Review offering insight to the story:
"It's official. I love you. Your writing skills are completely amazing, and you always know how to use the correct word, the right sentence, the right way of portraying everything. Everything, though serious, seems light and airy, and I have no trouble at all getting through a chapter. You can switch from Hermione to Remus easily, so easily it feels seamless. You could write stories from anybody's POV, and you could rival J.K. Rowling in description, plot, originality...everything. I love the way you portray the Marauders, having Peter be a part of it, yet not, exactly like I thought it would be. I am glad you really delved deep into the werewolf aspect of it. I don't know what else to say - your writing makes me want to come back for more. Not many authors can carry on so many different stories, and yours are so different, yet so alike. I love how this is so different from your other ones, yet the same. Absolutely amazing. I love your writing so much." - PiperPaigePhoebe01 of FanFiction net.
Thank you to the following reviewers: Hotkat144, Jester08, Smelly, Dizi85, Ellie Siri Black, Black-Rose23, bethygirl94, nelygirl, untamedspiral, bronte, Suzy87, Angelic Bladez, mskiti (Tabi), MasqueradeNumberOne and especially PiperPaigePhoebe01, Sampdoria, The Almighty Cheez It and galloping-goose.
The Werewolf Tamer
Six
Hermione spent another long night in her lumpy school issued bed, feeling out of sorts and anxious. She only made it through half the night before her nightmarish memory woke her, leaving her sweaty, shaken, and panting for air. It was always clear and played out just like it had in real life, scaring her into thinking she truly was reliving it. She considered Dreamless Draughts, but couldn't make herself push Remus from her mind. She wanted to remember, in some bleak and self torturous way. If she remembered what brought her to where she was, perhaps she'd stay on task. She wouldn't lose focus of what could be; she'd know that the lives lost would have a new chance, a better chance. Remus, even if he never grew to be the man Hermione loved, would have a good life. She could handle that, she assured herself. She had to.
Unable to get to sleep again, she instead spent more time on the coming year's Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum. She'd spent a long while working on the calender during the day and finally got it to just her liking. A simple sentence showed only her the hidden information she needed, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times," quoting Charles Dickens, "A Tale Of Two Cities". She got the idea from the Marauders Map, which she had thoughtfully brought along. It hadn't been used in quite some time, but Harry kept it out of recognition of his father and godfather. After his passing, she had taken it for her own reminder, since Ron really wasn't much of a sentimentalist.
Sighing, she made her way into her common area and then crossed through to the portrait door to her office. Dressed in her nightgown and Remus' dragging robe, she pulled out a thick book that she wrote every lesson inside and opened it to where she last left off. Dipping her gold quill into the ink waiting to be used, she thought back to all that she had learned in her classes, and all that she thought they should be learning. Most of her professors had been capable enough, one more so than others, and while she took from their lessons, she also thought there was an education she had received from her own reading, and Harry's later teachings, that should have been given to the whole school. By the time morning sprung upon her, she was fully satisfied that she had a great curriculum set for her students. Casting a drying spell on the last page she had written, she rose from her seat and left to her room to change. She had a busy day ahead of her.
Making her way to Dumbledore's office, Hermione held the thick book beneath one arm and a small carrying bag in the other. A cloak hung around her shoulders, billowing rather dramatically in her quick pace. Giving the password to the gargoyle, she stepped onto the winding stairs and in a short moment she was knocking on Albus' door and waiting for his greeting. Hearing his loud voice call out, she made her way inside and smiled lightly at the man feeding his phoenix, still looking quite tired. His hair was mussed as though he had just risen and hadn't remembered to brush it, which Hermine found quite endearing. He reminded her so much of her grandpa that her smile turned watery. He was so natural around her and she was rather surprised by how different her friend here could be from the Headmaster she'd known in her past.
"Good morning, my dear. I'd offer you a Lemon Drop, but it's quite early, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to spoil your breakfast," he greeted, walking from Fawkes to his desk and taking a seat. He waved to the chairs in front of him, asking her to seat herself.
Shaking her head, Hermione made her way to stand in front of his desk, holding out the heavy tome of hers and explaining, "It's my curriculum. I wrote it up earlier and I hope you'll be quite satisfied with it." She felt rather worried about it. What if it wasn't up to standards? What if she spelled something wrong? What if it wasn't written to his liking or if he preferred it in a roll of parchment, rather than a book? What if it was too large? Or too advanced for certain years? She fidgeted, her hands fiddling with each other anxiously.
Albus gave her a warm smile, "I'm sure I will," he said simply. "Now, are you off to the Scottish Ministry then?" he queried, motioning to her handbag.
