Chapter 10: Transformations

Hermione waited until Harry was released from the hospital wing and he and Ron were well and truly engrossed in commiseration about the match before she slipped away to work on Snape's essay. She knew they'd be cross with her later for neglecting to give them the opportunity to copy her work rather than do their own-perish the thought!-but she wanted to be alone while she did it. She wasn't ready for anyone else to know what she suspected.

The essay itself was quite easy and far more straightforward than any homework she could remember Snape assigning in Potions, which further reinforced her notion that he had an ulterior motive. Werewolves were easily recognized in both their wolf and human form; their shorter snouts, more humanlike eyes, and stubby tails gave them away physically. While a true wolf was far more timid, a werewolf would mindlessly seek out human victims with unmatched ruthlessness. In their human forms, monthly transformations left them pale and under the weather for several days before and after each full moon…

Something tugged at the back of Hermione's memory then. She'd been quite distracted after their first Hogsmeade visit, but how had Harry told them he'd spent his morning?

To her immense frustration, all she could see when she thought back to that day was Draco's face, lit by the simultaneously sweet and devious smile that had come to tug relentlessly at her heart. She closed her eyes and thought harder, and with an immense effort, Harry's face swam lazily into view. What was it he was saying?

Did you get any work done, she'd asked.

No, he'd answered, as if the suggestion was ridiculous. Lupin made me a cup of tea in his office.

Yes, that was it. And then, Harry had told her about Snape, who had barged into Lupin's office with a goblet full of a mysterious, lightly smoking liquid. Lupin had drunk its contents without hesitation, and Harry had been scandalized-what if Snape was trying to poison him?

Hermione could feel the blood pumping through head now as her heartbeat sped up. How could she not have seen it before?

Draco's face again, his hand against her cheek, warm and impossibly soft. Right.

I did express my concerns when you appointed…

A werewolf. Lupin was a werewolf.

He'd told Harry, hadn't he, that he'd been ill the previous week-hence the need for the potion? Feverishly, Hermione tore her calendar out of her bag and flipped back to October. This had been on Halloween, and she supposed the previous week could refer to the 17th through the 23rd of October, or the 24th through the 30th, depending on how one counted the weekends. Snape had taken over Lupin's class on the 19th of this month, and the Quidditch match had taken place on the 20th. With shaking hands, she laid aside the calendar and pulled out the year's lunar chart. The full moon had taken place on the 19th of November, when Lupin had been too ill to teach class. The previous full moon-her heart leapt into her throat-had been the 21st of October, the week before Halloween.

She shoved both the calendar and the lunar chart unceremoniously back into her bag as though they were something dreadfully embarrassing she couldn't bear to be caught reading. So that was why Snape seemed particularly bitter toward this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Using a class assignment to expose Lupin struck her as absurdly cruel, but then, so did much of what Snape did. She wondered idly whether anyone else had realized it yet. Probably not; judging by the torrent of complaining that had rocked Gryffindor Tower since Snape's Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, she was the only one to give the essay even a glance. Snape would be so disappointed.

I did express my concerns when you appointed…

Was he genuinely concerned? Should she be? Along with ways of recognizing them, Hermione had read loads in the past hour about the cold-blooded ferociousness of werewolves. When they transformed, they lost all sense of right and wrong they might possess as humans, and would kill their own children if they got in their way. But she could no sooner imagine Professor Lupin killing another human being than she could imagine Snape as a loving father.

Nor had it escaped her notice how very difficult it must be to live as a werewolf in the magical world. They faced fear, scorn, and prejudice at every turn, and whether it was deserved or not, could she stomach being the one to bring all that upon Lupin at Hogwarts?

No. The mere idea made her feel ill. Besides...well, if it kept them from enduring another Gilderoy Lockhart next year, Hermione would take Professor Lupin's secret to her grave.

I did express my concerns when you appointed…

Hang on. What did any of this have to do with letting Sirius Black into the castle?

Blaise and Theo were bickering. Which wasn't unusual, and ordinarily Draco would've simply found an opportune moment to insert himself or ignored them. Today, both were impossible. They were turning mice into snuffboxes in Transfiguration. Draco had never thought he'd wish for more difficulty in lessons, but today Professor McGonagall's half smile as he managed the task immediately made his stomach turn. Now there was nothing else to do but stare at Theo, do his utmost not to stare at Theo, give up, and repeat.

"It's not bloody working," Blaise groaned, jabbing his wand carelessly at his mouse, who scurried away as a few sparks shot out the end.

"That's because you're saying it wrong," Theo told him.

