Fred could not help but feel guilty for her reception. He did try to dissuade his house acting against the young witch. They had. Kind of. There were no harsh words, cowardly rumours or pranks played. That was in his control. What was not in his control was their feelings. He could try convincing them to be kind. In the end, he couldn't force them to like her.
She was facing sideway glares from Alicia and Angelina. Oliver Wood acting as though she doesn't exist. He'd ignored her, as she asked for the pumpkin juice to his left. Reasonable. She did ruin his practice, attack his best beater (fact), and destroy a large portion of the quidditch pitch. Still, the damage was fixed within an afternoon, and Fred lived to see another glorious day. She didn't seem too bothered by everyone else. She'd walked to the end of the table, her chin pointed and proud, picking up the pumpkin juice and walking back to her seat seamlessly. She continued her reading, ignoring his knat of a brother trying to engage her in conversation. Oh, it would seem Ron's in the doghouse.
The few people that knew, had assumed Frederick was joking when he'd said he was pursuing the young witch. Lee had laughed, a hard slap to his shoulder. When Fred didn't laugh, well, Lee was waiting for a smile. Some acknowledgement that this was a joke. George had barely believed him, at first. That was alright. The world could remain blind.
The fewer boys opening their eyes to the little fireball down the ways was bloody brilliant. It would happen soon enough, probably entering her fourth year. They'd be turning their heads, more reasonable to look now she was a year bolder. He couldn't have that either. He needed everyone to believe how serious he was. Because he was. Incredibly serious.
So, the wheels began turning. His train of thought churning out ideas with gusto, with every way to declare his intentions. She would be his. He'd lived his whole life sharing with his abundant family. He'd learned once you found something of your own, you smashed your stake into the earth and claimed your prize.
His own house was easy enough. A message easily spread and accepted from the beloved prankster. Whether they understood why was beyond the point, they just needed to accept it. It was the other houses that could be problematic. Ravenclaws were renowned for their stubbornness, they could give a toss about his invisible flag. There was the damned Hufflepuff house, too. If one Hufflepuff had their eye on the witch, it was guaranteed that they would be working against Fred. The only house that would never look at the muggleborn was Slytherin, for reasons. Is it terrible that he was grateful for that?
He could proclaim deliver his speech on Dumbledore's dais. Immediate detention, but the reward was worth it. The largest risk in that action would be everyone thinking it was a prank, reinforcing the idea for the girl, too. All his plans had that possible outcome, sadly. It was far too bold, for the first-time public announcing it. Another time, when she'd had some time to acclimate to idea. He'd store that in the idea folder for the moment.
It really needed to be public.
He'd already asked her to Hogsmeade. She either didn't believe him or she wasn't interested. Both had the same solution - a relentless pursuit. Wearing her down over time, weakening her will and succumbing to his charms. It would be a long road, but he could see the end game, even if she couldn't. It would be glorious. Until he could get her on his side, he'd need to scare some boys away. Declaring his ownership, for one and all to know. In a subtle, very loud way. It was a fine balance to strike. Did he mention public?
So, in summation, it needed to be public. Considerably less public than the Great Hall. He leaned back to ponder, his goblet poised at his lips. He let his eyes wander over the source of his troubles.
Her small plate was barely touched, lightly grazing as she devoured the text before her. He doesn't admit to being an expert on the girl. Though, as the brother of her best friend, he knows a little more than the average layman. He knows that even though her brows are furrowed, she's not confused by her reading at all. Eyes darting between the text lines rapidly. Her sole focus gained by the author. Every fibre of her embedded in the pages. As the din of dinner clatters behind her, and students clamour over one another in conversation. The muddle of noise escapes her. Her pert nose scrunching at every page turn, irritated by the break in her focus. His eyes roll across the plains of her face, to the tumbling waves tickling her shoulders and draping her back. A hurtful kick pounds his shin, pulling him from his subtle gazing.
"Be any more obvious, mate," George nods his head in the direction of Hermione. Alright, maybe it wasn't so subtle.
"Yeah, I probably could," Fred laughs. He should be grateful to his mirror. He'd gotten completely off track, somewhere around her chestnut curls. Remembering the golden tones gleaming, as the sun bounced off her shiny curls. Yes, it was definitely the curls.
"I don't get it," Lee said, the assistant to their mischief.
"Better that way," George said, plucking a roast potato from Lee's plate, tossing it in his mouth. Fred grinned as the words were stolen from him.
"I'm in need of ideas of the Granger persuasion," explaining what exactly he needed, and why. Truer friends, one could not find. Offering every solution and countering with the risks of such actions. Most people (Hermione), seemed to believe they didn't consider these things. An unfounded claim. They were methodical in their planning, every action and the deemed reaction considered. Investigating the cost versus bounty. The satisfaction versus the punishment.
"I've got it!" Lee said, his large mouth clamping down on a chicken leg in victory. An elegant idea, inelegantly spoken.
.
The world had righted itself by the following Monday, for Hermione. Sure, Oliver Wood still acted as though she was a Slytherin in disguise, out to destroy his precious team. Everyone else had thankfully forgotten the last few days. The common room was no longer evacuating when she'd sit by the roaring fire. She couldn't be any more grateful. It was very taxing to seem completely unaffected. She was beginning to suffer vertigo, holding her head to such heights.
