Chapter Nine
The Most Potent Medicine
November, 1975
Hermione arrived to potions late that morning. She had been up into the wee hours of the morning studying the stack of Narcissa's notes and letters that had arrived in the past few months, each one containing vital information the woman had gleaned from eavesdropping and gossip. Narcissa had a working theory, based on what she had meticulously and delicately gathered, that Abraxas had capitulated to Voldemort's demands that his son take the mark in order to buy more time to find information about his lineage. It also benefitted them immensely to have a man on the inside, so to speak, and Narcissa strongly suspected that Lucius was conducting covert subversion from within the ranks.
Hermione had fallen asleep with the letters and her own notes gathered about her in her emerald-upholstered bed. She had woken late in the morning, cursing herself for her carelessness, and hastily cast a glamour on the papers and hidden them away in her trunk. Old Hermione had scolded her at length, and she had spent the time she normally would have gone down to breakfast with Judith taking a long shower to clear her head of both sleep and the irate war veteran berating her to exercise 'constant vigilance'.
She took her seat in the back of the classroom amid Slughorn's introductory lecture, giving the professor an apologetic smile. Remus, who usually sat in the seat across the aisle from hers, was absent; it had been the full moon the previous night, and he was in the Hospital Wing. A quick glance at Sirius, who was slouched beside her, and James next to him, revealed dark circles under their eyes. They had finally become animagi, it seemed; she had known it happened around their fifth year, and had been watching them carefully after each full moon, but this was the first time it was apparent they had been up all night.
Her hair was still wet from the shower, and she withdrew her wand from her bag as Slughorn continued to drone on about Stabilization Solutions. A quick drying charm sent hot air rippling through her locks, and she knew they would be curling into a frizzy mess but couldn't bring herself to care.
"Gardenias."
It was murmured so quietly that she wondered for a moment if she had imagined it, but after a moment she glanced at Black and saw him watching her with a tiny smirk.
"Beg pardon?"
"You smell like a shrub, Malfoy." He said, reaching behind the back of her chair to yank gently on a single curl.
She blushed and gave him an irritable look, gathering her hair onto the shoulder farthest from his interloping hand.
"It's a smoothing formula, it's supposed to help with frizziness." She sniffed.
"Not working very well then, is it?"
"I'm considering a lawsuit against the company for false advertising, actually."
"I'm sure you'd come out on top."
"I generally do."
"Is that so?" There was a wicked gleam in his eyes, and she felt blood rushing to her cheeks once again.
"Good Circe, could you muster the effort to remove your mind from the gutter for even a moment, Black?"
"Certainly, I just choose not to." He replied smugly, and she rolled her eyes, determinedly fixing her gaze on the front of the room.
James, next to Sirius, was beginning to nod off, his glasses sliding forward to the very tip of his nose. Next to him, Lily was focused on Slughorn's lecture with an admirable intensity, not even seeming to have noticed their fourth table-mate's late arrival.
She heard some rustling beside her, but remained ostensibly focused on Slughorn with a great deal of effort. After a moment, her attention was successfully diverted by a shiny green apple rolling across the table in front of her. She reflexively reached out a hand and grabbed the piece of fruit, shooting Sirius a questioning glance.
Rather than his previous expression of nonchalant insolence, he was the one with his eyes now fixed on Slughorn, a faintly uncomfortable air about him.
"You missed breakfast this morning, yeah? Consider it a peasant's humble offering to a tyrannical princess."
"Tyrannical? Hardly." She scoffed, trying to ignore the strange warmth that was blooming in her chest.
"Well what would you call your insistence on complete and utter silence at library study tables?"
She rolled her eyes. The past few weeks, Sirius had taken to occasionally accompanying Remus when he came to meet her for their nightly study sessions. Lily had also been frequently joining them as of late, and Hermione had been enjoying a burgeoning friendship with the girl, who was whip-smart and refreshingly honest.
