail to break Sirius free of his incarceration, and the dark red hair of one Lily Evans, who was studiously listening to every word that came out of Hermione's mouth. Hermione looked away quickly, her stomach rolling at the thought of a student dead in under five years. "Protection requires a wide knowledge of spells, and the ability to anticipate," Hermione turned back to look at Sirius, "your opponent's attack."
"Yes," Nettle continued, and Hermione took that as her cue to release Sirius from her spell. The ropes fell, vanishing, and she was left with an irate Sirius shrugging off the concerns of his friends, his grey eyes boring dangerously into her own. "Miss Huxley is right. I expect better reflexes, if you want an Acceptable in our class!" She chuckled nervously, and Hermione frowned before taking her place back beside the desk. She realised she'd have to work a lot harder at getting Nettle to think about this as a self-defence class, and not a NEWT-level lesson. Dumbledore had told them the extra lesson for the seventh years was to enforce the probability of danger outside of Hogwarts. That was important to remember.
The lesson continued, but Hermione noticed a sudden lack of background chatter than was previous, and smiled to herself, satisfied.
"Alright," Nettle concluded with a big smile. Hermione had tuned out the rest of her speech, "Split up into pairs, and I want to see your best disarming spells! Off you go!" Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. Disarming spells were mastered in the earlier years of Hogwarts. At least, in Hermione's time.
"Expelliarmus? We learnt that in second year!" she overheard a Ravenclaw with dark, long hair whisper to her friend as they set themselves up.
But Hermione, although reluctant to start with such a simple spell but bound to follow Nettle's curriculum, realised that the friendly professor had been right to get them to practice. All students could perform the spell, but nowhere near fast enough or silently enough to warrant moving on to the next part of the lesson. Hermione was astonished.
Sirius was lazily disarming Peter without a second glance, but Peter, too shy to offend his friend, wasn't much of a challenge. Hermione sensed a recurring theme.
"What, are you going to tie me up again? Like it a bit rough, do we, Miss?" Sirius drawled, looking her up and down as she approached them.
Hermione did actually roll her eyes this time.
"Since you asked so nicely," Hermione said, before she turned to the rest of the class and gave a loud whistle. Almost everyone halted, bar one pair that finished with the Gryffindor girl on her back, and her Ravenclaw friend laughing as she helped her up.
"This is a second year spell, yes," Hermione began. The room was silent once more, and she thanked her earlier initiative in getting them to shut up enough so she could talk. Fear was a good motivator, if done in small doses. "But none of you seem to have mastered it, let alone silently."
There was murmuring amongst the group, and Hermione saw the Ravenclaws particularly irate expressions.
"Mr. Black, to the front, please." Sirius narrowed his eyes at her before following orders, standing near Professor Nettle, who seemed content to let things play out.
"Now," she announced as she also reached the front, turning to her students, "What does a silent spell provide you with?"
There was a smattering of hands around the room, and Hermione studiously ignored the redhead nearest to her.
"Yes, you there, with the blonde hair,"
A tall Ravenclaw boy gave his name and an answer straight out of a text book, and Hermione smiled in remembrance.
"Phillip Joyce. Casting a spell silently gives you a distinct advantage in a duel as your opponent won't know what sort of spell you're sending his way."
"Perfect, ten points to Ravenclaw."
Joyce smiled, receiving congratulations from his friends.
"But won't they be able to identify the spell by its colour?" Another Ravenclaw said, flushing slightly when he realised he'd spoken out of turn.
"Correct again, ten points to Ravenclaw." Hermione awarded, and she noticed the previously timid expressions on the students' faces were perking up at the continued house points she was giving out.
Bribery works every time, Hermione mused with amusement.
"But there are plenty of spells that share the same colour. By casting silently, you aren't giving yourself away fully. All of you, as seventh years, should be casting your spells silently out of habit. I'm disappointed to see that this is not the case."
A couple of the seemingly more studious students looked down in embarrassment, but Hermione noticed Lily Evans frowning.
"But Miss Huxley," Hermione could not help but turn, and she met green eyes with her own brown. Lily Evans's hand was up, as Hermione expected, "Aren't silently cast spells weaker than spoken ones?"