Ron had given an apology – to the best of his abilities, anyway. It was somewhat coached as his eyes would drift to Harry. Her friend mouthing words to recite, triggering the memory of the speech they'd rehearsed together. She'd appreciated the thought behind it. Ron's foot has always listed its primary address as Ron's mouth. She'd accepted it long ago. Recognising the effort, he'd made was a concession on her part. He never intended to be hurtful. Despite Harry explaining it, he most likely doesn't understand what he'd done. However dim Ron could be, he was a good friend and person. All was right and she was delighted.
Harry fell into the seat beside her, gathering sheets of crumbling parchment from his bag in a rush. Honestly. He'd be in less of a rush if he didn't spend his lunch wandering hallways, ending up on the other side of Hogwarts with four minutes to spare.
"Just about made it – hmm, any chance you've got a spare ink?" he asked, with a sheepish expression. He knew right well she always kept a spare. He also knew she was not happy to no longer have said spare. She sighed, pulling the blackened ink pot from her rucksack, sliding it towards him wordlessly.
"Thanks, Hermione. I'll get you two more, I swear," he kept her eye contact, his hand laid over his heart. Preciously why she couldn't be angry at Harry. He was very empathetic, sensing her change in mood and trying to fix it. She theorised his sixth sense was a result of his neglectful childhood. Another reason she couldn't be angry with him. She patted his hand softly, a small smile touching her lips.
"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. I'd rather you were more prepared, is all. It's only ink," his brilliant white teeth shined. He nodded fiercely, a promise to be more prepared for his lessons. A promise he'd break in a month's time. Her eyes searched the room, looking for a red beacon. Ron was tittering closely to Seamus Finnegan as their eyes darted back and forth between Parvati and Lavender. Boys.
Remus Lupin entered the classroom, the ends of his tattered robes dragging along the floor. Fading with age, and dampening the black colour. The colour, though faded, exaggerated the pallor of his skin. For a relatively young wizard, time has not been friendly. Though, having your friends killed by dark wizards could do that, too. He was still incredibly attractive, though. She tried not to ogle him - she'd learned a lesson from her previous defence teacher. Though, he'd shattered the mould of incompetency that entrenched the cursed position, early in the year.
He'd eyed her with a pinched expression, during class as they revised the disarming spell. She'd had to hide her face to conceal the red creeping up her collar, focusing on her wand movements. She'd never figured out why she'd earned such attentions, her pinkie toes were probably blooming red, too.
"Good afternoon, apologies for my absence. I'd had assigned Hinkypunks for the last class. Seems Professor Snape, thought better…" his shoulders tensed, before he'd shaken his stupor away. Strange. "…Never mind, we'll continue. So, this creature. Rather nefarious. I can see you snigger, Weasley. Encounter this creature in the dead of night, without knowing how to defend yourself - you'll never be seen again," Ron gulped. Wooden in his chair, as the wispy creatures' arms billowed, attempting to break the metal cage to claw the man revealing secrets.
Professor Lupin laughed quietly as Ron flinched in his seat. The scarring on his cheeks complimenting his rugged beauty, as he smiled. He covered the cage with a white sheet, the sleeve of his robes falling to his elbow as he moved his arm. His forearm was covered in fresh scars. Three jagged lines cutting a diagonal path through his sinewy arms. She inhaled quickly at the sight, her heartbeat thudding. It was so low, not even Harry heard it. Professor Lupin did, though. His head swivelled to face her, with scouring eyes. She looked at him. Wide-eyed and unused to the attention of his penetrating gaze. A peculiar colour, she thought.
Her eyes sought the scarring by accident, alerting the twitchy man. He quickly pulled down his sleeve. He glared once more with a growl vibrating his throat before she caved and faced her lap. Stepping away from his unwavering eyes.
"Right… so, they can lure you but they're prone to attack with fireballs if y…"
Hermione's mind wandered from the man as she considered his strange behaviour. She kept her head bowed, thoroughly cowed by his blazing eyes. He seemed offended by her. Though, why he was protective of his scars was unknown to her. Is that why he was sick? Had he been attacked? No, he'd also been sick before those wounds. They looked rather fresh too.
He always seemed to grow weaker on odd weeks, for the last three months. Sicker by the day, until he wasn't. Scars were not uncommon to him. Evident by the long white scar cutting his eyebrow in half, disappearing behind his hairline. Concealed by a sandy-blonde fringe, streaked with slashes of dull grey. Until he'd self-consciously drag his long fingers through his hair, revealing the white lines beneath. What attacked him? It was possible for the wound to be an old one, cursed to never heal. Then, why was he sick? Are they unrelated?
No, he was also a bit strange. A kind, chocolate-eyed man most days. Though, he'd always become rather tense around Snape, a silent sneer as they crossed paths. He seemed rather annoyed that he'd covered a different topic, too. She snorted, it had bugged her, too. Veering off course was not something she enjoyed. Come to think of it, Snape didn't seem to enjoy that either. He'd always strictly adhered to the chapter order of the assigned manual, since she'd started at Hogwarts. Following chapter by chapter in ritual. What made DADA different? A fondness for the misunderstood creatures, perhaps?
