Here I am again!
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Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter and Co.
"I have no idea what this wound is," a rough female voice said, interrupting Hermione's slumber. "The purple loosestrife's poison's covered up all traces of saliva, blood… the swelling the injury itself. We have no idea what she was bitten by. It could've been a wolf, werewolf, vampire, bloody hell –it could even have been a hippogriff or a mermaid!"
"No matter, she's fine now," another, much higher, female voice responded in distaste. "She's healthy; she'll get better once she takes all her potions. Let's finish patching her off, give her crutches, and see to it that she's back to grading papers."
Hermione felt her eyes snap open at the joking quip and immediately regretted it. Pain shot up from her leg and she lurched up to clutch her thigh. A scream escaped her gritted teeth. Sharp, burning knives ruthlessly stabbed her thigh.
"Hermione, dear! Take this - you'll fell better!" Madam Pomfrey shouted over her screams. But she ignored her completely and continued to rock back in forth in pain.
Impatient, the immature assistant forcefully shoved the potion into her mouth. Before Hermione could spit it out, someone grabbed her nose, thus forcing her to swallow amidst chokes and gags. The potion was disgusting.
It had one benefit, however; it worked. The pain was instantly numbed away. She sighed, relieved. She didn't know how much more pain and drama she could take.
"Here's your breakfast, dear," Madam Pomfrey said politely as she trapped Hermione with a tray of questionable-looking fare. What happened to Hogwarts' excellent meals? The question must have shown clearly in the disgusted look on her pale face, as the nurse added somewhat jokingly, "The House Elves are on strike."
"About bloody time," Hermione said proudly. Inside, however, she grimaced. Part of her wished they'd picked a better time as she glanced back down at her lack of nutrition-served-right.
"Well, since nobody's been leaving a mess for them, they won't clean or cook anything," the assistant remarked. Hermione scowled. The House Elves were not supposed to retaliate because there was no work! They were supposed to retaliate for wages for services rendered!
"But we're managing in the mean time," Madam Pomfrey reassured with a kind smile. "You're going to have to deal with the wooden utensils for now; the House Elves won't give up the silver ones. And eat everything up; that potion you just took needs to be on a full stomach, or you'll be violently ill. I dare say you do not want a hole in your stomach that will let everyone 'see right through you'…"
The two nurses chuckled to themselves over the quip, exchanging even more lame jokes as they wandered off, leaving Hermione to her own devices. She rolled her brown eyes and began to eat the less–than–appealing meal laid out for her. As much as she advocated House Elf liberation, she had to admit they were acting a bit out of character. A simple request for wages should have been their first move, and knowing McGonagall, they would have received them.
The day finally arrived when the nurse promised Hermione she would be set free from her motherly protection. Her wound was as healed as much as it could be. Interestingly enough the initial wound itself would not heal, perplexing Madam Pomfrey.
But the medi-witch insisted that Hermione be set back a day due to a new flu vaccine Madam Pomfrey had to give her. It seemed a virus was making its rounds about the castle. Just what she needed on top of everything else.
"Here, dearie," the nurse said as she handed Hermione the green vial. "Please drink this. Tomorrow, I promise, I'll let you go."
"But I want to go today," Hermione protested, shoving the vial away from her mouth. "You promised." She knew she was being childish, but really, she wanted out.
"We can't always keep our promises," Madam Pomfrey replied testily. She renewed her efforts to administer the vial's contents.
Instant rage erupted within Hermione. She jerked the vial out of the healer's hand and roughly threw it to the ground. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces; the neon green liquid splashed everywhere.
"Professor Granger!" the nurse cried out, affronted.
"I want to leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing! I want to leave! I want to leave! I want to leave!" Hermione chanted over and over, beating her fists and kicking off the sheets. "I want to leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing! I want to leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing!"
"Professor Granger!" Poppy shouted over the immature chants, waving her wand to clean the potion and repair the vial.
"I want to leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing! I want to leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing!" Hermione felt sick within, a strange compulsion she could not contain. Anger coursed through her body, and she lashed out further, the empty vials joining the shards on the floor.
"I want to leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing!"
