Ombré de la Lune

Chapter Three

Hermione,

Hope you're doing well.

Things are going well here in France. I'm not exactly allowed to give details the way I'd like to, since I'm sure you just dying to know what we do in Auror training, but I hope you know I regret this. At least, my muscles do.

The exercise an Auror does is very different from the exercise a Quidditch player has to do to stay in shape.

Anyway, why do you never write? Ron keeps asking if I've heard from you because he thinks you're avoiding him and I've had to tell him that I haven't heard from you, either. Are you okay? Is school stressful? Please, even if you've got nothing going on.

Just write.

Love,

Harry

(and technically Ron because he's sitting over my shoulder in our cabin right now)

Hermione goes to Hogsmeade for dinner on Thursday.

There's not many other students there and it's weird to be there when the townspeople are dry and she's soaked in the places her umbrella wasn't able to cover. The ends of some of her braids are dripping water so she stops to squeeze it out before it embarrasses her. Then, she heads to the Three Broomsticks to get a burger.

The table beside her has a couple of Sixth Year students at it but Hermione tries not to let her gaze linger on them as she eats. She doesn't want to draw too much attention to herself. The amount of energy that she expended on Tuesday with Sinistra was all she had for the week.

But she does listen.

"I don't think this town needs any more dramatic happenings, Anson. The war was it—no more."

"Well, he didn't say that it came into town, Emily. He said it was sighted in the forest outside of town. And it wasn't doing anything bad—it was just sighted."

"Was it a werewolf?"

"No, that's not how he described it. He said it was more like… You wouldn't know anything about this because you're a Pureblood, but in the Muggle world, we have like, these things called comic books. There's this character in one called the Wolverine. He has claws and a wolflike appearance. The guy told me he looked a lot like that."

Hermione tries not to pull a face. What sort of creature looks like the Wolverine? Werewolves have a very distinct, hunched-over look and a face that is clearly lupine. The only magical creatures that retain their humanistic features are vampires. The Wolverine is a character that is very clearly a man with wolflike traits.

"But that's just how he described it," the boy, Anson adds around a mouthful of food. "He said it was described to him by someone else, and the only way he could envision it was by comparing it to the Wolverine."

"I don't know what—"

"I know you don't know. I'll have to write my mum and ask her to send me one of my comic books. Then I can show you."

Hermione eats her food in silence, contemplating what they're discussing.

If there's a werewolf in the Forbidden Forest, it's not that big of a deal. As long as its registered, then it's not doing anything illegal. And if it were unregistered, not taking its wolfsbane, then there'd be a lot of dead bodies. But according to this conversation and the lack of gossip around the castle, there hasn't been any deaths that seem out of the ordinary. Oh, there's probably death, to be sure, but the local authorities don't seem to have shared any of that information with anyone at Hogwarts.

The only werewolf Hermione would be worried about encountering is Fenrir Greyback and he's long dead, so she's not perturbed by the information.

"Hey, you're Hermione Granger, right?"

She glances over. The girl, Emily has just addressed her. She has shoulder-length red hair, freckles, and hazel eyes, and when she smiles, she has a perfect set of teeth. By the enamel pin she's wearing on the vest of her uniform, she's a Ravenclaw.

"Yes," Hermione replies, fixing on one of her polite smiles. "Can I help you?"

"Well, you've seen a werewolf, right? During the war?"

Hermione hesitates for a moment. In her mind, she tries to catalogue all the interviews she did this Summer, to see if she's ever mentioned werewolves in any of them. She can't remember.

She doesn't want to remember any of it.

"Yes, I've seen quite a lot," she eventually says, picking up a chip. It never reaches her lips. "They're very distinct in their appearance. I couldn't help but overhear you. Did you say you saw a werewolf, or someone else did?"

"Oh, it was me, actually." The boy, Anson is short and small in stature, with grey-blonde cowlicked hair and a scar through one eyebrow. He wears rectangular glasses, a striped tie, and his fingernails are painted the Hufflepuff house colors. When he speaks, Hermione can see he has a gap between his front incisors. "I came down to Honeydukes last month and to get my favorite flavor of sweet—the one I like is always gone and I check every week pretty much. Well, I was waiting in line and I started chatting with one of the townspeople, and he said he'd seen a werewolf."