Hermione had invited Severus to come on these evenings she knew Lily would be joining her and Remus, but he had flatly refused each time. He seemed unhappy with her growing friendliness towards the Gryffindor, and Hermione had a shrewd ideas as to why this might be. Severus was a jealous person, firstly, and while Hermione was his friend, Lily was the true object of his affections and he did not like sharing her attention with anyone. He likely thought she and Lily would become chums and forget all about him (or some other related fantasy birthed by his tragic inferiority complex). That he was the one willfully excluding himself only added to her exasperation towards the boy.
And secondly, Hermione was certain that her friend had been developing a more complex resentment towards her for quite some time regarding her position within the house hierarchy—and the broader social hierarchy of the wizarding world. This was shown tellingly in the fact Hermione could be friends with people like Lily and Remus—Gryffindors with unimpressive lineage—without suffering many social ramifications. She was a Malfoy, and as such would always command a degree of respect and authority amongst the Slytherins, even if they didn't like her; she knew Severus had always been jealous of her for this, and her friendship with Lily was only prodding at this sore spot. He had been rather short with her lately, and she knew things would eventually come to a head; it was only a matter of when.
Alongside a friendship with Lily, she had been nurturing a tender amicability with Sirius these past few months. Being potions partners meant they were forced to spend at least five hours a week together, and combined with the icebreaker that being kidnapped together by fanatical Death Eaters had been, this had served to thaw things between them considerably. Potter and Pettigrew, taking their cues from Sirius on the matter, had even become tentatively friendly with her, nodding cordially to her when they passed each other in the corridors.
She supposed it helped that it was obvious Lily liked her quite a lot; Potter was still hopelessly besotted with the girl, and although Hermione knew from Old Hermione that they would eventually end up together, it was hard to see the trajectory that would lead to that outcome. Of course, the arrogant Gryffindors had not improved their treatment of Severus in the slightest, and Hermione knew that the removal of their common ground in this matter—and what seemed to be even further evidence of special privileges Hermione had that Severus never would—served to exacerbate the rising tensions between the two Slytherins.
In any case, the specific incident Sirius was referring to had been a night the previous week when he had joined her and Remus in the library, and had begun an animated debate with his friend about various concealment charms one could apply to parchments and papers. Although it had been an interesting conversation, and Hermione had had a shrewd idea as to why the two boys both seemed to know so much about this particular subject, she had been deeply involved in a reading on Fiendfyre containment, and had had to repeatedly glare and hiss and them to quiet down so she could focus.
"I would call it a dedication to academic success." She said primly, and Sirius snorted.
"You can't expect me to believe you were reading something for class? If you actually ever studied you'd be first in our year, easy."
Hermione blinked several times, thrown off-balance. Remus, who she had spent evenings in the library with nearly every night since first year, had never seemed to notice that she didn't do the assigned readings for class; she was always careful about it, and if he had noticed anything he had never commented on it. That Sirius would have made this deduction after only a few evenings spent in her company while she read was disconcerting.
"Of course I study." She said finally, with quiet dignity.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Could have fooled me."
"Hardly a feat."
He merely smirked and shrugged in response, and Hermione huffed with annoyance. Quietly, however, she tucked the apple into her lap under the table, running a finger along the fruit's smooth skin.
After dinner that evening—a dismal affair wherein Judith had been tired and stressed by an impending essay deadline, Severus had been moody and taciturn, and Regulus had not joined them at all, in favor of eating with his friends in his own year farther down the table—Hermione nipped by her dormitory in order to fetch a glossy Honeydukes bag, before heading several floors up to the Hospital Wing.
The wing was dim and quiet, only three beds filled, and Hermione politely greeted Madam Pomfrey, who was doing paperwork at her desk. The matron pointed distractedly to the bed farthest from the door, under one of the large latticed windows.
Remus was sitting up in bed, a book propped in his lap. He looked considerably better than he usually did after full moons—he still appeared pale and wan, but his injuries looked much less severe than usual—and Hermione attributed this to his friends having accompanied him for the first time for this most recent transformation.
