Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.


Chapter 33

Snape finally seemed to be making progress in his experimentation with the Wolfsbane Potion. Last month, the potion had been a lighter shade of grey-green than Snape expected, and he wasn't willing to take the chance that a miscalculation had turned the innocuous brew into a poison. Though Lupin had been willing to take the chance, save waiting another month to try it again, the Headmaster had agreed with Snape, and the botched potion had been Vanished without further discussion. The last thing they needed, Snape had said when Hermione lamented the wasted month, was to put another member of the Order unnecessarily at risk.

This month, though, after further research and calculations, Snape was convinced the potion was sound. It wasn't a cure by any stretch of the imagination, but if it worked as Snape predicted, one dose of the potion would protect the drinker for an entire moon cycle. All that was left was for him to brew it, a marathon fourteen-hour job that could take place only on the afternoon and night of the first quarter moon.

Hermione came down to Snape's quarters that night to make use of some of his books for her Arithmancy revision. She found him in the lab after dinner, deep in the most complicated stages of the brewing. The Wolfsbane variation was a charmed potion like the Cruciatus antidote, and sweat was already running down Snape's face from the effort of the spells combined with such deep concentration.

She couldn't help; she didn't have the skill to perform the incantations or add the ingredients with the precision required, so she stepped back out into the sitting room, leaving the door just ajar. As much as she could have sat and watched Snape brewing for hours, mesmerized by his precision and skill, she didn't dare disturb him. A mistake now would mean another wasted month.

She was anxious to know whether he was successful tonight, though, and so, instead of retreating to her own room when she finished her homework, she decided to stay. She went back to her room briefly to put away her homework, changed into her pyjamas – more modest than the skimpy shorts she'd been embarrassed to find herself in the morning after her nightmare – threw her robe back on over the top and returned to Snape's quarters.

She knew he wouldn't mind, if he even made it to bed that night at all. It pleased her that he allowed her to stay with him whenever she desired... more than allowed it... enjoyed it. Despite his initial discomfort at sharing the hours of darkness with another person, there was no such reluctance now. It was strange how quickly both of them had become used to being together.

She read for a while, another book plucked from his extensive collection and, to her continued surprise, another Muggle author. Her eyelids grew heavy, though, and she set the book on the nightstand, extinguishing the light with a wave of her wand. The room plunged into complete darkness and, after a moment, she got out of bed and groped her way to the window to pull the curtains halfway open.

She could have used the spell Snape had taught her, but she quite liked standing in front of the window, looking out across the landscape. Though only on the first floor, the room still had a commanding view over Hogwarts' grounds, the lake, a section of the Forbidden Forest and Hogsmeade, far in the distance. Tonight was crisp and clear, and the quarter moon's shimmer danced on the surface of the still, smooth lake.

After a few minutes, the coldness seeping through the glass and up through the stones of the floor became noticeable, and she went back to bed. Snuggling down under the warm covers, she turned on her side to face the window. She could still see the far horizon and the lights of Hogsmeade, dim in the distance.

She stared at them for a while, until the lights blurred as her eyes grew tired, and she finally fell asleep.

Hermione was woken again some time later as Snape crawled in bed next to her. It must have been close to dawn; she could see the moon hanging just over the horizon, close to setting ahead of the approaching day.

"What time is it?" she mumbled sleepily.

"Just before five," he murmured, and she felt the bed shifting as he lay down, one foot bumping hers when he stretched out beside her. "I apologise; I didn't mean to wake you."

"It doesn't matter." She yawned and rolled onto her back, dimly making out his face, turned slightly towards hers. "How did it go?"

"It seems to have worked," he said tiredly, "but I won't know for sure until tomorrow." His words were cautionary, but his eyes were shining in the darkness, and she could tell from the tone of his voice that he was pleased with the result.

"What did you do differently this time?" she asked, suddenly wide awake as she turned fully over to face him, eager to hear what was behind the success. Snape wasn't so eager, though, and he yawned hugely, shifting onto his back.

"I'll tell you about it tomorrow," he said, closing his eyes. "Or later today, at any rate."

The exhaustion was clear in his voice this time, and she bit back further questions. He fell asleep almost immediately, something that she had concluded in the past was rare. She'd seen how exhausted he had been after brewing the charmed preventative to the Cruciatus potion, though, and the one he'd just completed was even more complex, and took much longer to make.