"What day was it?" Hermione asks, setting down her fork. "The full moon?"

"I talked to this wizard the day after—he was saying he'd seen the wolf the night before." Anson looks up at the ceiling in a pensive manner. "I'm pretty sure he mentioned he saw the creature at night. He said he was walking in the Forbidden Forest, heard a twig snap, and then when he peered into the trees, he saw it. But he said it looked strange."

"And what was he doing in the Forbidden Forest at night, anyway?" Emily says with a snort.

"Right?"

"Apparently," Emily says, sipping at her Butterbeer with her eyes wide and eyebrows raised, "he didn't look exactly like a werewolf."

"Yeah. He says it was more like a man with claws and fangs. Oh, and yellow eyes. Not that I can say how he was able to see them in the dark but I suppose if the moon is full and there's a space in the trees, you can see quite a bit."

"I suppose so," Hermione says, already deep in thought. She's thinking back on all of her studies, on every book she's ever read, wondering what the man could have seen. It's possible he was mistaken but what if he wasn't? What if there really is a strange man-wolf-creature wandering the Forbidden Forest? It's known that there's all manner of beasts and beings hidden amongst the trees.

"What do werewolves look like in person?" Emily's eyes are round and they shine with curiosity—the same curiosity Hermione remembers having for magical creatures at her age.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, reaching up to toy with the end of one of her long braids.

"They're a lot thinner and taller than you'd think, but with a muscular stature. I know that's confusing. They've got the faces of dogs and they alternate between walking on their haunches or loping on all fours. Lycanthropy is a sickness and therefore, they do look to be ill in some capacity. But their eyes are indeed yellow."

"Hm." Anson presses his lips together in thought. "What about claws?"

"Yes, they've got claws as well."

"So…" Emily offers her a wan look. "What do you think? Do you think the man saw a werewolf after all?"

"It's difficult to say. I think that he may have. You said he was a wizard." Hermione looks at Anson, tilting her head. It's hard not to allow her curiosity to be piqued by this conversation. "Can you be certain?"

"I assumed he was. This is Hogsmeade."

"There are humans living here, on the other side of the quarry," Emily says, speaking of the rock quarry at the center of the town. There's a thick, simple wooden bridge that connects the North and South sides, concealed to the non-magical. "There always have been."

"And one strayed over to our side? How is that possible?" Hermione asks.

"No, I was over there." Anson's cheeks flare red, the blood rushing to the tips of his ears the same way it does when Ron's embarrassed. "I know I shouldn't have been but I'm Muggleborn and sometimes… Sometimes I just want to feel normal."

"We are normal," Hermione says with a gentle smile. "And we're all so far from home. It's normal to want to be somewhere that feels as close to it as we can possibly get."

Emily says, "Yeah. You're both as normal as can be. It's okay to want to be around the familiar."

As the two Fourth Years share open grins with one another, Hermione sits and thinks about Malfoy. He's the only familiar thing she has this year, aside from the professors. She supposes that's why he's on her mind so often. But she's conflicted. By Emily's logic, it's okay that she almost wishes to be near him if only to converse with someone who knows something of her that can't be read in a tabloid.

"So," Anson says, lifting his Butterbeer, "I say we name the creature and drink to him."

"Drink to a creature you don't even know is real?" Hermione laughs and raises her water glass. This is definitely something her Gryffindor friends would have done. "I'll do it."

Emily raises her Butterbeer as well. "I'll name it . . . The Wolfman. Until we know what he really is, he could be a werewolf or a man with some really sharp nails."

At this, Hermione can't help but laugh again with her.

"To the Wolfman," she says.

"To the Wolfman," Anson agrees.

They knock their cups together and then each take large gulps. As they do, Hermione wonders what she would do if there turned out to be a werewolf in the forest. If it hasn't got a pack, then it must be rather lonely.

