Chapter 9: What the Butler Saw
The figure loomed slowly closer, towering over the cowering pair. Hermione and Draco stepped back until they could feel the hardness of rough bark against their backs. Above them the moon shone in a beautiful white orb.
"Get your wand out, get your wand out!" Draco shrieked, tugging hard on Hermione's arm as he pulled her in front of him.
"Lumos!" Hermione commanded, pointing the wand straight in the face of the howling creature.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness, and even longer for her brain to compute what she was seeing. But the elongated nose and scraggly grey hair was unmissable. In fact, it took so long for her to move that eventually the creature lunged forward into the weak semicircle of light.
"Hermione, what are you doing here?" He spoke in a low, hoarse whisper, the edges curled with sweaty panic. "And Draco too?"
"R-R-Remus?" Hermione eventually managed to stutter out, before collapsing into Draco as the mad adrenaline rush finally wore off.
"What's he doing here?" Draco huffed, half-supporting Hermione's limp form. "I thought my father saw to it that he'd never dare show his face in the Wizarding World again."
Yet there was no mistaking that same care-worn young face, despite the extra lines etched across his features. But the stoop that had been so evident at Hogwarts was gone tonight, and the eyes set in that tired face seemed more alive, flashing from their eye sockets. Altogether, he seemed more… more. Everything about him seemed to be buzzing with a strange urgency; like a man given two days to live the end of his life. Hermione wondered how patched his teaching robes would look now, if he were to put them on again.
"This is no place for children," Lupin said slowly, gently pulling Hermione away from Draco's grasp. "You don't want to be in this wood tonight." He looked up wistfully at the full moon, a small tear in the corner of his bright eyes.
"What's happening tonight?" Hermione whispered.
"Tonight," Lupin said slowly, tearing his eyes away from the magnificent moon in the sky. "Tonight there's a Lunar Meet."
"What's that?" Draco demanded, pushing himself forward and flinging Hermione aside.
"It's the seasonal Werewolf gathering," Hermione answered unexpectedly to his side.
"That's right, Hermione." Lupin nodded. "Every Werewolf with four legs is going to be descending on this place in a couple of hours. They're already arriving; I can feel it." He looked down at his fingers, turning his hands over to examine the soft pink undersides. "Please don't tell me you went looking for this?"
"Are you crazy? What, thought I fancied a romantic stroll around a Werewolf convention with Granger?" Draco drawled, looking his old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher contemptuously up and down.
"We have to get you out of here," Lupin said simply, scanning the surrounding area. "I – I haven't taken Wolfsbane. I can't deny what I am. I can already feel my bones starting to splinter. We don't have long!"
"Draco can Apparate," Hermione said quickly.
Lupin raised an eyebrow. "Can he?"
"Yes," Draco snapped impatiently. "Now we can either stand here swapping recent news or get the swazz out of this hell-pit before some mangy wolf takes a liking to my kneecaps."
"Right," Lupin said authoritatively. "We need to find an Apparating point. There's a small hill just beyond, in a clearing. You can see the forest laid out for miles around. Think you can get your bearings from that, Draco?"
He nodded grumpily.
"Well what are we waiting for, come on!" Lupin shouted as he began tearing off through the trees. "I can protect you from the others as best I can, but in the end I can't protect you from myself. The moon's rising!"
Running through the dense forest they became aware of other sounds, other unexplained bumps and scrapes that raised the heckles on their backs. And now no longer the solitary howling of one wolf, but answering calls, faint at first, but clearer as they charged on. As the forest floor began to rise it became harder to keep running, and even Draco started to lag with a burning chest.
"Nearly there," Lupin shouted over his shoulder, only to be answered by a clear, electrifying howl emanating from the trees to their left.
"I can't, I can't go on," Hermione wheezed, her knees buckling as she collapsed to the floor.
"Yes you can!" Draco shouted, dragging her up unceremoniously around the armpits. He took her hand in his own and took off at a sprint, pulling her along behind him. Hermione had always marvelled at the stupidity of men in horror films who supposed that grabbing their partner's hand would facilitate speed. But then it seemed that Draco had motivations other than brawny gallantry, for he shouted behind that they would need Hermione's wand if the approaching creatures caught them before they could Apparate. Textbook Slytherin behaviour.
"Look, I can see it," he breathed as they charged through the thinning trees toward a moonlit glade.
Scrambling up the bare tor they staggered over to where Lupin was standing keeled over, clutching his bowels.
"Draco, take a look around quickly so you can Apparate."
Hermione followed Draco with her eyes as he scanned the surrounding area, looking up to the night sky several times for reference points.
"Remus," she said, suddenly snapping her attention away from Draco. "Why did we end up here when we both grabbed my wand?"