She lay awake for some time, watching the silhouette of his chest rise and fall with his breathing. She couldn't help but think on what an achievement this would be, if it were successful. She only regretted that he wouldn't – couldn't – be recognised for his success. Not now, she thought ruefully.

The words not ever flitted across the back of her mind, but she brushed the thought away, not willing to examine what that would mean. She nestled closer to his side, and he shifted unconsciously, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. She sighed contentedly, and the warmth of his skin and the soft, even sound of his exhausted breaths eventually lulled her to sleep.

Later that morning, she awoke to find Snape still asleep beside her. He had shifted onto his stomach some time in the last few hours, one arm flung up on the pillow above her head. She pushed back the lank strands of hair hanging over his face and studied him in the harsh, early-morning light. He looked haggard and drawn; she hadn't realised, in the earlier darkness, just how much brewing the potion must have taken out of him.

She felt a twinge of regret at not offering her help, even knowing how little – if anything – she could have done to assist him. Just taking over stirring for a few minutes to give him a chance to rest would have been something, she surmised, rather too late.

He didn't even stir when she arose to go back to her own room. Before leaving, she went quietly into the lab, ignoring the cauldron of the new potion and going straight to the cabinet containing phials of completed potions. Frowning as she perused the shelves, she finally selected a phial each of Pepper-Up Potion, Invigoration Draught and a basic headache potion. Going back into the bedroom, she set the three, stoppered phials on the nightstand and glanced at him again. He slumbered on, so she drew the comforter up over his bare back, closed the curtains against the glare of the early-morning sun on the lake and left to prepare for her day of classes.

Her first lesson of the day was Defence, and she, Harry and Ron hung back at the end of the lesson to speak with Professor Lupin. They waited until the last of the other students exited the room, and Harry closed the door before coming to stand with the others.

"So, Hermione, how is that potion of Severus' coming along?" the Defence teacher asked, restoring the original layout of the classroom with a wave of his wand. The desks and chairs had been shifted at the beginning of the lesson to allow the students to practice their defensive hexes without obstruction.

"Very well," Hermione replied. Harry and Ron stood nearby, listening interestedly. "I think it's ready to be tested tonight, if you're still up for it."

"Certainly." Lupin sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms, regarding Hermione seriously. "I'm very lucky to have the Wolfsbane made for me each month as it is. Any improvement, though, is well worth the risk of testing it if it will be able to help us in the war."

"The war?" Ron questioned. Hermione nodded, but Harry looked curious, too.

"There are more werewolves in the country than most people think," Lupin began, waving the three of them into chairs. "Not all of them are loyal to Voldemort, but any that value their life are unwilling to show open hostility towards his cause. It is because of this, primarily, that werewolves have such a bad reputation with the wizarding population in general."

"It may not be a permanent cure, but this new potion will allow them a lot more freedom than Voldemort is able to offer. Werewolves that enjoy their transformations and use them as an excuse for killing are fewer in number than you would think. The others have no choice – not all are so lucky as to have the Wolfsbane made for them every month – and their isolation from society means they are forced to ally themselves with whoever can offer them the most. Now, we have a chance to offer them protection from Voldemort, and relative freedom from the pain of their transformations. Consequently, once this war is over, they will be able to live freely in society again without fear of harming themselves or others. It's an enticing concept, even to one such as myself, and I am luckier than most of my kind at the moment."

"That's brilliant," Ron breathed, looking distinctly impressed. "Snape's made a potion to do that?"

"We hope so," Hermione said solemnly.

Harry was more cautious, frowning in thought before he finally spoke.

"How do you know it's safe to drink?"

"We don't," Lupin said, holding up his hand to stall Harry's protest. "There is no way of knowing whether the theoretical predictions will match the end result without practical testing. I trust Severus' capabilities, and I am willing to take the risk."

Harry still looked slightly worried, but didn't make any further comment. They talked for a few minutes longer, until Hermione realised she and Harry were late for their next class, Potions.

They parted with Ron in the Entrance Hall and headed quickly down to the dungeons, arriving just as the other students were going to the store cupboard for their ingredients.

"Sorry we're late, sir," Hermione said to Dumbledore as she pulled her textbook from her bag. "We were talking with Professor Lupin."

