Chapter 17

She arrived looking uncharacteristically flustered. She unceremoniously dropped her bag in the middle of the room and began to pace. He set his book aside and watched her.

"We have a problem, oh Merlin, Draco do we have a problem! A really, really big problem!" she wailed, gesticulating wildly.

He suppressed a smirk, she looked rather cute like this, all disheveled, hair wild around her face. But he could feel howerratic her magic was at the moment and knew she was truly upset. On her next pass in front of him he reached out and snagged her hand and pulled her onto the sofa with him.

"So, what I'm hearing is that we have a problem," he teased, gently tucking her hair out of the way so that he could fully look at her.

"This is serious Draco, it's a big problem!"

He couldn't suppress his smile this time, sometimes she could be such a Gryffindor, "Yes, you mentioned that, would you like to tell me what it is so we that can see if there's anything to be done about it? Or do you just want to go on and on about how bad it is?"

She glared at him, "I'm not afraid to hurt you, you sarcastic prat!"

"Just don't mess up this beautiful face, I know how you like to look at it," he deadpanned.

She whacked him on the arm, it was a pretty good shot but he just laughed at her, linking their arms and pulling her so that she was seated more comfortably next to him.

"Okay, really, tell me what's going on?"

"It's about Lupin," she swallowed thickly.

"What about him?" he asked warily, she'd either forgotten or refused to use his title, either way it meant that whatever she had discovered was, in fact, very bad.

"He's a werewolf," she sagged against him at the last word.

To say that Draco was stunned would have been understating things quite a bit. He knew that werewolves were real of course, but for one to so casually exist in society, to be their teacher, almost defied belief.

"Say something," she begged, her voice raspy, Draco's eyes automatically snapped to hers and, sure enough, she looked like she was about to cry.

"Are you sure?"

"It's the only reasonable explanation."

"Because first year you thought Snape was after the Philosopher's Stone," he countered.

"Professor Snape," she corrected automatically, "and Harry and Ron were the ones to come up with that idea."

"You set his robes on fire," he reminded her.

She huffed in frustration, "it was reasonable for me to believe at the time that he was the one jinxing Harry's broom."

"Exactly, and there might be another explanation for whatever is making you think he's a werewolf at this time. I mean werewolves don't get jobs as teachers, or jobs at all for the most part."

"Fine," she snapped, "How about this: he's already been sick twice this year. Both times it was severe enough for him to miss more than one day of class, and both were on the full moon. Tonight is the full moon, and I checked last month's lunar chart against my DADA notes from when I remember Professor Sprout substituting."

"I assume that's not all?" He sighed, he should have known she wouldn't come to him on a mere hunch and while she could be dramatic, she wasn't prone to exaggeration.

"Not even close," she held one hand up and began ticking off her points on her fingers as she made them, "first, he went to school with Harry's parents which means he's still young, in his early thirties, around five years younger than your parents but he could pass for ten years older, don't you think?" he could only nod in agreement, "second, he has scars, a lot of them. There's only so many things that will leave scars like that. They are curse scars, like a werewolf bite or scratch."

"There are plenty of other creatures that could do that," he argued, "or maybe he just used to be a dueling champion or something, you can curse somebody with a wand too."

"But as many as he has? You'd have to come in regular contact with the creature, especially because you can tell some of them are very old but some are new. And I think we would know if he was a dueling champion, everybody knows about Professor Flitwick. Anyway it's just another piece of evidence, I know that's not definitive on it's own. Third, there's his clothes."

"More like rags," Draco snorted.

"Exactly! He's a competent and qualified teacher, there must be some reason that he's been out of a job so long that his clothes are too worn to even be fixed with a spell."

"Maybe he had a potions addiction or something."

"That would account for that one thing, but when you put all these things together, is says something different. And that brings me to my final point: Professor Snape's assignment."

"Which is maybe the reason you have werewolves on the brain?" he suggested pointedly.