Hermione could not answer for a moment given the pure shock that she was feeling. Had they not learnt… ? What sort of education had they been receiving? Hermione suddenly remembered Dumbledore's words, about how they needed someone more fit to confront the impending war.
I'm going to have to be more conspicuous than I planned.
"No, Miss Evans," Hermione replied in a tone that brooked no argument. Even Nettle was frowning, "I don't know what sort of education you have all been receiving, but silent spells are just as strong as spoken spells, the only difference being you do not speak them."
There was murmuring amongst the students.
"Mr. Black and I will now demonstrate. Sirius," Hermione nodded at him, encouraging him to start.
He turned on his side, legs wide apart, a concentrated expression on his face.
Red shot out of his wand, and Hermione produced a silent Protego in answer, which deflected the spell, hitting a nearby student. Her wand fell limply onto the ground.
Hermione walked toward Sirius, who was frowning.
"Good stance," She announced to the class, putting both her hands on his shoulders, "Relaxed wand arm, wide legs, and side-on. This is how you cast a spell." Sirius looked pleased with himself, and Hermione almost felt bad for what she was about to do.
"Good stance… but weak spell." Sirius's mouth fell open in indignation.
"An Expelliarmus should propel your opponent's wand out of their hand and into your own, regardless of whether or not it's been deflected. Let me show you," she announced to the class, turning around and walking back to her original position.
When she turned back, Sirius looked slightly nervous, if only because he probably didn't want to be tied up again as a spectacle.
Expelliarmus!
The red spell shot out of her wand with ferociousness, her aim true, and hit Sirius in the chest so hard he stumbled back a step. His wand flew up out of his hand at a great height, and arced right into her waiting palm.
The room was silent once more. Hermione smiled.
"Try again."
The students turned to each other at once, fierce expressions on their faces, the room absent of voices as each of them refused to take the easy way out. She even saw Pettigrew concentrating hard on disarming James.
"I must say, Hermione," Nettle muttered when Hermione made her way back over to her, observing the students, "That was a very strong disarmer you cast there."
"Thanks," Hermione replied, as a certain kind of warmth spread through her chest as she watched Lily Evans disarm perfectly on the first try, triumphant smile on her face, "I had a good teacher."
It wasn't long before word got around about Miss Huxley tying up Sirius Black in Thursday's Defence class. After that, it seemed she'd earned a modicum of respect for shutting up the infamous prankster.
But being an assistant to Professor Nettle wasn't very challenging, physically or mentally. Nettle had the students taking notes half the class, and practising basic wandwork for the simplest of spells at their level each lesson. Hermione found herself bored and, most worryingly, restless.
It was now mid-September. Hermione knew it would be like this every time, worse as the full moon got even closer, but she could not believe Remus Lupin hid it so well.
Hermione had made a point not to speak so much in lessons after her outburst with the seventh years. Defence was not her class, and it was rude and unprofessional to constantly talk over and interrupt Nettle, no matter how much she wanted to. This didn't mean she couldn't observe, though.
Remus was an old soul, that much was obvious. His smiles were tired but genuine, his eyes often drooping as if fighting sleep, and his arms were very obviously scarred even though he tried to hide them under long sleeves.
However, this could all be attributed to stress, or sickness, as well as past trauma. If Hermione had not known, she would have never guessed. Remus did better at hiding at seventeen than he did when he was in his thirties. Though, Hermione supposed, he was probably too tired to even fathom pretending back in her time.
Still, Hermione couldn't help the tiny sliver of admiration that blossomed. She stoutly ignored it, instead giving him approving nods at impressive spellcasting and marking his papers while steadfastly refusing to recognise the slightly messier handwriting of her former professor.
It came to a head on the third Tuesday of term, the twentieth. Exactly one week from Hermione's first full moon.
"Miss Huxley," she heard as she strode down the corridor in newly bought robes, a little shaggy but practical enough for her job. She'd been on her way to her rooms, hoping to relax with a book away from the prying and curious eyes of her students, who seemed to think that because she was younger, they could ask every sort of personal question that came to their mind. The first years were especially bad.