He had looked up, clearly sensing her approach, as soon as she had come in the door, and was smiling at her fondly.
"You don't always have to come visit me, you know. I'm ill so often it's hardly even worth it."
"But if I didn't show up with Honeydukes, without fail, every time you are, do you really expect me to believe you wouldn't be mopey?" Hermione said, perching herself deftly at the foot of his bed and handing him the sweets bag.
"Of course I would be mopey. But I would bear it with the quiet dignity befitting a gentleman." Remus replied, reaching out and grabbing the bag with a distinctly undignified enthusiasm.
Hermione snorted, and withdrew from her book bag a neat stack of parchment.
"Notes from your classes today; they're copies of Lily's." She explained, when Remus, his mouth already full of chocolate, raised an eyebrow at the neat, cramped handwriting, which was nothing like the ornate penmanship he had come to recognize as Hermione's.
"That was nice of her. I'm happy to see you two becoming friends, I've always thought you would get along. It was just hard to imagine you ever having occasion to socialize, given…well…you know."
"Indeed I do." She replied archly, breaking off a bit of chocolate from the bar Remus had started in on.
"And I'm glad Sirius and James have finally let up on you a bit. I don't think I've ever said this but…well, I've always been ashamed of the way I tolerated how they treated you. Of the way I tolerate a lot of the nonsense they get up to, honestly. But it's just…"
"Remus, you don't have to explain, really. I understand. They're your friends just as much as I am; it's a difficult position for you to be in. And I can take care of myself. I'm glad that things are less openly hostile now, obviously, but I was fine before."
"As always, you're too generous with me."
"It ought to balance out, given how hard you are on yourself."
Remus smiled ruefully and there was a moment of comfortable silence before he said,
"By the way, I've been meaning to ask…did something happen this summer? Sirius has hedged around it quite a lot, but I know that something happened at your brother's wedding. He's alluded to 'family stuff' but with Sirius you never get much information where that's concerned."
Hermione sighed expansively, and leaned back.
"I'll make myself comfortable then, because it's quite the story. I'm honestly surprised he didn't tell you lot; it seems too good an opportunity to look cool for him to pass up."
About an hour later, after she had told Remus most of what had happened at Lucius and Narcissa's wedding, and they had discussed (though not in much depth, she had been careful of that) the situation with her family and Voldemort, Hermione had bid her friend farewell.
She turned to quietly shut one of the heavy doors to the Hospital Wing behind her, and when she turned around, Hermione couldn't help but gasp at the sudden appearance of the figure of Albus Dumbledore.
Since starting at Hogwarts, she had obviously seen the headmaster from afar on plenty of occasions. But this was the first time she had ever run into him alone, and she couldn't help but feel anxious at being in his presence, especially given everything Old Hermione had to say about him—both bad and good.
"Good evening, Miss Malfoy. I apologize for startling you, I ought to have announced myself; I'm afraid neglecting to do so is a bad habit of mine."
The tall man was clad in immense robes of dark yellow velvet, a shifting, rippling pattern of bronze fall leaves swirling about the hem. She deliberately avoided making direct contact with his piercing blue eyes, despite the friendly twinkle in them. Ursula had trained her well from a young age, and she was a highly accomplished oclumens. But she was certainly not confident in her abilities in the face of a wizard like the headmaster.
Be wary of him. He is good and kind, but also unpredictable. We can't reveal our hand at the wrong time. The voice of Old Hermione, which seemed to be interjecting less frequently as of late, whispered quietly in the back of her mind.
"Please Headmaster, don't apologize, it's nothing." She demurred, silently acknowledging her counterpart's warning.
"Visiting young Mr. Lupin, I assume? I was just on my way to do the same."
Hermione didn't even feel surprised that he seemed to know she had a habit of visiting Remus every month; she would assume he would make it his business know these sorts of things, given Remus's delicate and tenuous circumstances.
"Of course, I visit Remus whenever he's ill. It helps his spirits to have company, I think."