"Yes, you're right, it is. I think that was intentional. I think he was trying to tell us something without directly telling us, probably on Professor Dumbledore's orders. If he's a werewolf it would be hard to hide it from the staff, and Professor Snape is a potions master, he's probably brewing the wolfsbane for Lupin. Harry mentioned Professor Snape brought him a goblet of something when they were having tea last weekend, he thought it was really suspicious, he thought Professor Snape might be trying to poison him. But anyway, Professor Snape skipped half a year's curriculum to give us that assignment on werewolves."

"He hates substituting, he was taking it out on us," Draco said, but his arguments were beginning to sound empty, even to his own ears.

"If he wanted to do that he would have continued on teaching us about hinkypunks. They're boring, werewolves are far more interesting. He obviously doesn't like Lupin, I think he's trying to get him into trouble without directly going against the headmaster."

Draco considered this. He'd known his head of house his entire life, not too well, but enough to have a fairly good understanding of the man. Enough to know that he didn't do anything without a very good reason; except for maybe pick on Gryffindors, Draco was pretty sure he just enjoyed that. So given that, on top of all of her other evidence, it was hard to deny.

"Fuck," he breathed quietly, this was not what he had planned for his night; he had his first quidditch match of the year tomorrow morning, and he'd asked Hermione to clear her night for that very reason. He'd planned to spend the evening with her relaxing and hopefully sneak in a few kisses in for luck, he did not need to be worrying about a werewolf roaming the grounds.

"Draco!" she screeched, she could be terribly puritanical.

"What?" he defended with a laugh at her scandalized expression.

"Language!" she hissed.

He rolled his eyes. "You're right, this is a problem, but Mother and Father will be here tomorrow for the match. I'll talk to them then. I'll make sure he's gotten rid of."

"No!" she yelled, almost bouncing onto his lap in her fervor.

He grimaced at her volume, "why ever not?"

She looked around furtively, like she was afraid somebody would overhear them, "that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I was hoping you would help me convince your parents to keep Lupin on."

He just stared at her, dumbfounded, "didn't you just go through a great deal of effort to convince me that he's a werewolf?"

She folded her hands primly on her lap and refused to meet his eyes. "Well, yes, because I wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting into when you agreed to help me."

"And you wanted me to help you convince Mother and Father that there should be a werewolf on staff?

"Yeah," she squirmed, obviously uncomfortable.

"And why would you ever think I'd agree to that?"

"He's the best Defense teacher we've ever had, by far!"

"Which I would be grateful for, if he wasn't deadly!"

"Only one night a month, and there are ways to reduce those risks."

"Reduce the risks," he breathed deeply and huffed out through his nose, "reduce the risks?!" he shouted incredulously, losing the fight to hold his temper.

"Yes, you know this. The wolfsbane for instance and-"

"That is a treatment, not a cure, it doesn't even stop the transformation," he interrupted.

"But he would keep his human mind, and I'm sure he doesn't want to bite anybody."

"You don't know that Hermione. You don't really know anything about the man. Plenty of werewolves embrace it, I know he doesn't seem like the type, but Quirrell didn't seem like a wizard who would lend his body to the Dark Lord either. And even IF you're right about his intentions, the potion only works IF it's brewed correctly, and IF it's taken to exact specifications. And that's only IF he's getting the potion at all. That's a lot of ifs to risk the safety of an entire school on."

She slumped in defeat and he looked at her speculatively. It was unlike her to be so illogical. She must have known she was going to lose this argument. Which made him wonder what was really going on.

"It's not his fault, it's just a disease he has," she said pitifully, and then she actually batted her eyelashes at him.

Oh, his bleeding heart of a best friend- it was cute, and very annoying.

"It's not a cerberus' fault it's a cerberus. It's not a dragon's fault it's a dragon. But that doesn't keep them from being dangerous creatures. You had no problem admitting they didn't have any business at Hogwarts. What's so different this time?"

She bit her lip in a nervous way that gave him the distinct impression he was not going to like whatever she had to say.

"Harry really likes him, and he finally has somebody to talk about his parents with. I don't want to be the one to take that away from him, especially when he's already having such a difficult year. I know we have to tell your parents about this, I wouldn't betray their trust by trying to keep it from them, but I was just hoping that maybe they could be talked around."

