Chapter 69: Sunday, April 26, 1981
"Fear makes us feel our humanity."
-Benjamin Disraeli
Spring had come in full force and swept away the remainder of the winter air. The humidity bubbling from the cauldrons that were balanced in their stasis' stifled the room. Beads of sweat gathered on the nape of Hermione's neck and she groaned in irritation when the elastic that was around her wrist snapped as she tried to tie her hair up.
"Of course," she grumbled, searching for the thin, black hair tie.
"If you could refrain from shooting bits of yourself into my cauldron, that would be ideal." Snape said, pulling the elastic from his potion and vanishing it.
"Can't we open a window?" Hermione protested, "It's stifling in here."
"The humidity is ideal for the stasis to hold," Snape said. "Unless you'd prefer this memory potion be incomplete and turn whoever takes it into a blithering, brainless idiot?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Fine. I'm going outside for some fresh air, then."
"It may have gone past your notice, but I don't need you to inform me of everything you do."
She bit back the intense urge to spit vitriol at the man and instead, grabbed her wand from the table and set her cauldron to stir itself while she took a small break. She quickly slipped outside, careful not to let too much of the fresh air into the cabin, and sat on the front step.
The surrounding area was beginning to bloom. The earth was soggy from the frequent rain of the spring, but the trees were beginning to bud and rows of daffodils were pushing through the dirt. The sun had just begun to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky a myriad of orange and pink hues and Hermione took in a deep breath, savoring the smell of earth and rain.
She pulled from her pocket her medical bag, which she had shrunk down, just in case she needed it. Inside, she added a few days worth of clothes and a little bit of food. She would be leaving from the cabin, tonight, to search for Remus.
She had been fought tooth and nail by Lily, James, and Sirius when she announced that Peter had given her coordinates and she had intended to go that evening. They convinced her to just wait one more week, and if he wasn't back, they would help her. But Remus was known for going on long missions, he was known in school for hiding away when he was hurting, not wanting to trouble anyone with his pain. The combination of the two likely meant he was simply holed up on his own, ignoring real life in favour of self pity and he would soon return.
One week turned into two, and the Full Moon came and went, and Hermione couldn't take it any longer.
He had gone out on his own, not informed anyone of his whereabouts, and if he was injured—Hermione would never forgive herself. It had been her words that sent him away. Her careless promises to wipe his memory of her, to remove the part of his life he wanted so badly to remain intact. It was her eighteen months of deceit that shoved him out the door and to wherever the hell he was hiding. And if he had been hurt because of the conditions she attached to the love that she gave him, she would simply fall apart.
On the other side of the door, she could hear Snape as he scurried about their makeshift potion's lab. They had perfected the bases for the conduit and now they had to begin with the marrying of the very different potion types in hopes that this would work to remove her from the memory of the people she had come to call friends in the last year and a half.
She sighed and stood up, wiping the sweat from the back of her neck. She picked one of the dandelions that had sprouted between the cracks in the stone and transfigured it into a hair tie, securing her hair at the top of her head before making her way back inside.
"This isn't going to work."
Hermione arched an eyebrow and shook her head, "What are you talking about? I'm sorry I opened the door but I—"
"I don't care about the door," Snape hissed. "We need Jabberknoll feathers and they cost a small fortune. Even using from the supply at Hogwarts, it's not enough. We need to restart."
Hermione sighed in defeat, rummaging through her brain for another option when..."Wait. Do they need to be alive?"
Snape pulled his beady eyes up from the cauldron he was stirring and shot a narrowed glare at her, "What do you mean?"
"If I could get carcasses…."
"We need the feathers. If there are feathers still attached that haven't been consumed by rot, then they're viable."
"Lucky for us, then." Hermione smirked, "I've got a flock of Jabberknolls buried under my tree in my garden."
"A flock?" His voice was laced with skepticism.
Hermione nodded, "When I bought my house, there were about a dozen of them that had died in the spare room recently. Remus and I buried them in the garden."