It was Professor McGonagall who had called her name from down the corridor, and Hermione pasted on a plain smile in response. She'd been trying not to be alone with the older professor, but she supposed it was only a matter of time before she'd be cornered. Dumbledore had not expanded upon to the staff Hermione's own explanation to him of her situation, and so McGonagall always seemed to look at Hermione with a little pity. Frankly, it was embarrassing and a little too close to home.
"The Headmaster informed me of your… condition." McGonagall pursed her lips, and Hermione straightened automatically in response. She supposed the staff knew about Remus, so they had to have known about her. She'd been resolutely not thinking about her impending transformation, but the reality of it was beginning to set in. She'd had to find somewhere to do it, foremost, before she could address any of the other multitude of problems that awaited her.
"I'm not sure if anyone else told you," McGonagall continued, hesitating only for a moment before barrelling on like a true Gryffindor, "but Remus Lupin, of seventh year Gryffindor, shares your affliction." Hermione tried to look surprised, "Unfortunately, we did not anticipate any more than one of you with us, and so the Headmaster has advised that we keep our methods the same."
Hermione wasn't entirely sure what she meant, and it must have shown on her face, for McGonagall made it plainly clear.
"Come the evening of the 27th, you and Mr. Lupin will both reside in the Shrieking Shack for the night until you… resume yourselves once more."
Thoughts ran rampant through Hermione's head, but the most glaringly obnoxious of all was the one that kept repeating itself over and over.
Do not be noticed do not be noticed do not be noticed do not be noticed-
"That sounds… acceptable, Professor. Thank you for accommodating for me." She added on hastily. It was strange to think that the transformation she always sympathised about would soon be hers to experience. She couldn't quite wrap her head around it.
"I'll leave it up to you to let Mr. Lupin know. I believe he has a free period now, also." And with a terse smile, McGonagall continued down the corridor, leaving Hermione a pale mess behind her.
Walking numbly to the library, Hermione thought of what she could possibly say. In any other circumstance, she would take Remus aside in her office, and let him know plainly that they would be sharing full moons together but she was still his teacher. Well, teaching assistant. It was for convenience, for lack of anything else put in place.
However, this was not any other circumstance. Hermione had never been insanely good at lying. She was sure Dumbledore knew something was amiss, at least. She'd be getting by on half-truths for the most part – yes, she was a Muggleborn; no, her parents were dead; yes, she'd been in combat; no, she hadn't faced Voldemort; no, she preferred not to talk about it.
But Hermione found the thought of outright lying to Remus Lupin's face difficult. He had never lied to her.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione entered the library. If she knew Remus, and she did, this was where he would be.
It didn't take long to find him.
He was not alone, as she had hoped. Peter Pettigrew sat with him, and Hermione's muscles clenched in warning.
He's not a Death Eater yet. She thought to herself, approaching cautiously, Not yet.
"Mr. Lupin," Hermione greeted stiffly, "Pettigrew," The latter nodded politely at her.
"How can we help?" His mossy green eyes were bright and focused, and Hermione nearly fidgeted under the scrutiny.
She glanced at Pettigrew before deciding it was a bit too much to handle, speaking to them both.
"I need to speak to you in my office, Lupin." Remus blinked, uncomprehending. Peter had paused momentarily before continuing with his work, "Follow me, please."
She turned on her heel, refusing to see whether he was following her. She heard a few mumbles, and the sound of books being shoved hastily into a bag and so had to presume he was.
Entering Professor Nettle's office five minutes later didn't help her relax at all. If anything, the bits and pieces of her colleague's life scattered around the room were stifling, and an uncomfortable reminder of Hermione's own situation.
There was an awkward silence after they were both seated. Remus had chosen not to comment on the fact this wasn't exactly her office, before Hermione cleared her throat.
Remus looked at her expectantly, and Hermione didn't know what came over her. She reasoned later that it was the familiar gaze and more recent face that caused it.
She deflated considerably.
"I honestly don't know how to tell you this. It's… it's a bit ridiculous, really," She laughed without humour, picking at her fingernails nervously. Remus subtly dropped his book bag on the floor, scooting closer.
"It's – ahh… well, Professor McGonagall told me about–"
But it didn't seem like she needed to say any more. Remus knew, if his suddenly closed off face and tense posture was anything to go by. Hermione frowned, confused.
"It's nothing to worry about, Professor. I've got it under control." Stumped, Hermione chose to address his reference to her later and jumped on the most pressing issue.