"No, I'm not," Blaise insisted. He wasn't. What he was doing was brandishing his wand like an idiot when the spell required small, precise movements. Theo was saying it wrong-not terribly, it still worked...It would just work better if he'd spend ten seconds on proper enunciation, the way Draco had been telling him since their first year, and-he sighed. If only that was what was really bothering him. No, Theo could pronounce spells however he pleased, but how could he sit there so casually and argue with Blaise about their lessons as if he hadn't, a mere forty-eight hours ago, tossed a lit firecracker into Draco's face and walked away?

Well, if he'd really done that, at least Draco would know to be angry with him. As it was, he had no earthly idea how he felt. He turned sharply to his other side, where Pansy and Daphne were simply playing with their mice.

"It doesn't seem right, is all I'm saying," said Daphne. Pansy rolled her eyes.

"Oh, give it a rest, would you?"

"But they're living things, Pansy! And we're turning them into-well, not living things, how would you like it if-"

Draco stifled a groan with difficulty. Daphne had become very vocal about cruelty to animals lately, refusing to eat meat or use ingredients from dead animals in potions. Pansy's reply was drowned by the bell, and as the class began their usual mad rush toward the door, a sudden impulse held Draco back. In all the weekend's turmoil he'd nearly forgotten about the dog, but if there was anyone who might be able to help confirm his theory, it was Professor McGonagall. If he could ask tactfully enough, that was.

"Have you forgotten how to use a door, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked briskly now, and Draco realized the rest of the class had vanished.

"No, Professor," he said quietly, and made up his mind. "Actually, I was hoping I could have a word." Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

"Are you asking for an extension on your homework assignment?" she asked. Draco suppressed a snort. He'd finished that days ago.

"No."

"Are you disputing your marks on a previous homework assignment?"

"Definitely not."

"Then by all means, proceed."

"I was wondering about the lesson on animagi," he said carefully. "Is it possible-I mean, if you meet an animal who's really an animagus, is there a way to tell?" Professor McGonagall surveyed him for a moment.

"If one had a particular animagus in mind, one would recognize them by the residual markings left by their human form-spectacle markings around the eyes, for instance."

"And if one...didn't? Have a particular animagus in mind?"

"One would have a very difficult time finding them out," said McGonagall crisply. "I daresay the scenario you describe is rather unlikely, as animagi are exceedingly rare."

"But there could be...unregistered animagi, couldn't there?" he pressed. "I mean, it's possible, isn't it?"

"A great deal of things are possible, Mr. Malfoy. This does not make them likely...or advisable."

"Right." He took a moment to work out how to phrase his next question-he didn't want her thinking he was trying to become an unregistered animagus himself. "What happens to your mind when you transform?" he asked. "I mean, not necessarily you personally," he added hastily, realizing this could be quite a personal question. "Just anyone. Are wizards' minds still intact when they become animals?" Professor McGonagall looked slightly suspicious for a moment, and Draco did his best to look as unassuming as possible. To his great relief, her expression softened.

"A wizard retains his knowledge, memories, and self in his animal form," she said. "Personally, I find my mind to be less...cluttered. Transformation can be very helpful if one wishes to think clearly and efficiently." Draco thought back to the dog's willingness to follow him, and his barks of human-like laughter.

"So you might be able to tell you've met an animagus...if they behave a bit like a person?" That was one question too many.

"Mr. Malfoy, is there something you wish to tell me?"

"Not at all, Professor."

"You'd best be on your way, then. I daresay Professor Lupin will be wondering where you are." Draco felt his blood freeze. He hadn't seen Professor Lupin since the incident in the courtyard.

"Right," he said absentmindedly. "Thank you, Professor." His insides shook slightly as he turned and slipped out into the now-deserted corridor, and by the time he reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom he felt a bit ill, though he wasn't sure why.

Professor Lupin paused mid-sentence as he opened the door.

"Sorry," he muttered, and slipped into a seat near the back.

"Not to worry, Mr. Malfoy, you haven't missed a thing," said Lupin warmly. "As I was saying, Miss Greengrass-I wonder whether you would close the curtains behind you?"

Shrugging, Daphne crossed to the window and closed the curtains. As she passed, she gave Draco a very suspicious look and mouthed where were you? He simply shook his head and looked down at his desk.

"Thank you, Miss Greengrass. Twenty-five points to Slytherin." Muttering broke out at once around the room.

"Did he say-"

"I think so."

"What the hell for?" Draco heard Blaise ask Theo a few rows up. Theo simply shrugged. At the front of the room, Lupin waved casually for quiet.

"Now, today we will be learning about hinkypunks," he announced. "Can anyone tell me what hinkypunks do?"