"Friendship is, I have found, often the most potent medicine for any illness."
Hermione couldn't help but look up briefly then, searching his face for any clues as to what exactly he might be implying. But the Headmaster's smiling expression was unreadable, and she quickly looked back down.
"It certainly helps him feel better having someone to talk to, I'm sure."
"Undoubtedly. I am sure he appreciates your visits very much."
Thinking this was a natural end to the conversation, Hermione smiled and nodded to the Professor, saying something about having to get back to her dormitory. She was halted in her tracks a mere few steps later, however, as the elderly man said,
"If you should ever need someone to talk to yourself, Miss Malfoy, I hope that you will find my door is always open. So long as you can get past the gargoyles, of course, but they're not so bad; cheerful fellows, really, once you get to know them. Perhaps you can bring along some of that marvelous Honeydukes' best you are always treating the fortunate Mr. Lupin to."
That unreadable smile was still on his face, and Hermione could think of no response other than to nod and tentatively thank him for his consideration. She headed back to the dungeons feeling thoroughly unnerved.
When she arrived back to the common room, it was relatively full with students lounging around socializing after dinner or working on homework, and there was a low buzz of chatter. She exchanged polite greetings with a few people, and was about to head up to her bedroom to have another look at Narcissa's letters, when a familiar vice grip closed about her upper arm.
"I need to talk to you."
Fixing Severus with a very severe look, she glanced down pointedly at her arm.
"And how, precisely, does this compulsion to speak to me necessitate manhandling?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I know you walk on air and all; I never meant to offend your delicate sensibilities." He snapped.
Hermione frowned. Severus was in an unusually foul mood, it seemed. But a more probing glance at his features revealed an expression that she found quite baffling; rather than the acute annoyance she had been expecting to find there, there was a strange, almost feverish glaze to his eyes, and spots of red stood out on his pale cheeks. He was clearly agitated about something, but there was an odd excitement to him, an explosive energy in his jerky movements as he gestured to the common room door, clearly wanting her to accompany him out into the corridor.
She acquiesced, not liking how snappish he was being with her but burning with curiosity nonetheless. He pulled her into a nook behind a statue of a goblin several hundred feet from the door to the common room. The nook was well-established amongst the Slytherin students as a place for clandestine conversations, and it was generally considered good form to afford people their privacy when they went there to speak in confidence. As much as eavesdropping to gain the upper hand was hardly something beneath most of her housemates, there was a healthy respect for privacy and the need for confidential conversations amongst the well-bred students of Slytherin house, and so the nook was usually a safe place to speak. Severus, always suspicious no matter what, was in the midst of developing an anti-eavesdropping spell that Old Hermione had informed her would likely end up being muffliato, but it wasn't reliably effective yet; he still had some tweaking to do, and so the unspoken respect for the privacy of the nook would have to do.
"I've figured it out." He declared, a strange triumph in his eyes.
Hermione felt a foreboding feeling begin to gather in her stomach, but maintained a calm expression. She cocked an eyebrow.
"Oh? The cure to Dragon Pox? The meaning of life? It must be something along those lines; I don't think I've ever seen this much life in your eyes, Severus."
The boy jerkily waved his hand, as though physically batting away her attempts at lightheartedness.
"Lupin, Hermione, I've figure out what's wrong with him. I've always said there's something off about him, you know I've always said that; Potter, Black, Pettigrew, they all know about it, obviously, they're all in cahoots to help him hide it."
She might have made a pithy remark about his use of the word 'cahoots', had the foreboding feeling in her stomach not turned into a tight stone of dread. She opened her mouth, wanting to stop him, but Severus was plowing on, the color rising in his cheeks.
"We could get them expelled for this, Hermione, all of them. Because they're hiding the fact that Lupin is a werewolf." He hissed out the word with a sadistic satisfaction, and Hermione couldn't help but wince.