"Not to worry, Miss Granger," the Headmaster said. "Perhaps I might also have a word with you at the end of the lesson?"

Hermione nodded, noticing as she turned to cross the classroom and fetch her own ingredients that Malfoy was watching her exchange with the Headmaster interestedly.

"Malfoy," she said in a stiff greeting as she walked past the front of his desk. He didn't say anything, but she felt his eyes following her to the ingredients cupboard. When she turned to go back to her desk, though, ingredients in hand, his eyes were on his cauldron, which was already starting to steam.

Hermione hung back at the end of the lesson to speak with Dumbledore. Malfoy seemed to be taking a long time to clean up his work area, glancing in her direction every so often, but when he realised Harry, too, was in the classroom, he quickened his pace and made a hasty retreat, scowling at Harry's back as the Gryffindor joined Hermione and the Headmaster at the front of the classroom.

"I take it you were discussing the potion with Professor Lupin?" Dumbledore enquired after closing the classroom door with a wave of his hand.

Hermione and Harry both nodded.

"I haven't spoken to Severus this morning," he continued, "but I am assuming last night's brewing was a success and the test will be going ahead?"

"I spoke with him after it was completed," Hermione said. "He seemed confident, but I didn't really get many details; he was exhausted by the time it was complete."

"Understandably." The Headmaster nodded. "If he has any reservations about it, he will no doubt voice them. Otherwise, perhaps you might inform Severus that Professor Lupin and I will be down shortly after the last class of the day."

"Of course, sir," Hermione affirmed. Wednesday afternoon was the time she usually spent in his lab anyway, brewing potions for Madam Pomfrey, and she was anxious to hear more about the potion before the time came to test it.

Harry had the afternoon free of classes, and was planning to join Ron out on the Quidditch pitch to practice some new moves before team training the following night. She bid her friend farewell as he and Dumbledore left the classroom together, and Hermione took the passage and stairs from the classroom office to Snape's lab.

The lab was empty when she arrived, though, as was the sitting room. She peered around the bedroom door, still ajar as she had left it, only to find Snape still asleep, hardly having moved from where she'd left him some five hours earlier.

Even in his sleep, he still looked drawn and tired. Worried, she called his name quietly, and then more loudly when he didn't rouse the first time. She walked to the window, pushing the curtains open in the hope the extra light would wake him.

He slumbered on until, just as she crossed the room and was about to reach out to him, he uttered a low groan and rolled onto his back, one arm flung over his eyes to block out the sudden, unwelcome light.

Her eyes fell inadvertently to his bare chest, pale as always, the outline of his ribs visible on his lean frame. He had yet to regain all the weight he'd lost during the week following his discovery by Voldemort, weight he couldn't really afford to have lost in the first place.

After a moment he dropped his arm, catching her stare before his eyes trailed over her robes with a frown of confusion.

"What time is it?" His voice was still scratchy from sleep.

"Lunchtime," she replied.

He muttered a string of expletives under his breath, and she stepped back as he got up. He hadn't even bothered to change out of his trousers last night and she noticed his shirt, flung over the nearby chair, was still half-buttoned.

Snape went into the bathroom without another word, and she heard the splash of water in the basin as he attempted to wake himself up. Coming back into the bedroom a moment later, he picked up the discarded shirt and attempted to put it on, discovering it was still buttoned after two frustrating attempts which resulted in another string of expletives. He threw it aside and turned to retrieve a fresh one from the armoire in the corner.

Finally managing to button that one successfully, his eyes fell on the phials on the nightstand. He walked over and picked them up, then looked at her questioningly.

"I thought you might need one of them," she said, "but I wasn't sure which."

"All of them would be preferable," he said, unstoppering the headache potion first and downing it quickly. "However, Pepper-Up and Invigoration Draught do not mix well, so I think I'll settle for this one."

He unstoppered the Invigoration Draught and swallowed that, too, then left the bedroom with the other phial in hand.

"If this potion works, you're not going to be able to brew it every month," she stated as she trailed after him into the lab. "You're a wreck."

He replaced the Pepper-Up phial in the cabinet and withdrew a second dose of the headache potion, drinking it quickly and setting the empty phial on the bench.

She frowned.

"You can't do that every time you make it, either."

"I'll do what is necessary," he said shortly.

She didn't say anything, and he turned back to her, sighing when he saw the disapproving expression on her face.