Poppy struggled to hold Hermione as she violently slapped, punched, kicked, and pinched the nurse. The assistant, realizing the fight, came to her mistress' aid. Between the two medi-witches, they managed to prevent further damage to property or person. Hermione's strength suddenly subsided, and she merely sulked, a pout forming on her face.
"You'll leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing when I tell you!" The nurse huffed. "A temper tantrum for a grown witch," she mumbled as she turned to clean up the new mess. "I've never seen the like."
"I still want to leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing!" Hermione protested as she hid under her covers. Usually, after such an emotional fight, Hermione would be dreadfully exhausted. And she was. But for some odd reason, though, she couldn't sleep and felt more than restless.
The next morning Hermione was released back into her own care. It was just as well, as neither patient nor practitioner had any patience left.
Her leg somewhat healed, she shuffled down the corridors toward her rooms. She frequently found herself having to lean against the wall, hissing in pain from her deformed wound.
She was tired, very tired, indeed. Her wound was more of a nuisance than she had thought it would be. Over the last few days she hadn't slept well, and she felt like she needed to yell at something to release the frustration welling up inside her. The pain in her leg only drove her more mad.
In a show of good health before the students, Hermione forced herself to walk as normally as possible. The effort only made her leg throb in agony. With more pain came more aggravation, and her nerves reached the breaking point.
A Hufflepuff third year girl passed her, looking like she had just exited a brothel and smelling of way too much perfume. Was she trying to suffocate the whole castle with that stench?
"Twenty points from Hufflepuff for that awful smell!" the professor yelled out angrily. The poor girl looked up at her, her earthy green eyes tearing up from the insult. "Another five point reduction for crying! Get out of my sight before I take more points off, you stupid girl!"
What was she doing? She sounded like Snape, after all. This wasn't her; it just wasn't! As Hermione watched the girl dash down the corridor, she felt pin-stabbing pain return to her leg. She collapsed in a sprawling heap.
Determined not to be sent back to Madam Pomfrey's care, she tried to scramble her way back to her feet before anyone saw her. Already her pride was bruised; it would be devastated if anyone saw her like this.
Hermione needed to get to her private labs and brew her own special salve for her wound. But first, she needed to find her crutches.
Searching furtively, she finally located one amidst the pile of her books splayed behind her. Just as she twisted to retrieve it, her leg singed in pain again. She instinctively huddled it close to her, falling into a fetal position. The pain was unbearable; she had to separate herself from it. Rocking on her side, she closed her eyes and began to dream of somewhere far away, a paradise, tropical fruits, clear and blue waters, soft, warm sand…
"Hermione..." a voice whispered softly to her from behind, causing a tingle to spread throughout her spine and body. She felt a large, rough hand shake her shoulder and her paradise slipped from her mind. No, no. Don't go away…
Oh, she tried to retrieve it, she tried, but this insistent person continued to cry her name and shake her. Aggravation tugged at her again as she opened her eyes to see the stone floor.
Her paradise was lost to some bloody dunderhead!
Anger peaked up from the depths of her tainted soul. They would pay!
Reaching up with both hands, she latched onto the intruder's forearm, yanked it down across her chest and hurdled herself forward in a barrel roll, taking the arm with her. She heard a heavy thump as her opponent flipped over her and hit the ground where she had formerly been facing. Without thought, she let go of the arm, twisted around and rolled halfway up onto a broad, firm body. She wanted control. She wanted to injure. Hermione felt the strange urge to bite them, but it dulled as she looked down into the shocked blue eyes of Remus Lupin.
"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed out dangerously, feeling herself sink her nails into his already scarred skin.
"Me? You're the one who was curled on the floor in obvious distress, and is now currently lying atop me, pinning me to the floor," he coolly retorted.
It took a moment for her senses to return, but she realized he was right. Her grip lessened, but as she looked into his unreadable eyes, she felt herself inwardly retreat to an imaginary corner, her imaginary tail in-between her legs.
Her tail? Hermione shook her head to clear it of such nonsensical thoughts. She eased her grip on him and crawled awkwardly off him like a wounded animal. The pain in her leg lessened as she watched him sit up and formally dust himself off.