"I am," she replied with a short nod. "I believe I'll be away until supper, perhaps later. I'm not sure how long it will take to speak to someone on his behalf and I'm uncertain whether he'll even want to join." She sighed, feeling dejected. "Y'see, Brighton, he was one of my first partners in the project. He and Remus were very close, good friends. And he was there with me, guiding me along through it all. After Remus was killed... well, he never left my side. He was the one who thought I should be given time to grieve. He always had something very insightful to say. Half the time it was his own wit and intelligence, the other half a quote from a genius he'd been reading on. He quite liked Buddha," she told him, looking wistful. "He did warn me though, that during this time he was quite rebellious. He had come to terms with his being a werewolf, but was sure that society would never accept him. So he lashed out at everyone and everything around him. The werewolves he was with were trouble makers, havoc inducing, and simply loved destruction. They later became part of Voldemort's army and he sent them out to take the brunt of the attack." She frowned, knowing that lives were going to be sacrificed and sometimes there wasn't anything she could do. She'd help Brighton, but what of the other werewolves in his position?
"And you hope to save Brighton from becoming too radical in his early years and learning from you that there's hope for him yet," he asked, smiling at her.
"Yes," she replied softly, nodding slowly. "As long as I'm alive, I'll give them their hope. They deserve it, everybody does. Mine has faltered, but I can't let theirs die."
"Hermione," Albus said, sounding faint and worried. He sat up, staring at her with eyes that spoke wonders of familiarity even though he'd known her only a day or two. "It seems to me, that a person who lacks hope, can't infuse it as well as she might. If yours is lost, then shouldn't you search it out before instilling it in others?"
"My hope, Albus, died with my husband. I don't believe searching is necessary or possible. However, I do believe that hope can be given to a person. It can be nurtured and bred to keep a person going and in search of a future they deserve." She paused, shaking her head. "I have a goal that I must reach. I feel a mockery of hope inside of me, it's what keeps me going." She paused, searching for the right words. Her brow furrowed in concentration, trying to weave through her thoughts and understanding of her herself. "It's as though I'm filled with hope for the people I see around me, but the knowledge I possess keeps it from reaching what I once had. I don't believe I have hope, but I do believe that I have courage and initiative. I will see this through to my end, and perhaps even farther." She licked her lips in thought before explaining the calendar to him and telling him of the way to activate it. She then added that additional information was stored away in her bedroom dresser, in the left side drawer.
Turned away from her beliefs on hope, Albus became intrigued by her helpful time line. "It's quite brilliant, Hermione, I do applaud you."
Shaking her head, Hermione blushed lightly. "Oh no, I couldn't take all the credit. I was inspired by a map that was made by the Marauders actually. They're really quite remarkable," she praised.
Nodding, Dumbledore agreed. "So you're off then?" he wondered.
"Yes, perhaps later I'll show you the calendar and you can give it a try," she offered before walking toward the fireplace.
"Hermione," he called, sounding mildly suspicious. "Is the reason you're sharing the secret with your calendar because you fear one day you won't be here to finish your goal?" he asked, his face falling with understanding.
She stared sagely at him, "In the words of Felix Adler, told to me by my faithful friend Brighton," she began, her hand full of the flooing powder. "Religion is a wizard, a sibyl... She faces the wreck of worlds, and prophecies restoration. She faces a sky blood-red with sunset colours that deepens into darkness, and prophesies dawn. She faces death, and prophesies life." Before he could reply, she left him with a short nod and disappeared into the green flames around her.
Her arrival to the Ministry of Scotland was surprising. She found herself in an area that was completely empty, so much so that she could hear the whistle of the wind from a far window. It looked much like that of the British Ministry, and she found herself checking her wand with a half-asleep guard wizard. He looked surprised to see someone there so early, and after wiping the drool from his chin from his nodding off, he told her to have a nice day and motioned for her to go on. Examining a board that was written in fancy scrawl, she tried to figure out who it was she should speak to. She decided to go down to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and speak to whoever was in charge. After taking an elevator down, she waited patiently at a desk where a young woman looked at her with annoyance for having to do anything so early in the morning.
After a long while of loitering around the office, waiting to be beckoned to an office to discuss Brighton, she was finally answered. A man who couldn't be more than twenty and covered in bright freckles came out to see her, his expression unpleasant. "Mornin' ma'am, I'm Augustus Sinclair, how can I help you?" he asked, sounding quite bored.
He was tall, looming over her by nearly a foot. His shoulders were wide and his neck thick, while the rest of him seemed hard and strict. His expression bordered on vicious and she assumed it was because he met people daily who weren't going to show him any sort of kindness. She'd seen it enough in her line of work, both as an Auror and as an Order member. His hair was bright red, cut quite short and prone to curl in random parts. The colour of his hair and his freckles reminded her briefly of the Weasley's, though everything else struck her as the complete opposite of the friendly family.
"I'm here to speak to someone about Brighton Louis, he's around eighteen and he was brought in recently," she replied, getting straight to the point.
"Yes, I've been told you aren't family though, so I need to know why you need the information," he responded, his arms lifting and crossing across his broad chest, as though he were trying to intimidate her into leaving.
Unimpressed by his scare tactic, she pursed her lips at him in annoyance and straightened her back. "I'm not," she said shortly. "I am, however, here to see to his release from here." Her expression hardened as he stared at her speculatively.
"You're a lawyer then?" he queried, his brow cocking.
"No, I'm a professor at Hogwarts," she said dismissively. "But I run a program that reaches out to people like Brighton," she said, vaguely.
He stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate.