Draco scoffed, "why does it always come back to Potter, Hermione?"

"I don't know what you mean," she said, her voice unnaturally high.

He pulled away from her, "yes you do, this is not the first time we've had a discussion like this. You always put Potter first, before your safety, or mine or anybody else's. And how does he repay you? By sitting back and letting Weasley treat you like dirt half the time? Use you for help with his homework? Ignore you when he has better things to do? Tell me, what's so special about him?"

Her eyes filled with tears as he spoke and he felt a pang of regret, but not enough to take it back.

"It's not like that Draco."

"Then explain to me how it is," he said coldly.

"Harry's had a hard life, I just hate to see something that makes him happy taken away, especially if it's my fault."

He sniffed derisively, "so, that's it then. Tell me Hermione, who were you hoping would win the match tomorrow, me or Potter?"

She frowned, "wha- what?" she stammered.

Her clear hesitation was the last straw.

"I asked if you were really on my side, or if you would be cheering for your precious golden boy. It wasn't a complicated question."

Her mouth dropped open, "what!?" she shrieked, "you caught me off guard is all. We were talking about Lupin and then you just dropped that on me. Of course I want you to win!"

"Whatever Hermione," he sniffed, gathering all of his belongings within reach and stuffing it all in his bag, he couldn't be bothered with the rest of it. He walked to the door and wrenched it open.

"Draco, wait!" she called.

He just huffed and stormed out of their room without looking back. Walking away from her was uncomfortable, like a rubber band being pulled taut and then quickly stretched too thin, on the verge of snapping, all his senses urged him to return to her before it was too late. He ignored every one of them.

When he entered his dorm he immediately threw his satchel onto his bed and began digging through it. He found his communications mirror and shoved it into a drawer of his bedside table. He couldn't talk to her tonight, and he wasn't going to risk the temptation, nor did he want to endure the guilt he'd feel when she inevitably tried to call him.

It was very dark behind his bed curtains but that didn't help him sleep. He tossed and he turned and with each passing hour he began to despair more and more about his prospects for success in his quidditch match the next day. He wondered, somewhat pitifully, if Hermione would even care.

He didn't allow himself to linger in bed the next morning, he knew a good breakfast would be more important than the measly twenty minutes of extra sleep he might be able to manage. He sat, uncharacteristically, with his back to the Gryffindor table. He couldn't afford to be distracted by her. When a few brave souls dared ask why he wasn't in his usual seat he'd just glared at them. They could think what they wanted, quidditch players were well known for having quirks.

He made his way down to the pitch by himself. Thankfully, unlike Wood of Gryffindor who was infamously interfering as team captain, Marcus Flint let his players alone as long as they delivered- and he had been the best performing Slytherin seeker in a long time, catching the snitch in two out of three matches last year with ease, and only narrowly beaten out by Potter in the third. He was determined to redeem himself for that one misstep this year.

He donned his uniform with stilted movements, just going through the motions, but when he realized what he was doing he sat down and cleared his mind. He was a well trained occlumens, his parents would never forgive him if he stupidly went flying, much less in a quidditch match, without a clear head. Certain that he was ready he took a deep breath and lined up to fly onto the pitch with his teammates.

Somewhere around sixty minutes later Draco was staring at the snitch struggling in his hand in shock. At first he thought that he had been less sure of his own abilities than he'd thought, but then he realized that it was not the fact that he'd caught the snitch that was wrong, it was everything else. He looked around to see black hooded figures flooding the pitch, he could see his own breath in the air, and his mental defenses were getting battered against the despair the creatures brought. But most terrifying of all, he was frozen there hovering.

And then he saw it.

A figure clad in red, which he immediately identified as Potter, fell from the sky. He had been flying a good fifty feet higher than Draco. If he hit the ground it would be a fatal fall. His brain screamed at him to do something, save Potter, save himself, but he couldn't make himself move.