"Think about it, he's ill too often for it to be normal; I've been tracking the days he takes leave from classes all term, either because he's 'ill' or because his mother is. They all coincide with the monthly full moons."
"Severus—"
"Dumbledore must know, there's no way they could hide it from him, but for some reason he's all right with it. Maybe Black or Potter's family paid him off? They have the galleons for it, those filthy rich blighters."
"Severus—"
"We'll have to take it to the Board of Governors, I suppose. But even then, I want to be certain that—"
"Severus."
When Hermione spoke, she did so with every ounce of cold command she could muster. Severus blinked, looking momentarily taken aback.
"I know about Remus's condition."
He stared, mouth agape. She had never seen him look so off-balance, and the expression on his usually dour and tightly-drawn face made him look years younger, like a confused little boy.
"You…you know? He's told you?" He sputtered finally.
"No, of course he hasn't told me." She sniffed. "But what sort of idiot do you take me for? We've been friends since practically the first day of first year. You really think I wouldn't have noticed by now that his absences just so happen to coincide with every full moon? It's honestly shocking more people haven't figured it out yet. Although I suppose it would take a rather unusual degree of obsession to go to the trouble."
She fixed him with a pointed look, but he still appeared too aghast to register anything but shock.
"But you still associate with him?" He sounded appalled. "He's a dangerous beast, Hermione. Do you even know the statistics on how many people are mauled or killed by werewolves every year in Great Britain alone? It's—"
"A gross misrepresentation and appropriation of statistics." She responded coolly. "What they won't include along with those attack figures is that nearly 95% of attacks are perpetrated by approximately 2% of werewolves. The vast majority of werewolves are perfectly harmless, having taken appropriate measures to safely quarantine themselves during transformations. It's the behavior of a relatively insignificant percentage of the overall population that is used as a tool of oppression against the whole lot of them. It's disgusting, really, and I'd expect better of you, Severus, than to so easily buy into such evident propaganda."
Her friend's face and neck had grown splotchy with growing rage, and his eyes glittered like beetle carapaces in the dim torchlight.
"I can't believe you're taking his side. Their side." He hissed.
"I'm taking the right side." She said firmly. "Werewolves are just ordinary people with an illness, and deserve to be treated as such. And Remus has never been anything but kind and good to me, as I have told you on many occasions, should you have cared to listen."
"What about every time he's stood aside and watched Potter and Black treat you like rubbish? Or when he's turned the other way when they torment our housemates in the corridors? He's practically as bad as they are. I suppose all's forgiven now that Black wants to get in your pants and has started making nice, hm?" He had grown spiteful towards the end, and Hermione only with great effort pushed down the spark of anger this inspired in her.
"I'd think that you, of all people, would understand what it's like to be looked down on and treated poorly your whole life for something over which you have no control, Severus." She said quietly.
The boy drew back as though he'd been burned. For all that they had been close friends for nearly three years now, it was rare for Hermione and Severus to discuss issues of any real emotional significance. Severus was the most closed-off, hard-shelled individual she had ever met—Old Hermione agreed that he was even worse than Harry in this regard—and though she could clearly see the ripples and undercurrents of his many pains and insecurities (aided in part by her counterpart's knowledge) she had never addressed any of these directly.
"Do you really think that Remus, who has spent his entire life feeling worthless and hating his very existence for something that happened to him when he was just a child, would have the confidence to stand up to people like Potter and Black? Not only are they everything he isn't—confident, rich, popular—but they're the first real friends he's ever had, the first people he's ever really felt chose him and accepted him for who he is. The courage it would take to be willing to risk losing that is unimaginable."
The color had faded from Severus's face, and he looked far calmer now. But there was a new, almost more frightening coldness in his eyes, and it was evident in his voice when he spoke.
"As if you would know anything about what it's like to be looked down on, Miss Malfoy."
He swept off in a flurry of robes, and Hermione felt a painful hollowness in her chest. A few moments later, she turned on her heel and headed mechanically up the stairs, to where she was supposed to meet Rabastan for their rounds starting at ten. Severus might be furious with her, but she was fairly confident he would keep his new discovery to himself. He might not like her very much at the moment, but she was still certain she could trust him.