"Under contr– ? Remus, no. That's not what I meant at all. This is… very difficult for me." Hermione added at Remus's befuddled look. "I – look, there's no easy way to say this, so: I'm a werewolf."
Remus's expression did not change, and Hermione wasn't entirely sure he has grasped her meaning.
"That is to say, I will be joining you in the Shrieking Shack next full moon."
His expression cleared, and Hermione thought the most apt description she could use for him at that moment was shocked. It didn't seem to fit, though.
"Oh."
There was another moment of silence, and Hermione tried not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here she was, confessing to the person she'd known for five years, that she was a werewolf. If he were any older, he probably would have smelt it on her. But Remus had not been in the presence of many other werewolves at this point in his life. He still had that innocence left.
"Yes, well…" Hermione fiddled with the photograph in front of her, tilting it this way and that to the silent objections of its occupants. Nettle's brother, it seemed, was especially annoyed.
She rose from her seat. The silence was becoming unbearable, and it would be easier to end the conversation now.
She moved swiftly to the door, and opened it wide. Remus had risen, too, picking up his book bag. He still seemed at a loss as to what to say, so Hermione simply smiled at him.
"I'll see you in class, Mr. Lupin."
He brushed past her slowly, as if he couldn't even process the act of walking properly now that she'd shocked him so.
"Oh, and by the way?" Hermione halted him. He turned his head, eyes wide. "I'm not your professor, Remus. Miss Huxley works just fine."
She shut the door. Resting her head against it, Hermione closed her eyes and released a breath she didn't know she was holding.
It seemed like if she could do that, she could do anything.
She was wrong. She could not do anything.
"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm just not up to it. This damn wizard flu has reared its ugly head." If Hermione had been feeling particularly grouchy, she would have given Nettle the guilt trip. But Emilia's red and splotchy face, watering eyes, and clogged sinuses were too pathetic to do that to. So she accepted her fate and waved away the professor.
"It's fine, Emilia. I'll take your seventh years after lunch. Boggarts, was it?"
Nettle nodded miserably from her quarters' doorway. She'd taught the fourth years that morning, but it seemed she could not go on. Maybe the Slytherins had been too much for her.
And so it was with the banging of the bell to signify the end of lunch that Hermione, having scoffed down a sandwich just in time, made her way to the Defence classroom on the first floor.
As the students ambled in, only a few not quite so dumbed down by the hot food in their bellies noticed Nettle's absence, and this almost made her job easier. The less questions, the less interaction, and Hermione could end her Thursday at nine o'clock with a mug of butterbeer and a novel in bed.
At around five past the hour, all the students were seated. Hermione noticed with approval that the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws had no qualms about sitting amongst one another.
Good. They need all the unity they can get.
The boggart rattled inside its wardrobe, effectively bringing the class to attention.
"Hello, everyone. Professor Nettle is too sick to teach today, so I'll be taking on the lesson myself." Hermione eyed a latecomer, but only glanced at them as they took a seat at the back.
"Who can tell me what is inside of here?" She gestured to the large wardrobe, which rocked with sudden movement as if Hermione had practised the precise timing before class.
"With all due respect, Miss Huxley," A small, blonde girl spoke up from the front. She was sitting next to Lily, and Hermione wasn't surprised to see the same frown on her face. "Boggarts are a third year creature. Shouldn't we be learning about something a little more… advanced?"
The rest of the class piped up in approval, and Hermione tried not to show she was in total agreement.
"Professor Nettle has deemed this the subject for today, so–"
"Yeah, but you know more stuff!" called out a rebellious Ravenclaw, and similar exclamations sounded throughout the classroom.
Hermione didn't know what to say.
"Snape told me you gave him points for a completely contradi-"
"Snape?!" came a voice from the back, disgusted.
"Alright, that's enough!" Hermione called out, trying not to smile. The boggart banged about again.
I wonder….
"I'll make a deal with you." Hermione started, and saw interest on most of their faces, "If I give a… more advanced lesson, you're going to have to do the theory outside of class. We won't have time for it here. Deal?"
Hermione saw nods all round, none of them even hesitating.
If they actually do the theory, I'll sell my wand, she thought with amusement.