"They hang around in forests at nighttime and lure travelers off their path," said Theo. "They're made of smoke, but they carry lanterns so Muggles can see them as well."

"I couldn't have put it better myself, Mr. Nott. Twenty points to Slytherin." This time Lupin put up a hand to quell the muttering, but this didn't stop the rapid exchange of confused looks which made its way around the room. "I wonder whether anyone can tell me how we might defend ourselves against a hinkypunk?"

"You can just ignore them, can't you?" said Pansy.

"That is correct," said Lupin, giving her a smile. "Though, wandlight can also be used to confuse them and send them away. Twenty points to Slytherin." This time, the class didn't bother to question him. Lupin produced a small glass case containing a hinkypunk, and they passed a very easy lesson taking turns blinding it with their wandlight. As the bell rang signaling the end of the lesson, Lupin held Draco back.

"Mr. Malfoy, I wonder whether I might have a quick word?" Confused, and wondering what he could possibly have done this time, Draco shrugged.

"All right."

"Miss Parkinson, you have my word he'll join you in a moment in one piece," Lupin added, for Pansy had paused in the doorway. She frowned slightly, but followed Blaise out of the classroom without complaint.

"I believe I owe you an apology," said Lupin, as soon as the classroom was empty. Draco felt as if someone had opened a trapdoor beneath his feet. Was he going mad? Was this a trick?

"Er-what?" he stammered. "What for, sir?"

"I completely overreacted that day in the courtyard," said Lupin, as casually as if he were talking about his shopping list.

"I broke a rule," Draco heard himself say, though he wasn't conscious of the words leaving his mouth.

"Oh, yes," Lupin agreed. "But that isn't why I punished you."

"I-it isn't?"

"No, it isn't." Lupin paused for a moment, now studying Draco with a grave expression laced with something else he couldn't quite identify. "I had a dear friend-when I was not much older than you, actually-who shared that habit. A few years ago I, er...lost him, quite suddenly. Seeing his mannerisms in you...well, it wasn't easy, and I handled it very badly. For that, I am truly sorry." Draco had never in his life heard an adult speak this way; before today, it had never occurred to him that adults could speak this way, with such pure, disarming honesty.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you deserve to know that what I did was not your fault. I could hardly expect you to treat me and my lessons with respect if I failed to extend the same to you."

"Yes, you could," Draco couldn't help replying. "I mean, that's how it works, isn't it?" Lupin studied him for a few moments.

"Not with me," he said simply. "Now, I believe I awarded twenty-five points to Miss Greengrass, and twenty to Mr. Nott and Miss Parkinson for answering my questions. So, Mr. Malfoy, thank you for lending me your ear. Ten points to Slytherin."

Evidently Pansy had elected not to wait, for the corridor was empty, and Draco was grateful. He didn't have a name for the weird, slightly anxious, vaguely melancholy feeling making his head heavy and the back of his throat ache. It wasn't until much later, halfway through a dinner he couldn't stomach a bite of, that he understood why Lupin's apology bothered him so much.

He spent a great deal of time at home half-listening to what his parents said, but it hadn't always been that way. When he was younger, the endless stream of mandates about what he must do, scathing rebukes of the areas in which he'd failed, subtly barbed comments made to other adults-cleverly worded so as to sound innocuous to everyone but Draco-had made him feel horribly small and inexorably worthless. The thing was, it wasn't as if they meant to. It was simply the way adults spoke to children in important families, it was nothing personal. Lupin's casual acknowledgement that Draco had feelings-and that his words and actions could affect them-was unheard of. Even more absurd was the notion that Lupin not only didn't actively want to make Draco feel small, but went out of his way not to. And the fact that the first in all of these categories was a teacher he scarcely knew who probably wouldn't be around past this year...he couldn't sit still a moment longer. Ignoring his friends' questions, he stood and made his way into the deserted Entrance Hall and, after a moment, out onto the grounds. It was Gryffindor's Quidditch practice tonight, which meant Madam Hooch was there on the pitch to protect Potter from Sirius Black. Draco's Disillusionment Charm fooled her and all seven Gryffindor players, and as soon as they filed into the locker room, ignoring the bits of last-minute strategy Wood bellowed after them, the pitch was his.

Hermione was tired. She was the only person Draco had ever known who sat up straighter when she was exhausted, as if she could fool herself out of a need to rest. He hadn't taken their usual place in the library in over a month. He told himself it was out of deference-he could study anywhere, but she craved the quiet-but in reality, it made him too sad to sit there without her. She'd avoided it as well for a bit, but he knew she'd be back-it was nearing Christmastime, after all, which always came with a sharp uptick in the amount of homework they were being set. Sure enough, he'd glimpsed her there last week, nose buried in her Ancient Runes textbook, quill stashed haphazardly behind one ear, absentmindedly fiddling with a chain around her neck as she read. He'd longed to trade places with that chain, and left the library immediately.

