Chapter 3: Chlortetracycline

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Hermione glanced over her shoulder for the fourth time; she had had the most peculiar feeling of being watched for months now but had placed it down to stress-related paranoia. After all, who would want to follow her of all people around? Bushy-haired and nose constantly buried in a book, Hermione found herself less than popular with her colleagues at the university; especially since more often than not she had a habit of bringing the exam mean-levels up a substantial amount thanks to her photographic memory. No, the only reason she could understand anybody wanting to follow her was if someone was attempting some act of sabotage on her (she would guess Belinda Lauenburg as the instigator; the cattish and gossipy bint in her required Introductory Chemistry was just the type to try something so petty).

This feels different though, Hermione glanced up and down the street, before crossing the road from her quaint Wandsworth flat.

Shoving her keys into her pocket, she chose to ignore the cluster of trees she usually chose to cut through, instead taking the longer route to the train station, her pocket jingling with loose change. Since Sirius had stolen her favourite bag Hermione had had to cancel all of her cards and was still in the process of procuring a new drivers licence. She needed to buy a new Oyster card too, and just earlier had resorted to searching high and low through her apartment for any spare pounds and pence.

Arriving at the station she lined up in the short queue for a new pass. The line was near stagnant as Hermione watched disinterestedly as some bossy-looking businessman in a too-tight suit stood yelling at the attendant about penalty charges. She heard someone slide into line behind her.

She jumped when the person spoke, "He's a loud one, isn't he? Are all muggles like that?"

Hermione blinked, turning around she found herself looking up at a handsome middle-aged man's face surrounded by black hair that stuck up the most peculiar way in the back, "I beg your pardon? What did you just call him?"

The handsome man grimaced as if he had just committed a faux pas, shoving his round-rimmed glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose, "Er, you know, those stodgy old types; 'muggles', yeah?"

He gave a weak laugh as Hermione continued to stare at him uneasily. He cleared his throat and brusquely shoved a hand out with an uneasy grin.

"The name's James Potter, and you are?"

She considered refusing the hand of the overly forward man, but her upper-middle-class breeding and strict upbringing won over as she carefully accepted it with her own, "Hermione Granger."

James gave a nod and a brilliant smile that looked out of place with the brooding expressions of her fellow undergrounders. It was obvious with his open and bubbly personality that he had never been to London before. The man was going to get himself mugged if he kept grinning at strangers like he was.

"So," James dragged out the word as if he was searching for what to say next, "What do you do for a living, Hermione?"

"I'm a pharmaceutical veterinary engineer," she replied smoothly, shuffling forward with the line as the overweight businessman finally threw his hands in the air, snatched a card off the attendant and stormed off toward the turnstiles. James shuffled with her.

"And what does a 'farmers-suit-icicle vet-itinerary engine-ear' do?" James stumbled out, a look of pure curiosity dawning on his face.

Hermione gave him an odd look, "I help develop narcotics for afflicted or debilitated animals."

James shrugged, obviously confused.

Hermione sighed. She hated simplifying her job; she was proud of the effort she had put into achieving it, "I create cures and preventatives for sick pets."

Something sparkled in the older man's eyes and he snapped his fingers at her, "Oh, you make potions then!"

"Potions?" Hermione sputtered, hackles raising as James nodded proudly to himself, "I'm not some sort of Shakespearean witch, I'll have you know! I don't sit around a cauldron all day with my cat chanting away in Gobbledegook; I use hard research and facts to get my results!"

James' eyebrows rose, impressed, "You can speak Gobbledegook? I don't even think Dumbledore knows how to do that. Goblins are rather guttural, you know. I remember when Remus and I were partnered up in History of Magic; he would always insist that we pronounce the names correct, I usually ended up leaving the classroom hoarse by the end of it!"

Hermione took a sharp step back, more than nervous as James prattled on, "Goblins? Dumbledore? History of Magic? What are you talking about?"