"You buried Jabberknolls with the feathers on? Have you any idea how valuable those feathers are to potions? To medicine? I was told you were intelligent but clearly—"
"Would you want to be sold off and plucked apart to be thrown in a bin and forgotten later?" Hermione asked.
Snape clenched his jaw and stared at her in silence.
"Didn't think so," Hermione mumbled. "I'll bring them next week."
Hermione clutched the parchment tight in her fist as her feet hit the ground. She knew the coordinates by heart now, had gone over them ad nauseum from the time Peter wrote them in his messy scrawl inside her journal, but she had to be sure. She had given her location to Sirius, should she not return within a week. But judging by the quiet of the surrounding area and the lack of magic crackling against the tree stumps, she assumed this might be a dead end.
Peter had given her the coordinates more than two weeks ago, even if Remus had been here, there was a chance the pack had moved, and Remus with it. Hermione sighed in frustration, kicking a fat toadstool mushroom across the muddy ground. She decided to take a walk through the woods, perhaps wandering in the lush thicket of vegetation would give her a clue as to where he could have gone off to. She was beginning to regret not seeking an International portkey, but even if she had, she would have no idea where to start. Prague, she remembered, housed a community of werewolves who had been kind to Remus, maybe they would extend his mate the same kindness.
You aren't marked, so no—they would not. A voice that sounded strangely like Ginny supplied.
She huffed and trudged on, enjoying the brisk air that pushed her hair around her shoulders and the smell of the rain soaked plantlife. It was in a deep bit of forest in Birmingham that she had apparated. It wasn't a location she could remember Remus speaking about, but he had gone on so many missions now that to keep track of every single city he had visited in memory alone was impossible.
The further into the woods she got, the colder the air grew. She pulled her cloak tight around her shoulders and looked up to the sky, a thin sliver of a shining crescent moon hung in the indigo, dotted with twinkling bursts of stars, as it waned from full to new. The sweet spot, as Remus always referred to it. The time during the lunar cycle that he had some normalcy, after the aches and pains of transformation had fully left him and before they would start again. A blessed few days a month where he could almost forget his condition and allow Hermione the pleasure of seeing him open up and accept the love she offered.
She waved her wand, whispering a revealing spell. If there was another person in the forest, they were either extremely well hidden or not magical at all. Her resolve crumbled with every step she took, every squelch of mud beneath her boot, every hoot from a wild owl that rang in her ears.
He had left. He had run away and he didn't want to be found.
And the only person that she could think of that may be able to give her some more insight, the only other person she could reason Remus might ask for help, refused to respond to her letters.
She had written Dumbledore no less than six times now, and had yet to hear a response from him. She was dangerously close to storming into Hogwarts and hexing the old man until he told her if he had seen Remus or not, but Lily had advised against it. She was right, of course, storming into Hogwarts demanding to know where a werewolf was who was part of a secret resistance, would probably raise a few brows.
Instead, she wrote another letter, two days after the moon and begged him to tell her if he had seen or heard from Remus. Explained her worry and her fears that he would get himself killed because he had been so upset upon leaving, and expressed her desire to go look for him. She had heard nothing in return and decided to take matters into her own hands.
A rustling of leaves and twigs to her right sent her stomach to the ground. She spun around, eyes searching through the dark for anything that could have made the sound. Hermione wasn't stupid, and she knew that werewolves were not fond of any person wandering into their territory. She hoped if one of them that resided amongst this pack was to find her, they would offer her kindness and allow her to ask her questions. Hermione had always had a soft spot for werewolves, a thought that made her chuckle to herself. Perhaps that had something to do with the handsome werewolf professor she had in third year?
The rustling sound broke through her bemusement and was accompanied by a snapping of twigs. She could hear a low voice that mumbled just out of her decibel range.
"Hello?" Hermione called out. She lit the tip of her wand and spun around, eyes searching the illuminated area that surrounded her, "Hello? I heard you speaking. My name is Hermione, I mean you no harm. Please, I just have a few questions…"
She heard the snapping of twigs again, this time, she followed it. They had moved several feet further into the trees, leaving a path behind them.