"Are you alright?" he inquired, a puzzled expression taking form at her timid reaction.
She looked up at him and wanted to crawl away in subservience. Something deep inside made her feel small and cowardly near him. Her hair stuck up on end as he stood up and grabbed her faraway crutches.
Her anger had dissipated, but the feeling of insecurity ignited in her.
Something about Remus made her feel weak and unsure of herself, as if she didn't know where she belonged. It was as if she grew timid around him because of some silly little school-girl gossip. She could even hear Lavender's words from their third year, "I heard Professor Lupin's…well, you know… huge. He's so muscular and his hands are just so large. Hermione, dear, don't blush! You're going to have to grow up some time!"
"Are you alright?" Lupin asked again, startling Hermione from her reverie. She looked up at him with doe eyes.
The way he looked at her set her heart racing, blood pounding in her ears. Her hands, growing increasingly warm, stretched out for the damp cool of the stone. The hair on her nape bristled and chills ran down her spine.
"I-I'm fine," she stammered in a whisper, fearing he would strike her for her foolishness. She flinched as he swallowed uncomfortably.
"Let me bring you to my office," Remus said as he offered his hand to her. "It's closer than the hospital wing."
Hesitantly, Hermione slipped her hand in his and gripped it tightly. He lifted her effortlessly to her feet. Just as she steadied her weight, pain shot from her thigh to the soles of her worn-out, petite feet. She stumbled.
Hermione felt arms catch her flight to the bottom and, as she looked up, she saw a trace, just a hint, of something in her savior's eyes. Something she didn't know. It was a secret that was unfolding at the very moment, just blossoming on the palm of her hand like a dead rose bud.
It disappeared, leaving her in the cold arms of Remus Lupin.
Her leg throbbed and her head ached.
"Come on, let's go," he said somewhere in the distance. All she could do was nod and accept defeat.
She took her crutches from him and began to assemble herself for the walk. He patiently waited, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.
They began to walk to the place that was dubbed his 'office'. Of course, he wasn't a professor anymore. The best she could call him would be a bum, for he didn't work at Hogwarts at all. Yet he was allowed to live and stay there. It was something she knew her mother would call 'mooching', as she herself had done before she had accepted the Potion's post. But she couldn't really blame him, either.
The war had, indeed, been fought and had supposedly ended, but the Ministry had basically declared war on the inhabitants it was trying to comb out. Decree after decree was passed, insuring for now and evermore that things would be very different than before.
Sunshine would not always rule supreme against the clouds.
Hermione remembered the strict restriction against werewolves, as if they were not worthy of anything but what they themselves made. Yet, in the end, they were always worthy of the attention by both media and public.
Separate bathrooms, churches, schools, and other facilities had been put up for werewolves. Of course, vampires had long ago been driven out with burning stakes and the blessed holy water; let France deal with them.
That was the name of the game - pass on burden upon burden to your neighbor. Let them worry about the unkempt lawn or the broken garbage cans. Or the blood-sucking half-breeds.
Hermione remembered when Remus came to the school…
There he lay, face down on the stone cold floor where he fell. His limbs held his body together, as if it was all he had. It probably was.
Hermione rushed over to him, brushing his unkempt, lice-infested hair away from his thick throat. Her warm, clean hands felt along the flesh for his vitals. Anything, oh, please, anything…
She felt his arterial pulse and sighed in relief.
"Is he alright?" Poppy asked urgently from behind. Hermione vaguely nodded as she began to search him. Her fingers brushed past his hollow stomach where she found sticky, gooey substance and an embedded object. She brought the dark liquid to her line of sight.
Crimson.
Blood.
Damn.
She called to others hovering to help. Gently they rolled him over to find a silver knife protruding from his abdomen. Someone had tried to redeem him from his damnation. How bloody noble of them.
Her vision blurred as the tears came forth for him. Arms embraced her from behind. Minerva.
She watched numbly while Madam Pomfrey conjured a stretcher and she and other staff members escorted Lupin to the hospital wing. All Hermione could do was stare. And cry… And cry.
How could someone do that to him?
What if someone tries to do that to me?