Lupin looked up, momentarily distracted from the pain in his churning guts. To her surprise he grinned - although in his current predicament it could easily have been mistaken for a grimace. "Elementary wand safety – didn't Alistair teach you anything?"
"Only that it was a bad idea to tuck your wand into your back pocket if you valued your derrière," Hermione shot back, slightly stung by the accusation of ignorance.
"Yes, well," said Lupin, distracted again by a pain in his side. "Lots of interfering hormones flying around between teenagers. If the sexual tension is strong enough, all sorts of weird and wonderful things can happen; witches shot into the North Sea, wizards finding themselves inexplicably on top of St. Paul's Cathedral – or, in your case, Inverness Forest."
"What?" Hermione shrieked. "There's about as much sexual tension between me and Draco Malfoy as… as between Mrs. Norris and Fang."
Lupin winced. "Look, stick close to Draco. Don't let him leave without you. I have to go, Hermione, before I become something else."
"But why didn't you take your Wolfsbane Potion? Why would you want to go to a Lunar Meet?" Hermione puzzled as she helped him up from the floor.
Lupin, trying to withhold a comforting howl as pain tore through his guts, snapped back. "Why do you think, Miss Granger? Why would I possibly want to meet up with female Werewolves? We're certainly not trading holiday snaps."
Hermione reddened. "I didn't – didn't mean to offend you. Here, before you go," To his surprise, Hermione leaned forward and administered a small but affectionate kiss to his increasingly hairy cheek. "Thank you for saving us."
"No problem, I'm just your friendly neighbourhood wolfman," Lupin muttered, before turning around and running as far away from such tempting, fleshy youth as he could.
"Draco, are you ready yet?" Hermione shouted over to the small silhouette at the other end of the mound. There was a terribly oppressive feel about the place, despite the open sky.
"Granger, stop flirting and get over here!" he barked back irritatedly. "Now I know I can Apparate out of here, but you have to do as I say unless you want Loopy Lupin to chew your face for real."
Hermione scowled. That was the trouble with teenage boys; there was no such thing as innocence. You couldn't squeeze Harry's hand for good luck, or give Ron a kiss in gratitude, it always had to be part of some bigger sexual agenda. She stalked over to him, placing her hands on her hips.
"Right," he said slowly. "Right. You have to maintain contact with me at all times, so – move closer for God's sake, woman! – put your arms around me, and I'll do the same."
Hermione felt decidedly awkward threading her arms around Draco's thin waist as he mirrored her actions – particularly in light of Lupin's information. But she didn't feel the same sense of embarrassment she would have felt with Ron, and she certainly didn't feel the heady, fluttery sensations she had experienced with George.
"Ready?" Draco drawled.
Hermione found herself flung into that same whirring, whizzing spin. Why did all magical travel seem to involve centrifugal motion – even Muggles had mastered the art of linear travel. She clutched on to Draco tightly, but by the time she managed to prise open her eyes they were already back, standing in the middle of the Weasley's kitchen.
But it seemed that the horrors of the forest had not been entirely left behind, because to their left there followed a most horrible, anguished howl.
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Ron was at a loss with what to do with himself. He felt uncomfortable in any social situation he had to share with the rest of his family, never mind one populated by a significant number of his school teachers. Wherever he wandered in the house he always seemed to end up in the same room as Snape, subject to that all too familiar sneer. Or else his mother would swoop down to wipe some imaginary piece of dirt off his nose with ferocious vigour. If only Harry were here. Stupid Dursleys. For the thousandth time he cursed them to their Muggle bones.
"Hey, squirt, stop ogling McGonagall." George swept up, slapping Ron playfully across the back of his head.
Ron looked over to where Professor McGonagall was attempting a rather ambitious highland fling on the top of the polished dining table and winced. He wondered why anyone subjected themselves to the mercy of potent alcoholic drinks. She would probably not remember her actions in the morning, but the sight of her tartan clad nether regions would stay with Ron forever. Years from now he would find himself still refusing short cake biscuits, always releasing a little shudder at the sight of bow-tied Westie dogs.
"Don't call me that." Ron scowled, brushing his ruffled hair back down. "I'm half a foot taller than you."
"But always one step behind," George said, shaking his head in mock despair. "Here, have you seen Dracula anywhere?"
"Snape? Over there," Ron said, pointing to the tall dark figure in the corner. "Admiring the cobwebs." He paused, wrinkling his nose. "What are you up to?"
"Moi? What have I ever done to deserve such fraternal suspicion?"
"Let me see; there was the time you decided to test your so-called freckle remover on me, the time you told me Floo Powder was meant to be taken internally, the time you-"
"Okay, okay, I wasn't asking for petty specifics," George said vaguely, holding his hand up.