"Alright. The question still stands. Who can tell me what's inside this wardrobe?"
Nearly twenty hands, the whole class, shot up.
Hermione pointed to the blonde girl who'd spoken out before.
"Mary McDonald. It's a boggart."
"Yes it is, five points to Gryffindor." Mary smiled to herself, "And what does a boggart do, Mary?"
"It takes the shape of whatever you fear the most."
"Right again, another five points."
"She gives the Gryffindors the easy questions," Hermione heard a Ravenclaw mutter as she paced in front of the room, a small smile on her lips.
"And you," Hermione pointed to the same Ravenclaw, "What do you fear the most?"
The Ravenclaw paused for a second, as if unsure.
"Snakes, Miss."
"Snakes, alright." Hermione repeated, nodding in thought, "And what would you do if you saw a snake?"
The student scoffed, as if the question itself was asinine.
"I'd run."
There were a few chuckles around the room, cutting through some of the tension.
"Yes, I suppose that would be smart," Hermione replied in a considering tone, "But what if you couldn't run?"
"Well– … what do you mean?"
"I mean, what if the snake was right in front of you and you couldn't run? Because if you run, you turn your back on the snake and it kills you."
The room was quiet.
"Ah, I see you understand what I mean." Hermione said, making her way slowly down the aisle between the two sides of the classroom.
"Despite what Professor Nettle has told you previously, the extra Defence class in your schedules is not in anticipation of NEWTs. There is a real threat out there, a threat that no amount of bravado will allow you to escape from unscathed. I consider it my job to help you better protect yourself, and your friends. Family, as well, for those of us who are unique among them." Hermione looked to Lily, who had a particularly serious look on her face.
"Boggarts are a fake manifestation of your deepest fear, and are considered silly creatures you can magic away with a simple Riddikulus. But real life is not so easy. Outside these walls is where you will face real fears, fears harder to beat than a snake, or a spider, or a banshee. Fears that will chase you when you run."
Hermione swallowed thickly, pushing thoughts of hot, wet breath at her feet from her mind.
"When Professor Nettle asks, this is what I taught you about boggarts today."
The class relaxed, chuckling now that the tension seemed to have been broken entirely.
"And, unfortunately, I'll have to get you to write a foot-long paper on the boggart and how it manages to detect your worst fear. I'm sorry," Hermione added at the groans throughout the room. "But that's the theory, and we had a deal. Let's take a break. Ten minutes, everyone."
Hermione strode back to her desk, sitting down and sighing heavily.
I can't believe Emilia thought boggarts would take up the whole double. I… I can't leave them to the curriculum the whole year.
She looked up at their faces, more animated than she'd seen them so far this term.
I've got to do something.
"Alright, let's get back to it." Hermione announced, and the students moseyed back to their allocated desks.
Hermione didn't really want to do it, but it didn't seem like she had a choice. Emilia's next topic was the Grindylow and somehow, Hermione didn't think they'd be encountering any of them in Voldemort's Death Eater ranks.
"I was looking over your previous years recently and something became apparent to me quite early on. There's been almost no mention of werewolves."
She refused to look at the back left, where she knew a certain werewolf was probably watching, surrounded by his Animagus friends. "Apart from one question on your OWLs, they've basically been ignored. So let's talk about them. What can anyone tell me about werewolves?"
A hand came up at the back, allowing Hermione to ignore Lily once more. She'd have to call on her eventually, but the more she thought about looking her in the eyes, the more nervous she got.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?"
"Normal people become werewolves through a bite." It was the first time she'd heard James speak in anything but a joking tone, and the similarity to Harry shocked her.
It's not him.
"Very good, five points."
No one else seemed to offer up any other information, and it was a sad representation of their previously inept teachers. One good teacher couldn't make up for years of bad ones. Hermione knew that first hand.
She sighed.
"Miss Evans?"
"A werewolf turns with each full moon. They aren't in control of themselves and can't remember each transformation. They hunt for humans, unknowingly. That's why people get bitten, and that's why people are afraid of them."
"Very succinct. Five points."
"I think it's important to understand, Miss Huxley, that it's not the werewolf that's scary. It's the person inside them." Hermione turned to the voice, and saw little Peter Pettigrew fidget at the attention. His round cheeks flushed a bright red, and he mumbled an apology.
