Sleep, the queer old man who danced and frolicked around in fairy tales had
once again come to visit Lupin only to pass him by with a snicker. The
werewolf readjusted himself on the couch, as the thoughts that he tried so
hard to fight away only rebelliously flew through his mind at mach speeds
like little vandals in order to leave their scars but not get caught.
Giving up on any hopes of rest, Lupin reluctantly sat himself up and began
to fasten the snaps on his robes.
Standing up, Lupin momentarily considered finding Pomfrey or McGonagull to find out how the morbid final arrangements were coming along. In the back of his mind, he wondered how Hermione's parents had taken the news, or in that case, whether they had even heard it since last he heard, they were conveniently unreachable aboard a plan flying over the ocean on it's way to visit family on the other side of the pond. Of course, notifying them on a flight over the Atlantic would be an impossible feat. Unfortunately, Boeing had failed to miss the importance of fireplaces on its planes to be used for mid-flight wizard communications and simply sending an owl was on in the top 10 of most absurd things to do. Even worse, they didn't want one of Hedwig's relatives to become victim to the suction like propellers belonging to the jet engines.
As he looked out of the window, he noted that the sun was at its highest peak in the day's sky and only a few hours remained before the full moon had its way with him. Lupin rubbed his aching hands in anticipation of nightfall. Wolfsbane not only managed to control the primitive instinct of the werewolf inside of him, but it also assisted in the painful transformation from man to wolf and the soreness before and after. Lupin turned around to grab his Wolfsbane from the drawer in his desk only to realize he hadn't picked it up yet.
Perhaps it was a good thing he had a reason to take a walk through the castle, otherwise, Lupin thought to himself, he couldn't see another reason why he would force himself to leave the office before nightfall. On his way down to the dungeons, students flowed out of their classrooms in order to get a bite to eat in the Great Hall. A surprisingly fearful Draco Malfoy made a point to shut his mouth and look straight ahead when passing the werewolf, perhaps the morning's incident had done some good. Half way down, in the middle of a swarm of students, a towering Slytherin Head of House stood near the door of the library.
"Ah, Severus, I was coming to pay you a visit." Lupin said in a lame attempt for conversation.
Of course, Severus obviously still lacked social tact and only nodded, "Here," He said, pulling a bottle from his pocket. Suspiciously, Lupin put it in his own noting that something was different. Perhaps it was the fact that the usually grim Professor was oozing with something else, another unnamable emotion was smeared on his face for all to see whether he wanted it that way or not. But as the other Professor nodded his goodbye and spun on his heels to return to the dungeons, Lupin figured it out.
All people have a unique smell, a frothy mixture of sweat and pheromones that seeped from every pore. To Lupin and his rather advanced sense of smell, this was another form of identification, such as a name. All he knew was that Snape lacked his secondary form of identification and was completely void of smell. No sweat, no pheromones, no soap, nothing. To Lupin, this was suspicious to say the least. Not many people acknowledged the fact they walked around reeking of, well, themselves, and so for someone to notice, and then destroy the smell with a spell or a potion seemed a bit odd . . . unless they expected to run into a werewolf.
The paranoia switch in Lupin's brain switched on high. His urge was to run down to the dungeons to figure out this Hardy Boys type mystery while a part of it's brain, referring to itself as logic, begged him to reconsider. After a short mental battle where logic reigned supreme, Lupin forced himself back to his offices where a slight growl from the middle of his chest argued it's disapproval.
Meanwhile, a particularly anxious Head of House wadded through the crowds of children back to his office and his personal dungeon. Closing the door behind him, he sat in a chair and closed a book, entitled the /iSense of Smell and Why Wizards Care/i before restoring it to the proper place on his vast row of bookshelves. After pacing around the room, eyeing the limp form lying in the prison like bed, Snape decided the best way to appear normal was to continue with his usual routine and go to lunch, as if nothing was wrong.
As the door to Snape's quarters shut behind him and the proper wards were put in place, Hermione's eyelids fluttered reluctantly before opening. Her head cried in protest as she opened her eyes and allowed the light to harass her corneas. The sight of Slytherin's most eligible bachelor and potentially homicidal, psychotic bastard's quarters were normal to Hermione now, as sad as it may be. Hoping that the god's dealt a hand in her favor, she stuck a hand out, feeling the invisible reinforcements before pulling it back. She sat herself up to find a plate inserted in her cage with the usual Hogwart's breakfast and a large glass of much wanted orange juice. Greedily, she gulped the contents of the plate and the glass down. Lying on her back, she chewed on the last piece of ham, longing for a toothbrush and a lavatory before reminding herself that there may be more important things to worry about.
The previous night, before knocking her on her arse with a particularly strong spell, Snape had mentioned something about how everyone stopped looking for her. While it helped to hold on to the lame hope that there was a search party combing the castle for her, it seemed like whoever did care enough to look had given up. Perhaps there was some truth in the bastard's claims, in which case she might never be found. Despite the fact there was no visible hope to be cling onto, Hermione tried to stay strong. There was no way in hell was she going to die in a bed with obnoxious green blankets.