Hermione snapped out of her thoughts when she heard a small, gentle sob echo desperately down the corridor. Apparently Remus had heard it too, as his slow, short strides turned long and hurried. He searched around the tapestries and statues for the source. Hermione tried to keep up with him; she felt compelled to help him. But her attempts were feeble and failed sadly.
He found the source before she did.
Catching up to him, she saw him hugging a very small blonde. Hermione, shamefully, remembered who this girl
She was the Hufflepuff she had insulted just before she fell. The same girl she'd taken House Points from for her perfume.
The stench of said floral perfume wafted under Hermione's nose, stinging her eyes. Her hands clenched her crutches in a desperate attempt to use pain as a distraction. It wasn't working.
Before desperation led her to torture her own wound, Remus began to question the girl's reason for her tears.
"P-Professor hic Granger made fun of me...a-and took away House Points 'cause of my perfume."
Remus Lupin looked up at Hermione's sheepish expression for any sign of remorse. Then he turned back to the girl and smiled politely. Hermione scowled at his back; she had taken points away because the girl cried like a ninny.
Remus' voice was calm and soothing. "I think it smells wonderful; what's the occasion?" His worn but attractive features were bathed in kindness, and his mere presence was reassuring to the girl.
"Malcolm m-made fun of me hic because I 'smelled bad' to him. I really l-liked him and it hurt my feelings. I hic thought the perfume would change his m-mind and he might like me."
"Well, don't listen to what little boys say; they don't know what they're talking about. I think you're already pretty and smell nice, no matter what you do to yourself."
"B-but…"
"You're going to always be pretty," he reassured her. "Don't change yourself for boys who don't deserve it."
A new pain stabbed ruefully at Hermione, worse than her leg wound.
Ron and Harry.
Painfully, after graduation, she and Ron and Harry parted ways. Harry and Ron became respectful and over-worked Auror's, while she became a Potion's mistress. They had asked her to be an Auror with them and forevermore remain inseparable. But instead she turned down their pleas and became the deviant woman she was today.
They barely kept in touch, gathering only when Ginny persisted that they have a luncheon at some fancy restaurant Hermione could barely afford. It was heart wrenching.
Hermione once again snapped out of her maudlin thoughts as she looked down to meet the girl's dark green olive eyes. She looked smug as Remus hugged her, and Hermione couldn't help but want to give her a look as if saying, 'I don't care what Remus does that doesn't involve me.' But she didn't have the chance to grimace.
Remus let their embrace die out and helped the Hufflepuff to her feet.
"Professor Granger was currently in an accident, so she's not feeling too well," Remus patiently explained. "She's very sorry to have hurt your feelings, but since she's not, as I said before, feeling too well, she won't admit it. Gryffindor pride, I suppose." Remus gave Hermione a coy and hidden wink that, for some reason, made her blood burst with anger once again. He turned back to the student. "When she's feeling up to it, I'm sure she'll write you an apology letter."
Her anger faded immediately when Remus again looked at her. A dreaded feeling of insecurity washed over instead, and this time she could just feel the imaginary tail between her sore legs.
"I think it's time you kicked Malcolm in the shins," Remus added jokingly. The Hufflepuff looked up at him with an admiration Hermione only knew from her love of knowledge and books. "Now, go run along. I have to have a little chat with Professor Granger, alright?"
The blonde nodded enthusiastically and skipped off with gusto, obviously much happier than before. Her heels clicked a beat of innocence that echoed throughout the corridor. Remus returned his attention to Hermione.
His office was nearby, and he ushered her there as quickly as he could manage. Once in the private air of his study, his gentlemanly manners came forth and he pulled a chair out for Hermione. She sank down both grateful and annoyed. She felt quite restrained and weak, so the chance to rest was wonderful. But it was disturbing to feel so inferior and timid without knowing why.
All around the office hung newspaper clippings of famous protests and riots made by werewolves and their clans. Elsewhere were hodge-podge frames of old black and white or new colored pictures, most crooked and bunched haphazardly together.
The subjects in the photos watched Hermione curiously as she looked around to observe her surroundings rather thoroughly. What they didn't realize (nor Remus himself, actually), was that a distinctive scent had caught the younger professor's attention.