"So what do you want Snape for then?"
"Let's just say that I feel like spreading a bit of the Weasley Christmas cheer. Here, are you doing anything with that mistletoe?" George said, already reaching a hand out toward the dangling sprig clutched in Ron's left hand.
"As a matter of fact I am," Ron said quickly, pulling his hand back.
George paused, staring into Ron's eyes. "She's far too sensible to be duped by a wilting weed."
"Who?" Ron replied, rather too quickly to maintain an entirely casual tone.
George rolled his eyes. "Why, how many other girls do you moon over like a fawning puppy dog? Face it bro'; in Hermione's eyes you'll always be the little squirt who got covered in troll bogey."
"I do not moon!" Ron snapped, colour rising to his cheeks. "Besides, what would you know about that? You'll always be the idiot brother of the best friend who saved her from aforementioned troll."
"You're right, what would I know?" George smiled to himself, willing to concede this pyrrhic victory. "Now, are you going to give me that mistletoe, or do I have to embarrass you into submission?"
Ron groaned. "I'm half a foot taller than you, you can't sit in my stomach and tickle my feet anymore."
"So you keep saying. Anyone would think you had a size complex. Can't say I got the same unfortunate genes as you. Now do you really want me to share such sensitive material with your object of affection?" George grinned cheekily. He reached forward and grabbed the mistletoe easily from Ron's slack hand. "Thank you. That wasn't too difficult now was it?"
"Hey, I want that back when you're done!" Ron shouted after George, before skulking off to see if he could find some more.
"Professor Snape. I must say you're looking very suave tonight." George grinned winsomely as he strolled up to Snape's turned back.
With palpable effort Snape turned his head to face the latest Weasley invader. What was it with those people; were they so consumed by their own self-congratulating Cornflakes' packet lifestyle they felt the need to impress it on every other unenlightened native? If it wasn't Molly Weasley trying to shove another canapé down his throat under the misguided impression that all bachelors were malnourished, it was one of those blasted freckled children flaunting their mental delinquency. They didn't deserve such blissful self-confidence.
"What do you want, Weasley?" He had never been able to tell the two of them apart – he found it difficult enough to tell one Gryffindor from another as it was. Slytherins were different; they had guts, personality.
"I was just wondering if you cared to take a turn upstairs? There's a quite fascinating specimen in the library I think you might enjoy."
Snape frowned. What was the boy up to? He stared hard into George's deep blue eyes, but there was not a flicker of anxiety. He couldn't turn down the lure of an antique book, and what harm could one young Weasley do?
But then Snape's mistake always was to underestimate those whom he did not understand.
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Looking around the assorted company of weather beaten faces Ron could almost approve of the apparent lack of mistletoe in the house. There was only one thing for it; he would have to return to the Burrow and pluck another sprig from their own gaily decorated kitchen. Then he would find Hermione, pull her away from her boring adult conversation, and casually suggest the traditional mistletoe kiss. And he didn't care if Fred, George, or the entire Cambodian football team saw him – at least it would shut everyone up for once.
Trying to attract as little attention as possible he slipped into the kitchen and sidled up to the fireplace.
"The Burrow!" he shouted into the cavernous space as he stepped into the green flames.
Rubbing the excess powder from his eyes Ron stepped blinking into the familiar kitchen. Spotting the hanging mistletoe, he was just walking toward the low roof beam when he encountered the twin figures of Hermione and Draco entwined around one another in a steamy-looking clinch. Horrified, he let out an anguished howl.
Hermione whipped around; first in panic and then surprise. "Ron!"
"What. Is. He. Doing. Here," Ron fumed through gritted teeth.
Hermione looked from Ron's flushed face down to Draco's arms and swallowed hard. "Ron, it's not what you think," she said, quickly disentangling herself from Draco's tight embrace and walking towards him.
"No? Some national hug-a-creep day I should know about?"
Draco sniggered.
Ron spun around. "Get out of my house, Malfoy!"
"Gladly. See you around, Hermione." He grinned, raising a suggestive eyebrow at Ron before ambling slowly out of the front door.
"So. What is it then?" Ron demanded, crossing his arms confrontationally.
"I can explain," Hermione pleaded.
"Start," Ron growled.
"It's such a long story. I don't know where to start really."
"Try the beginning," Ron said tersely. "Better yet, don't bother at all. It's none of my business if you want to get off with some slimy git. Just don't flaunt your bad taste in my face."
Her protestations of innocence proved futile as Ron stormed off back to Grimmauld Place.
Men. There was no such thing as innocent touch to teenage boys. But then, had it been an innocent touch to her?
8