And if it turns out to be an entirely new creature that she's never heard of before? Well, then she's going to have an excellent research topic for the thesis essay she'll inevitably have to do when she takes Defense Against the Dark Arts during Winter term.

"Well, this has been lovely," Hermione says, signaling to a waitress to retrieve her empty plate and cup. This entire dinner really has been nice. Getting some time away from the oppressive dreariness of the castle and the rain, getting to see the Autumn sun, making new acquaintances. "I should start heading back. I've got homework. What are you guys going to do?"

"We're heading to Honeydukes after this, and then it's back to the castle for us, too."

"And what about the Wolfman?"

"The next full moon is on Monday night." Emily grins, the smile cracking her face open like an egg. "So I guess we'll have to come back and ask around to see if anyone saw it. If they do, then we'll report it to the Headmistress. She'll take care of it, I'm sure."

"It's not a good idea to let a werewolf wander around unchecked, I'd say." Anson shrugs. "When we studied werewolves in DADA last year, it was very clear that they're dangerous."

Hermione speaks.

"In my experience, there's nothing to worry about unless someone turns up dead. I've been in a lot of situations where magical creatures who were deemed dangerous were not… And magical people who were thought to be peaceful were in all actuality wicked."

At the unsettled expressions on their faces, Hermione realizes she's let a bit of her wartime apathy slip out from behind the careful wall she's shoved it behind. She hurries to paint on a disarming smile.

"I'm only joking," she says. "But in all reality, as long as the townspeople are safe, there's nothing to worry about. Werewolves aren't inherently violent. They're just wild animals. It's the ones that embrace their humanity while slipping into ferality that you have to worry about."

"I should like to think that if anyone knows about ferality, it'd be that Draco Malfoy," Anson says, nodding his head in a conspiratorial way. "He's a right brute."

Hermione's brow furrows. "Huh?"

"You are so right, Ans." Emily shakes her head, tearing off a piece of her French bread and then glancing over at her. "See, I don't know if you have any classes with him—and I'm sure you stay clear of him given the fact that he's a former Death Eater—but he's got a temper. A mean one."

Hermione wants to laugh. Malfoy? Malfoy, the man whose anger manifests in sarcasm and a calmness that could put her to sleep? The man who sat in his seat and did nothing to defend himself when Professor Sinistra smacked the back of his head in class?

"He hasn't got a temper," she says, incredulity pushing her tone into a higher pitch. "He's one of the quietest wizards I know."

"That's not what we've heard," Anson retorts.

"Are you… Are you friends with him?" Emily is grimacing now. "I mean, maybe we've heard wrong? Maybe he's changed."

"No. Of course not. I mean—no, I'm not friends with him. He may have changed, but I wouldn't know."

Except that she would and she does know. He's changed enough to seem interested in finding her train compartment and bantering with her. He's interested enough to know what to do with that ice lolly, the pink one that he'd dragged in and out of his mouth like he was trying to tell her something with it.

She's still unsure why the encounter made her legs shake.

After Anson and Emily voice their relief, Emily talks to Hermione.

"Well, someone in one of my classes told me that they saw him in an upper floor corridor last month ripping a tapestry down, cursing, glaring. He seemed really upset about something. He could have just been angry."

"Yeah, he could have just had an outburst, maybe?" Anson winces, as though saying the words are painful to everyone's ears. "He has been through quite a bit."

Just like a couple of fourteen-year-olds to change their opinion within seconds.

"Yes, we all have," Hermione says to Anson. "We've been through quite a bit. If you'll excuse me, I've really got to get started on my coursework."

"Thanks for talking to us about werewolves," Anson says, waving and chipper once more.

"Thanks for not being intimidated by me." Hermione waves back and picks up her umbrella from where she'd laid it across the empty chair beside her. They all laugh at her joke. "I'll see you two around."

"Bye, Hermione!"

"Yeah, see you later, Hermione!"

She makes a mental note to do some research and then, heart light with the first conversation that hasn't felt draining this year, she heads back for the ward perimeter and prepares to get wet.