The corridor outside the Slytherin common room remained deserted for several minutes following the two housemates' departure. The torches flickered dully against the walls, and there was no movement apart from the occasional fidgeting of the woman in the portrait across from the goblin statue. After several minutes had passed, however, there was a heavy exhalation of breath, and a figure slid out from behind a voluminous embroidered tapestry several feet down the wall from the portrait.
Quivering with excitement, her breath coming in short gasps from a combination of released tension and barely contained glee, Dahlia dashed off down the corridor in the direction of the owlrey
When Hermione reached the entry hall, Rabastan was already there leaning against the banister at the foot of the great spiral staircase. He looked as though he had been there for several minutes already, and Hermione murmured a hasty apology.
"Please, don't trouble yourself." He demurred. "It's my privilege to be kept waiting by such a lovely witch."
Hermione gave him a wry look, and he smiled winningly in response. In the course of their weekly rounds that term, Rabastan had taken to flirting with her rather outrageously. It was never anything truly inappropriate—he was, of course, still a well-bred gentle-wizard—and Hermione found it decidedly amusing that the brother-in-law of her deranged kidnapper was attempting to be suave with her. She wondered if he knew about the whole business that had occurred that summer. She assumed he must, which only made the situation more comical.
"What's got you looking so serious?" He inquired amiably, as they ascended the staircase to the first landing to begin their rounds
"Do I look any more serious that usual?"
"While I'll admit that I do have to expend considerable effort every Monday night to put a smile on your face, I'm getting the sense that all my efforts may be in vain this particular evening."
His resemblance to his brother, while somewhat tenuous, was still slightly off-putting. But when he had that playful smile on his face, the resemblance was lessened and she could very nearly ignore it. She treated him to a half-smile of her own in response.
"Your sense is likely correct. I'm fine, really. Just having some trouble with a friend."
"Ah. Is it that Snape fellow I always see you with?"
"How ever did you guess?" Hermione asked dryly, and Rabastan laughed.
"A spell in the dark, I suppose."
Severus's reputation as acidic and combative was well-known within the house. It was how he had established respect for himself amongst his housemates, and while they did indeed respect him (and his duelling abilities), he was not by any means well-liked.
"I was beginning to wonder if you two were involved. Not a lovers' spat, I hope?"
Hermione couldn't help but outright laugh at this.
"No. Indeed not."
"I didn't really think so, of course. I was mostly just hoping you would say whether you are involved with anyone at all." He admitted, looking at her slyly out of the corner of his eye as they rounded a bend and entered a slightly dimmer area of the first floor consisting mostly of classrooms.
"And why would you be wondering that, Mr. Lestrange?" She inquired archly, crossing to the first classroom and briefly peaking inside to verify that it was empty.
He did the same on the other side of the corridor, and they joined once again in the middle a moment later.
"Well, Slughorn has that annual Christmas party of his coming up, and if I must be forced to attend for the fourth and final time in my Hogwarts career, I figured it would be made more tolerable by your presence."
"Well I'll certainly be present. Professor Slughorn is very insistent with his invitations."
"Ah, perhaps I ought to make it more clear then." He raised an eyebrow at her and she raised one back, maintaining her expression of feigned innocence. "Would you like to be my date to the party?"
Hermione tugged open the door of the second classroom and perfunctorily glanced inside, using the pause as a moment to briefly reflect. There was really no reason to say no, and in the back of her mind, Old Hermione was murmuring that it could only be useful to have a rapport with someone who would, in the future, have access to the Lestranges' vault—and everything that lay within.
"Yes, I suppose that would be, as you put it, 'tolerable'."
She tried not to pretend like she had any thoughts whatsoever of what it might have been like if someone else—someone very similar in some ways yet drastically different in others to Rabastan Lestrange—had asked her to Slughorn's party.