"No, go on." Hermione urged, perching herself on Nettle's desk. Her weeks-old wound was bugging her today more than usual.
One week.
"Well, I mean… if the werewolf is a good person, they're going to try and stop themselves from being able to bite people, aren't they? And if they're bad…"
The rest was left unsaid.
"But Evans just said, they can't control–"
"I'd like to see what you'd say if you were bitten by a werewolf, Joyce–"
Suddenly, there was pandemonium.
"Is that a threat, Black?"
"–that's not what I meant, Phillip. The control–"
"Please, will you stop it!" cried Mary.
"Patty, it's okay, the full moon's not for another week–"
"–didn't mean to start anything–"
"We know, Pete–"
"Enough!" Hermione raised her voice above the others, but it was barely a shout.
"I think we've all raised some good points, here," she started, still avoiding Remus's gaze, "But it's important to remember this should be an academic discussion, and not one littered with threats and subtle bigotry."
Joyce had the grace to look slightly chastened.
"You-Know-Who utilises werewolves for his own agenda. Write me a foot-long paper on why, and you get an immediate Exceeds Expectations for your boggart piece, completed or not." Hermione grinned at their incredulous faces.
"I'll see you all after dinner. Ravenclaws are welcome. You're dismissed."
Retiring to her desk, Hermione waited for the last student to disappear through the doorway before she rested her head in her hands.
She was completely in over her head.
She was not a teacher. It had taken everything in her to pretend she was objective, to retain the authoritative air McGonagall lived and breathed. Even Harry, in all his informal teaching, seemed like a natural. Every word out of her mouth felt forced, and pretentious, and–
"–rius, no! It's fine, come on. Let's just go to the common room."
"Padfoot is right, Moony, we have to say something."
The door swung open, and Hermione lifted her head wearily, abruptly faced with an angry Sirius.
"What are you playing at?" He demanded angrily, face fixed into a furious expression. Hermione glanced behind him to see an equally angry James Potter, and an embarrassed Remus Lupin. Peter still stood near the door, looking nervously outside as if a Professor would bust them for speaking with a teacher's assistant.
"I'm sorry?" Hermione asked, genuinely confused.
"All that stuff about werewolves!" Sirius raged, and James pushed past him to deliver the nail in the coffin.
"Are you trying to expose him? We won't let you!"
Hermione was taken aback. This… this was not what she would have thought seventeen year old James Potter to be. By all accounts he was arrogant, lazy, no-good…
Hermione peered around the two bodyguards and looked at Remus, eyebrows raised.
"You didn't tell them?"
He looked even more embarrassed, shuffling closer and picking at the strap of his book bag nervously.
"It didn't seem right."
Hermione swallowed back the warmth she could feel emanating from her chest.
"Tell us what? What the bloody hell are you on about, Moony?" Sirius pushed, looking back and forth between them like he was watching a tennis game.
"Pettigrew, please come in and shut the door."
Peter did as he was told quicker than she thought possible.
"Now that we've all calmed down–"
"Calmed down? Wh–"
"Merlin, Sirius, shut up!"
The four boys looked at her in astonishment.
She huffed, frustrated.
"Look, I understand Remus is your friend–" She silenced James's impending interruption with a hard look, "And I'm sure he appreciates you defending him. But the precise reason why he didn't need defending is exactly what he did not tell you. What I say here does not leave this room," Hermione looked at them all intensely, "Do you hear me?"
"Yes," said Sirius sullenly, and he seemed to answer for all of them.
"I'm a werewolf, you idiots. That's why Remus has nothing to worry about."
Sirius looked gobsmacked.
"This never gets any easier, does it?" she directed her question to the sandy-haired boy at the back, and he smiled with relief.
"No. Not really."
Not sure how I feel about this one, but I think it needed to happen. I'm so excited to get on to the more interesting stuff, but it's hard to write these intro fillers! Hopefully it's not too boring. I'm struggling with Hermione's voice a bit, because I'm trying to make her more mature, more war-hardened. And she's still going on about not wanting to be close to anyone, so there's that to consider, too. Hopefully this all comes together! Please review and let me know how I'm doing. :)