"It's once a month, Hermione," he reasoned. "A small price to pay for what it may achieve. Besides, when I'm sure that it does work, I may be able to enlist some help to make it."

"Me?" she asked hopefully, and he fixed her with a withering look.

"If you can think of anyone else who might be interested, has the skills required and knows of my continued existence, by all means, let me know."

"Point taken." She rolled her eyes, but then moved over to stand beside him when he went to the cauldron of the new Wolfsbane.

It was a revolting greenish-grey colour, and the mixture wasn't smooth, as Hermione had expected, but thick and lumpy. She looked to Snape in dismay, thinking something had gone wrong after he'd left it to cool in the early hours of the morning, but he looked satisfied.

"Is that how it's supposed to look?" she asked in disbelief.

"It is." He picked up a glass stirring rod from the bench, cast a cleansing charm to rid it of any dust, and then stirred the gelatinous mixture a few times. "Not the most inviting concoction, I must admit, but I doubt Lupin will have cause to complain if it works. Despite it's consistency, I think it may actually taste better than the original Wolfsbane."

Hermione nodded, very glad she didn't have to drink it. The taste might be agreeable, but those lumps were quite repulsive, as far as she was concerned. Still, as Snape had said, the taste was a minor issue; none of the intended recipients of the potion would begrudge that if it worked.

She informed Snape that Lupin and Headmaster would be arriving later, and then set about brewing potions from the latest list Madam Pomfrey had given her. They were simple and required very little of her concentration, so she quizzed Snape on the brewing process of the Wolfsbane.

He sat at the bench near the cauldron, making notes and explaining a lot of the process to her as he did so. Twice during the afternoon, he went to the cupboard at the side of the room for more headache potion and Invigoration Draught. If he noticed her watching him disapprovingly – and he wasn't one to miss even the slyest of glances – he ignored her. After some time, he retreated to the other room to work at his desk while she continued with her potions.

Some time shortly before five, Hermione's stomach rumbled loudly and she glanced at the clock, realising she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.

She cleared away the last of the unused ingredients and went into the sitting room. Snape was sitting at his desk, parchments of notes and formulas set out before him. He had his eyes closed, quill in one hand, and was pinching the bridge of his nose with the other.

"Headache?" she asked quietly, taking the chair opposite him. He looked up and nodded, tossing his quill aside in defeat.

"I suppose you've warded the leftover phials against me?" he joked tiredly.

"No." She smiled. "But I still don't think it's a good idea to keep taking it. Sleep would be better. Or food. Have you eaten anything today?"

He shook his head.

"No wonder you still have a headache," she chided. "I haven't eaten anything since breakfast, either. What do you feel like?"

She crossed to the mantelpiece, picking up the parchment and quill that lay there. Since Snape's supposed death at the hands of Voldemort, the Headmaster had given him the enchanted parchment with which to obtain meals. Whatever was written it transferred itself to another parchment in the kitchen and, a short time later, the requested food appeared on the coffee table courtesy of the house-elves.

It was an ingenious idea, but Hermione found herself using it more than Snape. He tended to forget everything else when he was emersed in researching or brewing, including food, and she'd taken to organising it for him whenever she was there.

When he didn't respond immediately, though, she turned back to find him watching her with a bemused expression on his face.

"What?"

"Just marvelling at you making yourself at home, organising dinner for me," he said, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth. "

"Well," she said loftily, "someone had to look after you if you won't take care of yourself."

Snape chuckled and stood up, coming to stand before her. She placed her hands on her hips and stared up at him questioningly, annoyed that he was laughing at her concern. He sobered quickly, though, a pensive look on his face, and then surprised her by pulling her into his arms and dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

"I wasn't laughing at you, Hermione," he said gently. "It's rather a novelty that anyone is concerned enough to notice whether or not I've eaten."

She snaked her arms around his back, parchment still in one hand, and rested her head on his chest.

"Of course I notice," she murmured. "I worry."

He chuckled softly again, but also tightened his hold on her almost imperceptibly. "It's not worth worrying about. Besides, when I end up with food like that stuff you took the liberty of ordering last time, is it any wonder I don't eat?"

She couldn't help but let out a giggle, then.