James seemed to catch himself there, looking like a deer in the headlights as he stared down at Hermione like he'd only just seen her for the first time, "Oh, er… you know…"

Hermione shook her head, "No, I don't know. And what's this about Remus?"

The man's face paled as he wrung his wrists before shoving a hand through his birds-nest hair, making it stand on end.

"Do you know Remus? Blonde hair, brown eyes? Covered in scars? About this tall?" Hermione gestured with her hand some ways above her head, her eyes narrowing at the man's expression.

The pale appearance of his skin blossomed into a blustering pink, travelling down his neck into the collar of his button-up. His hands shoved themselves into the pockets of the coat he was dressed in, rummaging through them as he eyed Hermione nervously.

"Er, you— you dropped these earlier!" he said in a jumble of words.

"Sorry?"

But James had obviously found what he had been searching for. Flinging his hands out, he caught Hermione in the chest, shoving her back with a soft "Oof!" and making her stumble into the person in front of her, who gave her a distasteful sniff. The sound of plastic clattering to the ground made her look down, and Hermione found herself staring down at her missing cards, her Oyster pass winking up at her from the grubby tiles.

When she looked up, James Potter was already gone.

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Sirius howled with laughter from where he was reclined on the over-stuffed loveseat in James's living room. James stood in the corner, scowling at the crackling fire.

"Yeah, yeah, Padfoot, I get it. It was a real hoot."

Sirius looked like he was struggling to breathe as he sat up, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, "Merlin— you did… and then you just…!"

He dissolved into another fit of giggles, ignoring James's threats and curses as he re-enacted his best friend shoving the confused muggle girl and bolting from the station. James's patience finally slipped. With an embarrassed cry, he leapt across the room, snatching up one of the matching over-stuffed pillows and tried to smother Sirius with it, which only made the man cackle louder.

Peter waddled into the room shortly after, Cornish pasties in hand, and seated himself in the winged armchair closest to the fire, watching in mild interest as Sirius finally managed to kick James off, sending him careening to the ground with a heavy thump and a bitter moan.

Peter ignored James whining, childishly sprawled across the floor, and said to Sirius, "So I take it that it didn't go well."

Sirius shook his head and sighed like he was reliving a favourite pastime – which he was, "You should have seen him, Wormtail. I swear, if he acted like that around his darling Lily, she would have ended up running to Amos Diggory begging him to marry her before seventh year was out."

James threw a disgusted face from his spot on the floor, "Bulbous-headed prat," he muttered darkly.

"With such a terrible act you just showed I should have convinced you to buy those sneezing pepper shakers instead of that bracelet for your anniversary," Sirius rolled his eyes before pointing a finger at Peter, making the tubby man flinch, "Wormtail, you're up."

"Up for what?"

James sprung up with a grin as he trotted over to his portly friend, leaning an arm across the back of the chair, "Why, to convince the lovely lady Granger to go on a date with Remus, of course. Since the poor man would never work up the guts to do it himself!"

Peter blinked watery eyes, "But how do I do that?"

Sirius tapped his chin in consideration before a broad grin plastered itself across his face. Jumping up from the couch, he snatched a handful of Floo powder from James's mantle and rushed through to his old home, bounding back out a few minutes later waving a woman's purse about.

"Where did you get that?" Peter asked.

"Stole it from Moony's bag while he was in the shower yesterday. The old fool carts it around like a Hinkypunk's lantern," Sirius grinned, "Let's see what we can find in here, eh?"

Both James and Peter shuffled closer as Sirius shoved his hands into the depths of the beaded bag, before pulling out a flimsy piece of creased card victoriously, "A-ha! Got it!"

"Got what?" James asked.

"An appointment card! Hermione's going to the dent-eest tomorrow."

"What's a dent-eest?"

Sirius shrugged, heading for James's front door, "How should I know? It's a muggle thing, I guess. It can't be that bad. C'mon Peter, let's go find one of those feletone things and make an appointment!"

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Because the chapters are so short for the most part, I'm going to be releasing them one per day. I just get the quick-fast vibe, y'know? Always, please leave a review and look out for an update tomorrow.