And then, to his immense relief, came Dumbledore's booming voice and Potter's descent slowed. Then a host of ghostly animals suddenly appeared and started chasing off the dementors. He breathed a sigh of relief, the whole thing had happened in less than a minute, but it had felt interminable. He landed as soon as it seemed safe, met by congratulations from his teammates. He couldn't enjoy them. He was distracted watching the crowd gathered at the other end of the pitch until Potter was levitated out of it in a stretcher. He then glanced bitterly at the snitch still clutched in his hand- he would never get any credit for catching from most of the school now- and stalked off towards the changing rooms.

His mother was waiting for him when he emerged, his hair still wet. He winced when she saw her because he knew that she would not at all approve of his appearance. He approached her cautiously and she reached out and cradled his face in both hands, studying him carefully, confirming that he was okay. After a few minutes she nodded to herself and dropped her hands.

"Is there something wrong with your wand?" she asked instead of a greeting, looking at his hair with a little twitch of her lips.

"My magic is just a little off at the moment," he said, his cheeks blooming pink in embarrassment.

She regarded him shrewdly and then laid a gentle hand in his arm, "allow me?" she asked quietly.

He nodded and she led him far enough away from the entrance to the dressing rooms so that no one would interrupt. She began carefully applying a drying charm to his hair leaving him feeling stupidly like a little kid.

"The dementors or Hermione?" she asked suddenly.

He couldn't mistake her meaning and he felt his eyes go wide with surprise. Did he have any secrets from his parents? Because he was under no illusion: if Narcissa knew something, so did Lucius. So he just shrugged sheepishly, not wanting to admit that his best friend had upset him more than a bunch of dementors swarming his quidditch match.

"Hermione then," she said with a nod to herself.

"Shall we retire to the castle?" his father asked, appearing behind his mother, seemingly out of nowhere.

His mother turned around, "did you get everything sorted?"

"Dumbledore is calling the rest of the Governors. I'm confident we can convince them this time that the dementors are a danger to the school. I don't see how the Ministry can ignore the wishes of the entire Board. With any luck they'll be back to Azkaban by this evening," his father was keeping it reigned in but it was obvious to Draco that he was quietly seething. "We can wait in the Board's meeting room for them to arrive."

"And Mr. Potter?" his mother asked.

"Will be fine, Dumbledore was able to slow the fall in time to avoid serious injury. They've taken him to the infirmary to rest."

She nodded.

He looked at Draco, "your owl said you had something you needed to discuss with us?"

"Yes, sir."

He stepped forward and briefly placed a hand on Draco's arm, "and you're okay? Do you need to be seen by Madam Pomfrey?"

"I'm fine, thank you Father."

He gave him a sharp nod and turned to begin walking briskly towards the castle, his walking stick clicking loudly on the path, a sure sign that his temper was barely controlled. Draco almost felt sorry for the Governors who had ignored his father's warnings about the dementors. He was unlikely to forget this incident any time soon. His mother quietly cleared her throat, he turned to her, and she was looking at him meaningfully. He shook himself out of his reverie and offered her his arm and they began strolling at a much more sedate pace up to the school.

His mother patted his arm affectionately, "I'm proud of you," she said, her voice a low hum he remembered from his early childhood. He must have looked confused because she chuckled and tugged him closer to her, "seeing you fly today, it hit me how much you've grown up, you are no longer that little boy who used to zoom around the garden. You've become an admirable young man."

"Thank you, Mother," he said, touched.

"You remember that your father and I had dinner at the Grangers' a few weeks ago?"

Draco just nodded, he couldn't possibly forget. Hermione had been a nervous wreck about it, and so had he, though he hadn't told her that, but he knew how his father could be. He'd breathed an enormous sigh of relief when both of their mothers had reported that it had gone well.

"You should have heard Helen talk about you, I've never been so proud, it's an honor to be your mother," she sighed wistfully, "your childhood was such a joy, I just don't know where the time went."

The teenager in him wanted to roll his eyes at her sentimentality, but the boy who had always adored his mother was brought up short. They didn't talk about it, and he was certainly too afraid to ask, but he had overheard and observed enough to know that his parents had experienced several disappointments in their efforts to give him a sibling. He remembered specifically when he had been about three years old that his mother had been heavily pregnant. There had never been a baby.