A few days prior, he'd waved off her enquiry of what to order, telling her to arrange whatever she felt like while he finished up in the lab. On impulse, she'd written Muggle fish and chips x 2 on the parchment and, to her delight, the food had appeared almost immediately. The house-elves had outdone themselves, considering she'd never seen fish and chips in the magical world. It was wrapped in paper as though it had come straight from the shop her parents used to take her to as a child for a very occasional takeaway meal.

She'd ordered it just to see his reaction, really, although he could use a little extra weight on his lean frame. When he'd come out of the lab to find her sitting on the floor, legs stretched out under the coffee table with the fish and chips spread out on the tabletop, she had laughed at his shocked expression, which had only irritated him further.

"It's fish and chips – standard Muggle fare," she said, pushing the open paper in his direction as he sat on the couch. "Try it."

He had refused flatly and only glowered at her when she tried to convince him. Muttering under his breath, he'd gone to the parchment and requested steamed fish and vegetables, instead.

"Much more civilised," he had commented when his meal appeared on a plate.

She had rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the half-stunned, half-revolted expression on his face as she helped herself to his portion of the fish and chips after finishing her own.

"No need to waste perfectly good food," she had remarked.

She wondered what he would do if she requested another Muggle favourite tonight?

"It wasn't bad," she said. "If you'd just have tried it-"

"It was revolting and greasy," he countered, "and I cannot believe you ate yours and mine."

"What's wrong with greasy?" she said pointedly, smiling as she snaked the hand not holding the parchment up into his hair. She was only teasing, and so she almost shrieked in surprise when he suddenly grabbed the wrist of the hand in his hair and bent so his face was level with hers, their foreheads almost touching. She could see nothing but the depths of his black eyes, narrowed in mock aggravation.

"My hair is nowhere near as greasy as that poor excuse for food," he growled.

She would have laughed, but his closeness was intoxicating and she found herself slightly breathless. He raised one eyebrow as if waiting for her response, and the only thing she could think of doing was to tilt her head up and kiss him. He murmured an incoherent but appreciative sound against her mouth, and she dared to capture his bottom lip in between her teeth, biting down lightly for just a moment. The parchment and quill fell from her hand a moment later as she released his lip and he deepened the kiss; she grasped his shoulders and fisted her fingers in the back of his shirt as the room spun headily about her.

Everything narrowed to the feel of his lips on hers, the slight chafing of his unshaven chin against her jaw, and his hands, one tangled in her hair, the other at the small of her back, holding her firmly against him.

Suddenly, she felt something solid behind her and, startled, discovered he had backed her against the bare wall beside the mantle. She hadn't realised they had moved at all, but she let the cool stone take some of her weight from her shaky legs.

He leant into her, propping her between the wall and his body, and she marvelled at the contrast between the cold wall behind her and his hard, warm body in front.

"What about dinner?" she tried to protest, albeit half-heartedly.

He drew back from her, blowing softly on her neck where his lips had been only moments before. She shivered involuntarily, and his mouth brushed the edge of her ear as he murmured, "I thought this was the entrée?"

Her breath hitched in her throat at his insinuation, and she felt as well as heard him chuckle before he renewed his assault on her lips.

Hermione had no idea how long they stood like that; the heat of his mouth and the soft caress of his tongue against hers made her forget all else. His hands were constantly moving; one had somehow found its way under the untucked hem of her blouse, and was softly stroking the smooth skin of her lower back. The other hand was in her hair, tangled amongst the curls as he held her head at just the right angle that they didn't bump noses.

Her own hands were wandering aimlessly up and down his back, and she was fervently wishing he wasn't so proper as to have tucked his shirt in neatly when he had dressed earlier in the day.

Frustrated, she set about trying to pull the bottom of the shirt from his pants, but he nudged her arms away with his elbows, releasing her lips as he made for that spot on her neck again. The skin just below her ear was her undoing, and she knew that he knew it. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes drifting shut only to snap open again.

A sudden hint of green had caught the edge of her vision, and the haze of lust abruptly disappeared as she realised what it was.

"The Floo!" she gasped, pushing Snape away from her suddenly.

No sooner had she said it than the fireplace flared a brighter green, and the whooshing noise signalling someone's arrival began.

"Shit," Snape cursed, spinning from her and disappearing through the lab door beside which they had been standing.

Mortified at the thought of being discovered in the midst of such actions, Hermione pushed herself away from the wall on shaky legs. She pulled her open robe more tightly around her, grateful for the garment to hide her blouse's state of disarray.