Not a chance, she snorted. He'd ended his class providing his recommended reading: 'Lupine Lawlessness: Why Lycanthropes Don't Deserve to Live'. Spoke his opinion rather bluntly. In fact, he'd seemed personally offended they were allowed to live amongst us at all. His twisted lips sneering his vitriolic poison.'Those five ways may save your life, one of these days. I suppose, you could be bitten and survive. Though, who'd want that?'
Her friends had not even bothered to research the five ways yet. His essay was not due for another week. Hermione had the essay finished by nightfall - all fifty inches with more references than necessary. It was surprisingly easy to spot a werewolf if one knew what they were looking for.
Heightened senses – A Lupine has evolved senses in human form. All senses are advanced. A werewolf can hear the heartbeats of others, smell pheromonal changes in one's sweat and possess an overall enhanced vision.
Stretched and Aging skin – The transformation from human to wolf is traumatic. The metamorphosis can be violent. As limbs elongate, the skin pulls taut and can even rip. Throughout life, the repeated transformations can affect the elasticity of one's skin, giving way to an older appearance.
Greying hair – When a wolf is first bitten, the greying begins. Interestingly, the first grey hair can be found on the day of the forsaken bite. The genetic alterations caused by the wizarding virus has not been thoroughly studied. It does not seem to affect fullness or quality of the hair, transforming the colour only.
A pale complexion - Most werewolves require daily blood replenishing potions to alleviate the body's need for new blood. In human form, this can give werewolves a whitewashed appearance. Growing paler as the day draws near.
Lupine eyes – A distinct yellow ring encompassing the pupil, flaring closer to the day of transformation. After the full moon, affects wane but a hint of gold remains for several days…
Lupine eyes. Grey hair. Ageing skin. Pale skin. Heightened senses…
Her heart thumped loudly as blood filled her ears. She closed her eyes, letting the waves of nausea wash over her.
"A question for the brightest witch of her age then, Miss Granger?" asked the burly man. Her head jerked at the mention, the quick motion causing the larger volume of blood in her head to swirl. A feral grin baring his canines pulled his face tight. She could envision the blood dripping from the sharp teeth after a fresh kill. She was in class, she reminded. She was safe in class, she hoped. The Voldemort hybrid didn't dare attack Harry in class. Lupin was smarter than both men, was the wolf buried within?
"I don't know…sir," She asked, her throat tight around the words. Focusing her eyes on the window beyond his shoulder - she couldn't look in his eyes. There lurked a confirmation to what she knew, and one she was unprepared for.
"Jaysus lads, call for Pomfrey," Seamus joked. The class erupting in giggles, as he mockingly made to check her temperature in panic. Blissfully unaware of the tension stoking the air between them. Hermione remained still as Seamus performed his skit, glued in place. His smile dropped with his eyes, narrowing as they grazed her thumping chest.
Breathe Hermione. He can smell it. His golden eyes trapped her as they meet hers once more. The lupin gold weakening as the hour grew, his lips and furry brows pinching tightly. Dragging his handsome features unkindly.
"Don't know the question? Is it because you were clearly daydreaming, or you do not know the answer?" His voice was a whisper, spoken through terse lips. The cadence of his voice vibrating as he spoke quickly, never lapsing to breathe. Her heart pulsed against her ribs, ignoring her inner monologue to steady herself. "This is not a revision class, Miss Granger. It is not I, that needs to learn this. Pay attention."
Harry had an innate ability to sense unease. Innate may be the wrong word. It was something he'd grown to learn, needing to anticipate the foggy dangers ahead. Then again, he'd been in danger since he was born. Perhaps it was innate. Yes, Harry had a natural ability to sense unease. He stiffened in his chair as Lupin's spit flew, hitting the table as he snapped at Hermione. Lupin sensed the discomfort as it spread like a disease, hitting each student in domino. The hushed laughter at the seemingly perfect girl as she's scolded quieted gradually, a silent confusion taking hold.
"Class dismissed," he said, steadily. Turning from the students, walking slowly towards the opposing windows with weighted shoulders. The weight of secrets his burden to bear, and his alone. His hands gripped the ledge of the arching windows, sharp fingernails marring the slick mahogany.
Harry nudged Hermione to collect her things. The classroom was emptying quickly, an eagerness to enjoy the early dismissal with friends. Hermione's mouth opened and closed, searching for an excuse for her glued position.
Werewolf.
Harry began to put her things away, shoving her quills and parchment within her bag with abandon. The scrunching of the parchment made her cringe, breaking her trance. Her chair screeched as it dragged across the cold stone, standing from her seated position with hesitance. It all felt unfinished.
"I'd like to speak to you for a moment, MIss Granger. Alone - if you would, Harry," he whispered, void of feeling. His position remained fixed. His head unmoving as the light glared through the window. The brightening light obscured his features, only the shadow of a man to be seen. The shadow cast over Hermione was impressively large compared to the man before her, an imitation of the entities warring within.