The horror of that suddenly hit him along with the weight of his future responsibilities. He had always known it would be his duty to provide an heir for his father's House. But he'd never considered that if his mother was ever going to have grandchildren it was up to him. Somehow, that felt like a much more serious responsibility. He just leaned over and kissed her cheek, she looked surprised, but pleased, and said nothing.

They walked the rest of the way in companionable silence and when they reached the appointed room off of the Entrance Hall they found Lucius pacing, his walking stick click-clacking even louder than before against the stone floor. Draco hadn't particularly wanted to have this conversation in the first place, but now that his father was so agitated he was really dreading it. He seated his mother at the long conference table but remained standing. Lucius stopped pacing and looked at him expectantly.

He took a deep breath, "Hermione came to me with something last night. At first it was impossible for me to believe but she convinced me. It seems that Lupin, the new DADA teacher, is a werewolf."

The room went completely still and silent, and Draco was tempted to hold his breath to avoid being the one to break it.

"Explain," his father finally ordered through clenched teeth.

And so he did, laying out all the evidence Hermione had presented him with the evening before. When he was finished Lucius didn't say anything, he just strode for the door.

"Where are you going?" his mother called out.

"To Severus for confirmation, and then to practice a new curse I uncovered the other day on Dumbledore."

She just looked at his for a long moment and nodded, "we'll just stay here then."

He nodded in return and departed.

"Have a seat Draco."

He was antsy and didn't particularly want to sit, but didn't dare argue and so he took the chair next to her, "aren't you worried?"

"Your father knows what he's doing," she explained, apparently unperturbed.

"When did you learn to talk like that?" he blurted, and immediately looked away in mortification at his gall. But he couldn't help but be wildly curious, they'd exchanged just a simple glance, yet he was certain they'd understood each other completely. An entire conversation in one look. He'd seen them communicate in such a way his whole life, but this was the first time he'd envied it, and he just had to know.

"What do you mean Draco?"

"You and Father communicate so easily, with just a look, how did that happen?"

She laughed lightly, "that comes with time, dearest, and intimacy."

Draco felt his cheeks heat.

She laughed again, "not that kind of intimacy. I was referring to emotional intimacy, though in the right circumstance the emotional and the physical feed off of each other. You and Hermione will get there, of that I am certain."

"Yeah, I'm not so sure," he murmured petulantly.

She just gave him a knowing look, "would you like to tell me what you quarreled about? Or is this something you would rather discuss with your father?I know you're getting to that age that talking to me might be...awkward."

He immediately caught her meaning and he felt like his whole body was alight with embarrassment. "Mother! It's nothing like that it's, I mean, we've kissed and that's all!" he put his face in his hands and tried to figure out why he was telling her this, willed himself to just shut up.

"Okay," she soothed, and he felt her begin to run her fingers through his hair, "I simply meant that now that you are a teenager, and in a relationship, I recognize that you may prefer to confide in another man. I understand and won't be offended.

He nodded to indicate that he'd heard her but didn't turn to face her.

"But back to my original question. Would you like to discuss whatever happened between you and Hermione? I can tell it has you quite upset and it never does you any good to stew, Draco, you just get in a temper."

He huffed, torn and irritated that she could read him so easily, "is it that obvious that we fought?"

"I'm your mother Draco, it is literally my job to know when you are upset. Between that and the fact that Hermione didn't so much as glance in our direction the entire match, it wasn't hard to deduce."

He sighed dramatically. He was still mad at Hermione. But the dementors had scared him, his mother had caught him off guard, and now he just felt out of sorts.

"She wanted me to help her convince you and Father not to have Lupin fired," he finally admitted.

There was a long beat of silence.

"Well that was foolish and illogical of her, but one of Hermione's most endearing traits is her big heart. I'm not completely surprised that she wouldn't want to be responsible for somebody losing his job, even if he is a werewolf. But I'm unclear as to why this upsets you so."

"Because she did it for Potter," he spat the last word, "she'd be willing to let a werewolf stay in the castle just because Potter likes him! I swear Mother, it's like everything is about Harry bloody Potter, she's supposed to be-" he stopped speaking abruptly when he realized what he'd been about to say.

