Time Interned
Chapter 10: Suspicions

The fabric was thick and heavy. Just running his fingers over it made them feel warmer. The black winter robe lay on Remus's bed. He stood over it, peering down like a scrutineer over a broom at the Quidditch World Cup. He knew what he was looking for, though his friends did not. He tried to explain how magically repaired clothes held the sign, like a scar, of where the fabric had been mended. He was well acquainted with such scars; most of his clothes had at least one of them. His winter robe had never been torn, and should not have a single one of these magical repairs. If he was wrong, if he had just glanced over the robe in the chaos, then it would hold no scar. If he was right, if Mione had worn it out across the lawn and in the Shrieking Shack, if she had cut herself on the exposed nail, then he would see the evidence.

His pale fingers traced every inch from the collar to the hem and back again. Up and down, down and up, he felt and looked. Peter, still not convinced that this wasn't just an elaborate joke at his expense, got bored and left for lunch. James and Sirius watched, not sure if they wanted Remus to find what he was looking for. In their minds they were each considering what it would mean if Remus found the fabric scar. It would mean that Mione not only knew he was a werewolf, but somehow knew where he howled away his nights every full moon. She knew where to access the secret passage and exactly which knot to press on the willow tree. It would mean she was a frighteningly skilled and powerful witch who could shatter ancient and solid structures that had withstood a millennia of magical abuse; meaning she faked ineptitude in class, when knowledge and mastery mattered most. If Dumbledore did not remove her memory, it would mean he knew about her.

"Shit," Remus said softly.

Sirius released a sigh. "Didn't find it?"

"No," Remus said. "I did find it."

James and Sirius jumped from their beds and ran to his side. They looked where he pointed. Barely visible on the dark fabric, they saw a line where the material was slightly thinner. It was somewhat crooked but primarily followed the weft of the fabric. It was a scar.

"She's lying," Remus said with absolute certainty.

"What do we do?" Sirius asked.

"Follow her," James decided. "I've got the cloak. We'll see where she goes, what she does, who she talks to."

"She already thinks I'm a stalker," Sirius shrugged. "Might as well prove her right."

"I'll watch her today," James said. He looked at Sirius, "You rest up, you're on Moony detail tonight."

James didn't wait for them to agree, he didn't have to. He pulled the invisibility cloak from his trunk and shoved it into his bag. It was Saturday, and he knew exactly where to find Mione. The girl was as predictable as the phases of the moon. Every Saturday she would be sitting in the library in the same chair at the same table, the same look of absolute concentration on her face. He had watched her from afar with Sirius, but now he could get closer, guarded by the invisibility cloak. There was something different about her, more than just her uniform and accent. She knew things she shouldn't know, and lied about knowing them. If there was one thing James could recognise it was trouble. And Mione Garnier was trouble.

In all the Saturdays and Sundays that he had spent an hour idly watching Mione study, he never once bothered to concern himself with what she was researching. He assumed it was information for her classes. She was a Hufflepuff after all, the house notorious for hard workers. If she was as slow to catch on as she seemed, then she needed all the extra research she could get. After seeing the effect she had on the classroom door, he was curious what she was really researching. It was either charms or, given her blasé outlook on encountering a werewolf, information on dark creatures.

The girl was not at her usual table when he entered the library, but her bag lay open. He quickly searched the stacks, looking first in the section he knew held volumes on werewolves. She was not there. She was in the dustiest area filled with books on theoretical magic, a subject so dry that no student ever bothered venturing into that section without being forced to.

James went back to the table, sat in an empty chair and waited for her to return with her pile of books. He didn't have to wait long. The girl emerged from the stacks after only a few minutes and dropped a heavy pile of books onto the table, ignorant to his presence beneath the invisibility cloak and Madam Pince's shocked glare at how poorly the girl was treating the precious volumes. The young librarian had only been there for three years, but everyone knew she was mad for books.

Mione took out a rolled up parchment and unfurled it. James could see she had already written quite a bit on it in columns and diagrams and paragraphs. Her small, tidy writing was easily read upside down and he started scanning the parchment. It made absolutely no sense. He realised after several attempts that it was in French, and felt rather stupid for not noticing that sooner. He tried again looking for the few words he knew in the language. There were no references to les loups, le loup-garou, charmes or maledictions. There were certain words that he saw repeated several times – experience, voyage dans le temps, dommages-intérêtsà lachronologie and événementspasses. He scratched his head beneath the cloak and tried his damnedest to translate the words; they looked so close to English, but the meanings just wouldn't come to him. He wrote them down, hoping she wouldn't notice the quill scratching so close to her.

"You look tired," a voice interrupted her reading. "Rough night?"

Snivellus slithered up beside her and glanced at her paper. He frowned, understanding the French no better that James.

Mione discretely closed her book and turned to look at the unwelcomed visitor. "I've certainly had better nights' sleep," she replied coolly.

The Slytherin raised an eyebrow, clearly having anticipated more of a reaction. James knew with complete conviction that it had been Snape who locked her in with a werewolf. He was glad no one could see the gestures he was sending Snape's way. Mione was far more delicate, though when she turned to place her book on the table James saw in her face the same recognition. She rose and smoothed the silk of her dress down before turning to face Snape. With her high heeled shoes she was within an inch of his height, her eyes levelled on his and she spoke, a smile still on her face.

"I know what you did, and if I didn't value Remus' secret above your sad life I would report you to the Ministry."

"You know what he is and you still think him something you can befriend?" he hissed.

"What he is?" She considered it slowly. "What Remus becomes is no fault of his own; it was forced on him. What Remus chooses to be is of far more importance. Like you."

"Me?"

"Yes. You have every opportunity to make for yourself a good life, but you choose to be a miserable bastard," she stared hard at him. "You elect to be a thing of ridicule. Remus elects to be human. And you wonder why I would want to be a friend to him."

Snape flinched and sneered and fought back the words he so desperately wanted to shout at her. She was right; there was nothing wrong with Snape that wasn't his own damn fault, James knew it. He could see Snape's hand twitch and dive into the inner pocket of his robe. The Slytherin reached for his wand to hex the girl for daring to speak the truth. Before James could even react, as quick as his reflexes were, Mione's arm was raised, her wand pointed at Snape's throat.

"Severus," she said, still with the irritating tone of civility that clearly no longer existed between them. "Despite reports to the contrary, I'm quite good at cursing those who deserve it. And I'm sure there are many who would agree that a petty little boy who intentionally tampers with a timepiece to read the wrong hour, locks and wards someone in a room with a werewolf on the full moon and then gloats about it is definitely deserving of a hex that would maim and disfigure for life, no?"

"If you're so sure it was me, why haven't you told the Headmaster?" Snape sneered.

"I didn't have to. Who else knows of Remus's condition? Who else would have the gall to try to expose him so brutally and at the expense of another's life?" Still she smiled, "Only you, Severus."

"Ah, Severus, lad," a cheery voice interrupted them from above. All three looked up, startled. The Fat Friar floated merrily through the air on his back, not at all perturbed to have witnessed Mione pointing a wand at the boy's neck. "I've been looking for you everywhere. Professor Dumbledore wanted a word with you in his office. Follow along, please."

The invisible boy couldn't decide who to stick with. Staying with Mione might prove pointless as the girl wrote her notations in French and her books were so unbelievably boring and complicated he couldn't hope to understand them. He opted to follow Snape. He slid sideways from his chair, careful not to move it even a fraction. Whatever she might be, Mione was not as slow or passive as they had all thought.