He hadn't meant to come back. Well, he had. He needed these books on-he frowned, and glanced downward-oh yeah, common Dark spells and general counter-jinxes. But more importantly, he needed to see her again. He needed to be sure. Of what, exactly?

Theo's kiss was driving him mad. Or rather, he was driving himself mad trying to work out why Theo's kiss was driving him mad. Or some excruciating combination of both. They still weren't properly speaking to one another, and their friends had noticed-Daphne had been hissing something at Theo in the Great Hall the other day, at any rate, and shut up the very instant Draco and Blaise passed them, so he was sure it was about him. But out of respect for appearances, or maybe just lack of any ideas for an alternative, they'd continued to act as if it wasn't physically painful to be in a room together. And who knew? Maybe, for Theo, it wasn't.

It certainly was for Draco. The kiss haunted him, and he tried to pretend it was just because it had shocked him so badly-but really, what shocked him was...how little it had shocked him.

There had always been clues. Like the way he could keep track of weekends by remembering exactly what Theo had been wearing, though he'd be damned if he retained that information about Blaise or Daphne. The way his insides tingled when Theo smiled a certain way. The way he felt when they were alone in the common room in the wee hours of the morning-impossibly warm and safe, as if they were the only two people left in the world. Yes, there had been clues, but that didn't mean it made any sense.

So he needed to see Hermione again.

She turned her page and glanced up briefly-Draco's heartbeat sped up and he retreated slightly, afraid she'd spot him-but she simply removed the quill from behind her ear and scribbled something on a bit of parchment. Laying aside the quill, she swept her hair up in a clip he'd never seen before. She did a very messy job of it, and a few bits broke free from the rest and fell, gently brushing against her neck and falling into her face. She pushed them back irritably and bit her lip as she turned another page in her book. Draco's breath stopped in his throat as he imagined what her neck must smell like. His grip tightened around the books in his hands and he fought to slow the beating of his heart. He'd come here hoping to make sense of things-no, he'd come here to be sure he still felt the same way about her, and he did.

The trouble was, nothing seemed to make sense anymore.

And then, before he had time to react, someone seized his elbow.

It seemed odd, but the way Draco held his books was one of the first things she'd ever noticed about him. The elegant curve of his hand around the spine almost distracted from the conscientious way he held the book close to him, as though he weren't sure he should be entrusted with such a responsibility and felt torn between clutching it tighter and throwing it away. Now that she knew him, she didn't think there was a better encapsulation of his personality; smooth and elegant, but not quite enough to conceal the chaos-half mischief, half anxiety-that roared within him. She half smiled to herself. That was poetic.

If she told Draco, he'd laugh at her for a month, but first he'd go quiet and turn down toward the floor to hide the blush fighting its way onto his face. She loved to make him blush. He looked impossibly sweet, but more than that, she liked the feeling of...affecting him. Really affecting him, which wasn't the same as when she said she liked a certain food and he flew off the handle at her.

Anyway, that's how he was holding his books now, close to his chest, hand curled lightly over the spines. The light turn of his wrist made her ache to run her fingers up his forearm. Instead, she flipped a page in her book and redoubled her efforts to focus on her Arithmancy homework. She slipped the quill out from behind her ear and made a few halfhearted notes, but it was no use. Draco was still perusing the bookshelf, she could feel his presence as warm and sure as if he were directly behind her instead of ten feet away. She wished he were directly behind her.

For the five hundredth time since Halloween, she kicked herself for the way she'd handled things. She didn't care any longer what anyone else thought, she just knew she'd give anything to hear his laugh, anything to take a walk around the lake with him, hands not quite touching, but almost-anything to kiss him again. But would he let her?

She shoved her hair into a knot on the top of her head, as if that would somehow contain her thoughts, and forced her mind back onto her homework.

"Hermione-hey, Hermione!" She jerked her head up, startled. Harry and Ron were pelting toward her in a way Madam Pince surely wouldn't allow, faces radiant with panic. They collapsed next to her, and Ron shoved a crumpled note under her nose.

"It's Hagrid," panted Harry, wide-eyed and distraught. "He says-well, you've just got to read it, go on, read it!"

"It's bad," Ron supplied with a gulp, the color draining from his face. Hermione took the note from Ron's shaking hands, glancing about her as she did so. Draco had vanished from among the shelves.