She bent to pick up the abandoned parchment and quill on the floor, and when she turned back to the fireplace Professor Lupin was emerging, dusting off his robes as he stepped from the hearth.

"Ah, Hermione!" he said cheerily. "I thought we might find you already here."

Hermione nodded, willing the flush from her face, and glanced towards the open lab door. She could hear Snape moving about in the room, and hoped he would have the sense to compose himself better than she before he emerged.

"Are you quite all right?" Lupin asked, eyeing Hermione curiously.

"Fine," she said hurriedly, biting her lower lip to try to conceal its swollen appearance. If the Defence teacher looked closely enough, there would be little doubt as to what his arrival had interrupted.

Thankfully, at that moment the Floo flared again, announcing Dumbledore's arrival, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," the Headmaster greeted.

"Hello, sir," she replied. Realising the magic parchment was still clutched in her hand, she held it up, adding, "Severus is just seeing to the potion, but I thought something to eat would be nice."

"An excellent idea," the Headmaster agreed, taking a seat in one of the armchairs and gesturing the Defence teacher into the other one. "Perhaps tea and sandwiches are in order? Most potions are less agreeable on an empty stomach, wouldn't you agree, Remus?"

"Certainly," Lupin said, although Hermione could still feel his eyes on her as she wrote their request on the parchment and replaced it on the mantle.

A moment later, the food appeared on the coffee table and Hermione offered to pour both professors a cup of tea. The Headmaster accepted with a nod, but Lupin shook his head.

"I'm not sure I will be able to join you, though," he said, a wry smile on his face. "The original Wolfsbane is most effective on an empty stomach, although I dare hope this may be different. It is most trying having to forgo the sumptuous food here a week out of every month."

"You find yourself in luck, Lupin," Snape announced, appearing from the lab just as Hermione sat at one end of the couch with her own cup of tea. He carried a steaming goblet, which he set down on the table in front of the Defence teacher. "This brew should also work most effectively on an empty stomach, however you will only have to miss one meal a month."

"It sounds promising," Dumbledore said, leaning forwards to pluck a sandwich from the tray in the centre of the table. Snape stepped past Hermione to sit at the other end of the couch, his gaze meeting hers for just a moment. His face was carefully impassive, and she noticed his shirt was again impeccably tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

"It doesn't appear to have improved in taste," Lupin commented, picking up the goblet when Dumbledore sat back, sniffing its contents and wrinkling his nose before replacing it on the table. Indeed, even Hermione could detect its foul odour from where she sat.

"I hardly think that should be a concern," Snape said stiffly, folding his arms across his chest and refusing Hermione's offer of a sandwich. "Besides, I'm still not entirely convinced this is a good idea."

"Severus, someone has to try it," the Defence teacher reasoned, "and I don't see where you're going to find another willing werewolf, especially one so amiable as myself."

"This isn't a joke, Lupin," Snape hissed. "It would do you well to consider the implications your death might have on others."

"I know it isn't a joke, Severus," Lupin said placidly. "Honestly, I am well aware of the risks and prepared to take them."

Snape frowned, and Hermione wondered at his reluctance; he had seemed so confident last night, unless she'd mistaken his relief at completing the potion for faith in its effectiveness.

"Even if it works," he added, "there's no certainty the potion will guarantee their loyalty."

"No, there isn't," Dumbledore agreed, leaning back in his armchair, his hands steepled under his chin. "But we must try, and sooner we are able to offer it to them, the more chance we will have of winning their trust."

"Even if the werewolves don't side with us in the end," Hermione spoke up, trying to allay his concerns, "the potion will still help to control their transformations. Wouldn't it be better to fight men than wolves?"

"The potion doesn't prevent transformation," Snape reminded her.

"No," she countered, "but, like the original Wolfsbane, it should allow the werewolf to keep his own mind when he transforms. We'd be fighting wolves, yes, but with the minds of men; wolves with a conscience, many of whom abhor killing for the sake of doing so."

"Quite true," Lupin said, and the Headmaster murmured in agreement. She looked to Snape, finding him frowning at her apparent lack of concern. Hermione gave him a small shrug of her shoulders. She understood his concerns, and knew he would place the blame on himself if something went wrong, but there was no reason left to stall; the potion was as near-perfect as theoretically possible, the Headmaster approved, and the test subject was in agreement despite the risks.