"Language," she admonished, but there was no real censure in her tone, "and she's supposed to be what, love?"

"Nothing."

"Were you going to say that she is supposed to be yours?" a knowing lilt to her voice.

He clenched his fists at his sides but didn't respond. However, he knew his silence was telling.

"You never did share well, but I guess you've never really had to," she continued.

"Can't you just be on my side," he snapped, cringing even as the words left his mouth.

"Draco Lucius!" her voice was so sharp he automatically whipped his head around to look at her, her face was set in the stony mask he often saw her don in public, it was almost like looking at a stranger, "I am always on your side. No matter what, for the rest of my life, have I ever given you any reason to doubt that?"

He sheepishly shook his head.

She let out a long breath and her features relaxed. "In this case I don't think there are sides to be taken, I am simply trying to save you from yourself. It is normal to sometimes experience jealousy, but if you let it overwhelm you, if you try and drive a wedge between Hermione and other people she cherishes, you will only breed resentment and you risk driving her away completely."

"I just don't understand what's so special about him," he groused.

"Does it matter? Hermione values his friendship, that's what should be important to you," she reached over and covered one of his hands with hers, "I'm sorry, I know this is difficult for you, but you and Hermione are very different creatures. Usually it's what makes you so good for each other, you complement each other. But it also means that sometimes you can't understand the other's point of view."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I know that you would be happy in just our small family circle for the rest of your life. You have a confidant in both Claire and Hermione and that's enough for you. In fact, you don't think very highly of anybody else you don't want anybody else to intrude. Your father is the same way. Hermione is not like that, she craves the approval and affection of others. Would you really begrudge her something that makes her happy?"

"I feel like she's enough for me, but I'm not enough for her," Merlin help him he sounded like such a girl.

"Don't look at it that way, my dragon," she said gently, "we all have different needs, it is no a reflection on you or your relationship. You have interests outside of Hermione too. How would you feel if she suddenly started to take issue with, say, you playing quidditch? How would you feel if she wanted you to give up something you love, just so you could spend that time with her?"

Well, when she put it like that he felt like a selfish bastard.

"And I know it's more difficult when it's another person, especially another wizard. Like I said, it is normal to experience jealousy. But I think it's clear that you are by far the most important person to her, she would never chose anybody over you, just like I know you'd never choose anybody over her. And that's what relationships are about, choosing the other person over and over, everyday, even when things are hard."

On one hand she was making a lot of sense. On the other his fight with Hermione still felt like an open wound.

"She wouldn't even tell me that she wanted me to win the match today over him," he said, tracing the grain of the table in front of him in an effort to keep his hands busy and avoid his mother's eyes.

"I find that difficult to believe," she answered after a long pause.

"She said that I caught her off guard when I asked her, but shouldn't that be an automatic answer? Like, of course she wants me to win, right?"

She tugged on his arm to encourage him to look at her, "were you in the middle of a fight when you asked her this?"

He nodded.

"Is it fair to say that she was upset at the time?"

He nodded again, more reluctantly.

"I wasn't there Draco, but I think it's quite possible that she was telling the truth, that she was upset and not thinking straight and you just caught her off guard with your question. Because I can tell you this, when I wasn't watching you during the match, I was watching her, and that girl never took her eyes off of you."

"Really?" he asked, hating how insecure he sounded.

"Yes. I wouldn't toy with your feelings about this. But listen sweetheart, you need to talk to her. Not to make her feel guilty, but so that she knows how you feel, and because she's the only one who can fully answer your questions. Otherwise this will just fester."

At that moment his father and Professor Snape entered the room.

"Promise me you'll do that."

He took a deep breath and nodded.

"You're never going to believe what Severus has just told me," his father announced.

Draco didn't even care, he just wanted to lay his head down on the table and take a nap. It had already been the longest day, and it was only 11am.

Author's Note: No Draco in the last chapter and now I've done this to them. Should I go hide? I do promise not to draw this out unduly, but they are teenagers and have a lot to figure out. Thank you all as usual, you are wonderful!