"I'm looking for someone," Hermione tried, again. "He's very important to me, my boyfriend, Remus Lupin." The word boyfriend felt insufficient when she said it outloud, like sand on her tongue.
The forest was suddenly painfully quiet, as if every toad, owl, and bat had taken a break. The absence of sound crushed against Hermione's ears and made her head spin.
"I'm his mate," she called out. "Please, do you know where he is?"
"Mate."
It was a raspy, male voice that called back to her. A voice that very clearly had not been used in quite some time and Hermione felt her heart begin to thud in her chest, her pupils dilating at the adrenaline began to course through her veins. Something wasn't right. This wasn't right.
She swallowed, attempting to soothe the scratch in her throat and to rid the lump that had appeared there, "Yes, that's right, his mate. Please, do you—"
"You aren't marked."
She still couldn't see the man, but his voice was clear, coming from behind a thick wall of moss covered logs.
"I'm not," she agreed. Clearly this man could sense this, there was no reason to lie. "But I am his and he is mine."
There was a grunting sound that came from him and she heard more sticks snapping between the soles of his feet and the wet earth.
"Wait! Wait! Come back, please!" Hermione called after him, rounding the logs and shining the light from her wand over the area.
She jogged further into the trees, eyes wide and scanning the area that surrounded her, looking for any sign of the man she had been talking to. But to no avail, he was gone, and now she had been pulled far off the path she had created for herself and had no idea where to go. It was moving into the early hours of the morning, the clouds had shifted over the moon, hiding the light behind thick, grey fog.
Now what? Did she continue on, searching for the person who clearly worked hard to remain hidden? Did she wander around until sunrise in the hopes of stumbling upon Remus? Did she call it a wash and leave, maybe try talking to Peter again? Perhaps ask Arthur if he could pull some strings to get her into the International Portkey office tomorrow instead of waiting days for an appointment?
An eerie chill settled into her, twisting like ice in her veins, and she recognized the quiet for what it was now that she was alone—Dementors.
She could feel the anguish seeping into her thoughts as she surveyed the desolate area. With every step of her foot to the soggy soil, her thoughts became more and more bleak. Demons in her head, whispered you're a spade over and over, so loud it muddled any other thought. Soon, the forest began to fade away and all she could focus on was the sound of her ragged breath, gasping against the vice grip of her lungs and the vision of mossy, green eyes that swam with ribbons of gold and bore into her with devastation.
Her heart no longer hammered against her sternum, instead, it was lodged in her throat. Preventing any sound from coming forth, choking her with her own despair.
Like I never fucking mattered to you?
Remus' voice swam through her ears again, the pain just as fresh as it had been weeks ago, the anger and hurt and agony piercing through Hermione's senses. Blinding her of all logic as she tried to move forward to find the path from which she came. She picked up her pace, her legs carrying her faster through the woodland, her arms pumping furiously at her sides to propel her forward.
It felt like she was on the run again, like she had been at the tender age of eighteen. Had it only been five years? It seemed like a lifetime ago that she, Harry, and Ron traversed the country side by foot, waiting for Ron to heal from the splinching he took. Starving while they scrounge for food, stealing from shops and nearby farms. Fear coursed through her veins as she ran, familiar as the feeling of sprinting from snatchers, the threat of being discovered, of the muddy blood running through her veins. A terrible image of Bellatrix Lestrange, maniacal and heinous, hovering over her as she carved into her arm and shouted demands at her, forced itself into her mind and her knees buckled.
Hermione was terrified, a deep rooted fear that came only to the select people who were unfortunate enough to know the horrors of war. An overwhelming urge to freeze, fight, and flee all at once. The contradiction of being a survivor of war, of fighting battle, save yourself or everyone else. Why not both? There's never both. I never fucking get to choose.
She couldn't breathe.