After a moment, Snape sighed in resignation. "Very well, then," he muttered, waving his hand at the goblet on the table, smoke still rising from the surface of the murky brew.

Lupin picked the goblet up, glancing at the Headmaster briefly. When the old man nodded, the Defence teacher raised it to his lips and, without further ado, downed the contents in four swift swallows.

Hermione saw the Headmaster lean forwards, watching the other man for any sign of adverse effects. She hardly realised that she, too, was sitting on the edge her seat. Glancing at Snape, she saw his eyes were fixed, unblinking on Lupin.

The Defence teacher finished draining the goblet and set it back on the coffee table with a clunk, grimacing as he said, "Severus, I am convinced you could not possibly have made that taste any worse. It was positively foul!"

"Never mind that taste," Snape snapped. "How do you feel? Nauseous? Dizzy?"

"Perfectly all right, actually," Lupin said, looking slightly surprised as he spoke.

"It works, then?" Hermione asked, looking from Lupin to Snape, and then to the Headmaster.

"It hasn't poisoned him," Snape corrected. "Whether it works or not remains to be seen on the night of the full moon."

Hermione noticed Lupin was looking slightly uncomfortable now, and Dumbledore, following her gaze, saw the expression on the teacher's face, too.

"Remus?" the Headmaster said questioningly.

"If there is chance it won't work," he said slowly, "I should like to be somewhere more secure than my own quarters. I wouldn't want to put anyone at risk."

Snape nodded approvingly at the other man's foresight.

"I'm sure that can be arranged," the Headmaster said, then folded his hands in his lap and regarded Snape over the top of his glasses. "Until then, there is another matter I think you should be made aware of, Severus."

Snape looking at the older man suspiciously, Hermione and Lupin watching interestedly, and at length the Headmaster said, "Mr Malfoy has been granted leave to return home this weekend."

Hermione shrank back involuntarily as Snape stood up, his eyes flashing. "You approved this?"

"I saw no legitimate reason to refuse," Dumbledore said calmly. "The request was made by his father on his behalf, citing personal reasons."

"Personal reasons?" Snape echoed incredulously.

Hermione was agape at the Headmaster's stupidity, and even Lupin seemed confused. Snape began pacing back and forth in front of the bookshelves, anger written in every line of his body.

"Albus," he said, spinning back to face the other occupants of the room, his voice tight with rage, "the boy is one of only two known Death Eaters' children who are of age and still at this school. After the failed mission of his classmates, Draco's father will be eager for him to prove his worthiness to the Dark Lord. You know what will be required of him."

The Mark, Hermione thought, feeling sickened. As the weeks had passed, she was more certain than ever that the young Slytherin was trying to avoid joining his father in Voldemort's ranks. It seemed that choice had been taken from him now, though, through the thoughtless actions of the Headmaster.

Then it occurred to Hermione that perhaps Dumbledore wanted it to happen this way. She quickly pushed that disturbing thought aside. Surely the Headmaster would do all in his power to prevent another confused, angry young man from making the biggest mistake of his life?

She realised he was speaking again, and turned back to the conversation.

"-do not believe Tom will send a young man back into this school bearing his Mark." Dumbledore was trying to reason with Snape, who had resumed pacing along the side of the room. "Messrs Crabbe and Goyle bore no such Mark, though they were bound to carry out his orders. If we can win young Mr Malfoy's trust when he returns, possibly charged with a mission from Tom himself, we can protect him and gain valuable information."

"You may have forfeited his trust already," Snape said. "Your inability to act on the offensive has cost you before, yet still you play directly into the Dark Lords hands."

Hermione was startled at the tone with which Snape was speaking to the older man, although she understood his anger. Lupin looked vaguely uncomfortable just witnessing the argument.

The Headmaster was frowning at Snape, who has ceased his pacing at the far end of the bookshelves. His back was turned, and he was staring moodily at the row of dusty tomes.

"I have done what I deemed to be necessary and in the best interests of all concerned," Dumbledore said firmly. "I could not find a plausible excuse to keep Mr Malfoy on the school grounds, so I had no choice but to agree to the request."