Standing up, Lupin momentarily considered finding Pomfrey or McGonagull to find out how the morbid final arrangements were coming along. In the back of his mind, he wondered how Hermione's parents had taken the news, or in that case, whether they had even heard it since last he heard, they were conveniently unreachable aboard a plan flying over the ocean on it's way to visit family on the other side of the pond. Of course, notifying them on a flight over the Atlantic would be an impossible feat. Unfortunately, Boeing had failed to miss the importance of fireplaces on its planes to be used for mid-flight wizard communications and simply sending an owl was on in the top 10 of most absurd things to do. Even worse, they didn't want one of Hedwig's relatives to become victim to the suction like propellers belonging to the jet engines.
As he looked out of the window, he noted that the sun was at its highest peak in the day's sky and only a few hours remained before the full moon had its way with him. Lupin rubbed his aching hands in anticipation of nightfall. Wolfsbane not only managed to control the primitive instinct of the werewolf inside of him, but it also assisted in the painful transformation from man to wolf and the soreness before and after. Lupin turned around to grab his Wolfsbane from the drawer in his desk only to realize he hadn't picked it up yet.
Perhaps it was a good thing he had a reason to take a walk through the castle, otherwise, Lupin thought to himself, he couldn't see another reason why he would force himself to leave the office before nightfall. On his way down to the dungeons, students flowed out of their classrooms in order to get a bite to eat in the Great Hall. A surprisingly fearful Draco Malfoy made a point to shut his mouth and look straight ahead when passing the werewolf, perhaps the morning's incident had done some good. Half way down, in the middle of a swarm of students, a towering Slytherin Head of House stood near the door of the library.
"Ah, Severus, I was coming to pay you a visit." Lupin said in a lame attempt for conversation.
Of course, Severus obviously still lacked social tact and only nodded, "Here," He said, pulling a bottle from his pocket. Suspiciously, Lupin put it in his own noting that something was different. Perhaps it was the fact that the usually grim Professor was oozing with something else, another unnamable emotion was smeared on his face for all to see whether he wanted it that way or not. But as the other Professor nodded his goodbye and spun on his heels to return to the dungeons, Lupin figured it out.
All people have a unique smell, a frothy mixture of sweat and pheromones that seeped from every pore. To Lupin and his rather advanced sense of smell, this was another form of identification, such as a name. All he knew was that Snape lacked his secondary form of identification and was completely void of smell. No sweat, no pheromones, no soap, nothing. To Lupin, this was suspicious to say the least. Not many people acknowledged the fact they walked around reeking of, well, themselves, and so for someone to notice, and then destroy the smell with a spell or a potion seemed a bit odd . . . unless they expected to run into a werewolf.
The paranoia switch in Lupin's brain switched on high. His urge was to run down to the dungeons to figure out this Hardy Boys type mystery while a part of it's brain, referring to itself as logic, begged him to reconsider. After a short mental battle where logic reigned supreme, Lupin forced himself back to his offices where a slight growl from the middle of his chest argued it's disapproval.
Meanwhile, a particularly anxious Head of House wadded through the crowds of children back to his office and his personal dungeon. Closing the door behind him, he sat in a chair and closed a book, entitled the /iSense of Smell and Why Wizards Care/i before restoring it to the proper place on his vast row of bookshelves. After pacing around the room, eyeing the limp form lying in the prison like bed, Snape decided the best way to appear normal was to continue with his usual routine and go to lunch, as if nothing was wrong.
As the door to Snape's quarters shut behind him and the proper wards were put in place, Hermione's eyelids fluttered reluctantly before opening. Her head cried in protest as she opened her eyes and allowed the light to harass her corneas. The sight of Slytherin's most eligible bachelor and potentially homicidal, psychotic bastard's quarters were normal to Hermione now, as sad as it may be. Hoping that the god's dealt a hand in her favor, she stuck a hand out, feeling the invisible reinforcements before pulling it back. She sat herself up to find a plate inserted in her cage with the usual Hogwart's breakfast and a large glass of much wanted orange juice. Greedily, she gulped the contents of the plate and the glass down. Lying on her back, she chewed on the last piece of ham, longing for a toothbrush and a lavatory before reminding herself that there may be more important things to worry about.
The previous night, before knocking her on her arse with a particularly strong spell, Snape had mentioned something about how everyone stopped looking for her. While it helped to hold on to the lame hope that there was a search party combing the castle for her, it seemed like whoever did care enough to look had given up. Perhaps there was some truth in the bastard's claims, in which case she might never be found. Despite the fact there was no visible hope to be cling onto, Hermione tried to stay strong. There was no way in hell was she going to die in a bed with obnoxious green blankets.