Hermione's knees sank further into the soft, wet ground and she searched desperately for someone to help. The air was trapped in her throat, burning in the depths of her chest, refusing to push out. Her lungs refused to expand, to inhale the frigid atmosphere around her, growing ever darker, colder, as the seconds ticked by. She saw them as they began to pull from the shadows, as if the trees had been made of them. They swarmed; heavy, tattered cloaks flapping around the skeletal frames of decaying brethren. Fellow muggleborns who now leeched the soul from anything they came across, damned to fleeting moments of someone else's humanity.
Building model aeroplanes with her father...finding out she was a witch...Viktor Krum and the Yule Ball...eleven OWLs...dancing with Harry in the tent...the first kiss with Ron...the first life she saved...Remus…
Remus.
Remus.
Remus.
"Remus…" Her voice was a croak, barely above a whisper as she raised a shaking arm, wand clutched between her fingers and palm. "Expecto Patronum!"
Nothing.
She tried again and again, with nothing more than a few sad, white wisps. She dug deep into the recesses of her tattered brain, wading through the horrifying images of her friends being blown apart.
...you remind me of spring. All the most beautiful things happen in spring…
She could hear his voice through the agonized screams of Percy Weasley with a broken femur, of Harry sobbing over Blaise's body, his spine severed. The sound of Molly Weasley's scream of horror when she saw Fred's body on the ground. Ron's sobs after Lavender's funeral…
The back of her parents heads as she oblivated herself from their lives.
Remus' eyes swimming with pain, begging her to stay. Begging for her to say 'I love you' and mean it.
Hermione tumbled backwards, the icy cavern of her chest spreading through the rest of her limbs, freezing her from the inside out. Her wand slipped from her grasp and her head lolled to the side. Despair as she had never felt seeped into her bones, begging for her life to end. She couldn't tell if she was crying, but she was sure her cheeks were wet, from rain or tears, she didn't know. She blinked heavily, watching helplessly as the cloaked figures began to descend upon her, a slow whooshing sound as they began to pick through her soul and feast upon what precious little happiness she still held.
As the Dementors stole the happiness from her, it left in its wake, a multitude of horrors. Memories surfaced from years she tried to shove away, moments she had tried to block behind walls that had been cracked at her request. Her mind was flooded, swimming with horrible memories.
"He's right here, in this very room! Come out Peter! Come out, come out to play!"
Hermione stood tall, watching the scene unfold as Harry blocked her from Professor Lupin and the filthy mad-man that was Sirius Black. Ron sat on the ground, his leg mangled, his face screwed up in agony and terror.
"Scabbers? He's my pet rat! He's been in my family for twe—"
"Twelve years! Curiously long life for a common garden rat, isn't it?"
Ron's face fell.
"He's missing a toe, isn't he?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"All they found of him was his—"
"His finger." Harry confirmed.
A smile spread across Sirius' face. Professor Lupin pushed his case, explaining that the Marauder's Map never lied, and Hermione's heart began to pound wildly in her chest. The moment Harry demanded they show him, her stomach twisted in a painful knot. Sirius ripped Scabbers from Ron's hands and suddenly he was…
Hermione's eyes flew open, Peter's name on her breath just as a massive cloaked figure swooped over her. She cried out, feeling her muscles convulse and twitch. Suddenly, her body relaxed and she no longer felt fear or pain. Her eyes opened again and a slender, scabbed hand pressed steely fingers to her chin, prying her mouth open. Empty sockets, void of all humanity, met her eyes as gnarled peeling lips stretched over the vortex of its mouth. She gasped, and felt the last remaining bit of warmth leave her as a glowing blue light that sparkled with magic pulled from the depths of her chest, floating in the air above her.
When her head fell to the side, she thought she saw a large, silver wolf and burning golden-green eyes.
.
.
a/n: another big oof for this chapter, I know. But you're getting it a little earlier than normal because I was excited to share it. I used the movie adaptation of the scene in the shrieking shack because I like it, so I hope that's okay. Hopefully you liked it too! Let me know what you think!
xo