Snape didn't answer, and Dumbledore shook his head resignedly. He bid Hermione goodnight and then looked to Lupin, who indicated he wished to remain for a moment. The Headmaster departed alone, and the Defence teacher stood, moving towards the window in pretence of admiring the twilight view.

"I don't know what he's playing at," he commented after a few minutes of silence. Hermione, still seated on the couch, turned to look at her teacher in surprise.

"I thought you'd be all for his grand plans," Snape sneered, turning to regard the other man, his arms folded across his chest.

"Hardly," Lupin said easily. "Not such a misguided plan, at any rate. What does he hope to attain, confirmation of the boy's loyalties? Wouldn't it have been simpler just to ask?"

"That's too simple," Hermione said. "Then again, it's so simple it might have worked… I suppose it's too late now."

"Indeed." Snape grimaced. "I think Albus is hoping to use Draco as his eyes into the Death Eaters' ranks, as he used me."

"A replacement spy?" Lupin looked surprised. "That would make sense, strategically, but he is little more than a boy, and surely not skilful enough to conceal his duplicity from Voldemort."

"Very good, Lupin," Snape said, though his tone was more resigned than mocking. "It is a pity Albus doesn't share your concerns."

"I suppose..." Lupin trailed off thoughtfully, taking a moment before continuing, "I could try to speak with young Mr Malfoy. He is in my class on Thursday afternoon. It couldn't hurt to extend an ear, could it?"

"It's worth a try," Hermione said, but Snape snorted derisively. Apparently done with polite conversation, he picked up the empty goblet from the table and strode into the lab with it.

"You're welcome to try, Lupin," he said, reappearing in the doorway, "but there is little chance of Draco trusting the likes of you."

Hermione stared at Snape, taken aback by the harshness of his pointed remark. Lupin paled, but then he simply nodded and looked away, resigned to accept the slight.

Hermione looked between the two men in the awkward silence that followed.

Finally, Lupin cleared his throat. "Yes, well. I should be go-"

A sound at the window startled them, and Hermione turned to see Snape's owl, beating her wings against the glass outside and squawking madly.

"What on earth-" Lupin began, as Snape cursed and crossed the room from where he stood at the lab door.

"Bloody bird; she knows she can't be here." He rapped the window sharply with his knuckles. "Go on, away with you!"

Tonatiuh took no notice of Snape, and continued to squawk, pecking the glass with her beak.

"Someone might see her," Hermione said nervously, coming to stand next to Snape and glancing nervously at the school grounds below. It was almost dark, but there were some students milling about across near the edge of the lake. "Can you let her in?"

Snape tapped the left-most panel of glass with his wand, and it melted away, a sudden cool breeze wafting into the room. The owl wasted no time in shooting through the opening, and it closed behind her as she dropped what she had been carrying on the floor and began flying circles around the room, swooping dangerously close to Snape's desk, the sudden wind stirring the parchments from their neat pile.

"Careful!" Snape bellowed, grabbing one as it fluttered off the edge of the surface. "Calm down, bird! What on earth is wrong with you?"

Confused, Hermione looked down at the lump the owl had been carrying in its claws. It was a limp, bloody, very dead rat. Revolted, she poked it with the toe of her shoe, turning it over.

Her blood froze as she found herself staring at a tiny, silver paw.


To be continued

Author's Notes:

Many thanks to Potion Mistress for beta-reading this chapter, for her ideas on the werewolf transformation, and for helping me to avoid (some) horribly clichéd phrases.

Thanks also to Keladry Lupin, with whom I discussed Pettigrew's capture some months ago. Tonatiuh didn't devour the rat immediately because, a) she sensed there was something strange about him, and b) in Keladry's words, she decided 'that he tastes okay, but really needs salt'. Hehe.

If anyone is curious, the book Hermione reads in this chapter is Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. It's a dark book that, amongst other things, explores the concept of those in power exploiting people who are seen as 'inferior'. I think it's somewhat fitting, given the current plight of the wizarding world.

I've done it again, haven't I? I promised Draco's motives would be revealed the chapter. Oops. Well, if you're really curious, the next chapter over on OWL does reveal his motives – I mean it this time.

Lastly, at the request of Keladry Lupin, the wonderful and talented Undun has drawn a beautiful picture of the Canary Cream incident from Chapter 11 (Progress). You can find it at the end of that chapter on the OWL site. Thanks Undun and Keladry!