If she had been able to smell this back in her third year, she wouldn't have wasted countless hours of looking through books and using her Time Turner to observe Lupin. The scent alone would have told her all she needed to know.
Distinctly musk, dirt, sweat, hormones… a male wolf. Confusingly, it was something she herself found oddly attractive and appeasing.
But even as she thought this, on the inside Hermione felt herself shrink and her paranoia shake her shoulders, begging her to keep a watchful eye out for anything peculiar or suspicious. She held her crutches with a steely grip, prepared to resort to use it as a weapon if necessary.
While Lupin seemed to be sorting through his desk full of more newspapers and parchments, Hermione continued to sniff the office environment. The appeasing scent tugged teasingly at her, its fingers extending and running through her unruly hair.
Her long face moved slightly, and she let her eyes search and explore more of the room itself. It was like the man himself, something he'd never show anyone. Her chest constricted and her heart beat rather erratically.
Feeling eyes on her, Hermione turned to see Remus looking at her, an odd expression crossing his gaze. His eyes were wide – blue outshone the blotchy red around them. His lips were parted as if daring himself to say anything. All together, he looked like the wolf he was, perched over the papers on his desk in a protective and explorative manner.
Something about the analogy made Hermione tingle and feel something erupt in her.
Kiss him…
Strangely enough, Hermione found that a part of her found the command rather appealing and was leaning in to do so.
Taste him…
She found the other, more stubborn part of herself persisting no, making her grip her crutches and the chair leg even harder – anything to possibly stop her from doing something ridiculous.
He himself looked quite shocked but relieved at her odd behavior.
She found her lips part and her mind reel into a zone unknown to her. A part of her begged to have his lips taste hers, to fulfill this discomforted beast that tried to resided within the deepest parts of her already tainted soul.
Something else, though very private and shoved faraway, tugged at Hermione on the inside, making her breathing elaborate and begging her to accept who she was. Did she truly need to take a step back and analyze everything?
Stop!
She sat back in the chair and tried to calm herself. What was she doing? None of her behavior was making any sense whatsoever.
She looked back up to see Remus continue to look through his papers as if nothing happened. Had anything happened? But triumph rose within her when she noticed the red blush on his pale, scarred face. Inside she wanted to howl in triumph and jump onto Remus' back playfully and immaturely, but on the outside, she looked like she was pleased to be in the room with him. She looked like she wasn't pining for something that she wasn't quite sure of yet.
"Aha! Found it!" Remus cried in delight, his jubilee apparent as he showed her a clipping from what she guessed was a week-old newspaper. His false cheer made her wonder how he had gotten so good at bringing it up quickly during any rather awkward situation. Like a former student physically restraining herself from passionately attacking him would qualify as an awkward situation. Would it?
"This article declares that the newest Decree - number three hundred and fifty-four - states that every worker, no matter what job he or she has, must be tested for Lycanthropy."
"Well, it doesn't affect you, since you don't have a job, so why worry?" Hermione asked, trying to avoid his bright blue eyes. Something about them brought him dominance in the situation. They needed to be avoided.
"They're going to question why a werewolf is staying at Hogwarts," he replied coolly. More and more he was becoming the wise Alpha. This analogy made her scowl on the inside.
"They're going to want to know why I'm special and get help at Hogwarts. They are more than likely going to ship other werewolves over here since I can stay here if we don't give them a legitimate reason."
"Where will you go then?"
"Nowhere. The Headmistress says that I can be offered a job by you to be your assistant."
This struck Hermione painfully. She blinked several times rapidly. "My assistant?" she croaked.
His bushy eyebrows rose, and a warm smile bloomed on his face. "When do I start?"
Review replies:
amoramor - Thanks for the review! I appreciate your opinion, and quite frankly I was jumping for joy. No one usually tells me that "my writing'snot working". And yes,your wordsmake much sense and I do agree with you. :)
Mirella - Thanks for the review! Is this chapter interesting, too?
Anyway, please review? I will be eternally greatful to hear your opinion, whether you think this is the worst storyin the challenge or not. I'd like to know. :)