Hermione sighed, exasperated. "Are you capable of releasing Mr. Louis to my care, or must I speak to someone else?" she asked icily. "Because if you have no power over the matter, I'd like to speak to someone more adept."
He scowled at her inappreciatively. "I'm as good as you're going to get until I have reason to believe you need to speak to someone higher up," he replied coldly.
Hermione's expression turned harsh and she barely reigned in the urge to hex him right there. "I'm only going to say this one, Mr. Sinclair, so listen carefully. My name is Hermione Granger, I run a program that can positively return control to werewolves. I learn their ways, speak their language, and teach them how to control the need to rip the jugular out of uptight little jerks like you, who likely feel the need to hunt them. Now, I have reason to believe that Brighton Louis could be contained under my watch, and I believe that given the opportunity, I can revert him from his havoc causing ways. If it's bail you're looking for to get the boy out, say the word. Are we finished here, may I speak to someone else?" she asked, her mouth set in a dark grimace.
He watched her throughout her whole spiel, his expression barely concealed. "Werewolves? You can speak to them, control them even?" he asked, looking rather excited.
"I believe I just said I could," she replied exasperated.
He nodded, immediately covering his interest. "Yes, of course, ma'am. It was just a shock," he returned, turning to glance over his shoulder. "Come with me," he said shortly, before walking across the way to an office and knocking loudly.
"What's it?" a burly, gruff voice called out.
"Sinclair. I have someone who needs to speak to you, sir," he replied, his shoulders straightening though the man couldn't see him.
Hermione waited to be let inside and then followed the young man, her eyes set forward as she waited to see the man in charge. He was older, balding on top, and had a heavy gut. His face was lined with both scars and wrinkles, and his expression was fierce. He scowled at her right off the bat. "What's yer name and state yer business?" he told her glibly.
"Hermione Granger, and I'm here to retrieve Brighton Louis," she responded, lifting her brow as he looked to be trying to stare her into meek discomfort.
He stroked his large chin, lifting his bushy grey eyebrows a few times before he said, "Louis, eh? Yeh sure you want to be doin' that? He's quite the handful. A real trouble maker, that one is," he said, his voice low and growly.
"Given proper training and the opportunity I have for him, he'll be the perfect gentleman," she told him, nodding. She remembered her friend easily, and couldn't put the assessment the man told her of Brighton to the man she knew in any way. He was only a handful in his werewolf form, and that was because he acted as though a small child let loose in a sweets shop.
"What opportunity?" he asked, sounding as though he were shouting.
"Sir, Mrs. Granger runs a program involving werewolves. She can... she can speak to them, sir. Teach them how to reign in their need to attack," he told his superior, sounding quite excited by what he was saying.
Hermione hardly hid her smile at the man's enthusiasm. She hoped others would be so accepting, but knew many wouldn't. "It's called The Werewolf Project and I've been working on it for a number of years. I can positively claim that I can revert Brighton from the troublesome boy he is, both on the full moon and after it, to a good, smart, nice person. Of course, to do that, I'll need him stripped of all charges and placed in my care," she told them both, her voice more like an order than she knew.
He laughed, loud and boisterous, it rang off the walls. He was getting red in the face, he was so amused. He kept starting sentences and then cutting himself off with chuckles and snorts. The man beside her was turning red for another reason, he obviously just realized what she spoke of seemed ridiculous and was embarrassed he sounded so enthusiastic when it came up. "Uh, sir..." he tried to interrupt.
Sighing with annoyance, Hermione lifted her wand and cast a silencing charm on the man in front of her before anybody could react. "While you're being so outwardly courteous to my news, sir," she spat, "I simply had to interrupt. Y'see, I'm really in quite a hurry and would like to see this through as quickly as possible. I have my research with me if you'd like to see, though the names have been disillusioned as I don't think you should be privy to such personal knowledge. I also have the backing of my Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, and I have a safe place to take Brighton while I teach him the ways of a controlled werewolf."
The man stewing behind his desk glared at her shrewdly, motioning with his wand to take off the silencing charm on him. "Mrs. Granger," he said, and she nearly corrected him by saying, 'Lupin,' but managed to bite her tongue. "What yer saying has never been heard off."
"To be frank, sir, in the Muggle world, real live werewolves have never been heard of. Real magic has never been heard of. We live in a world where nearly anything is possible, do you deny that?" she asked, staring him square in the eye. "I have the ability to train werewolves, it is something I've honed for six years. Brighton Louis is someone I believe will become an asset in my program." She straightened her shoulders, looking down at him with determination. "Make no mistake, I won't leave here until I have that boy by my side and his record cleaned. If you kick me out, I'll be back tomorrow, and the day after, and so on," she vowed, lifting a warning brow.
He grumbled under his breath about the impossibility and then leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped over his large stomach. "It'll take doin'..." he muttered, shaking his head and throwing her a good glare.
"I have all day," she replied, shrugging primly.
Hours later, with lunch on the horizon, Hermione was shown to the holding cell where Brighton resided. He had no idea what had been happening for him and was shocked when an Auror opened the cell and announced, "Brighton Louis, under the advisement of the Scottish Ministry and the Wizengamot, you have been cleared of all charges in the event that you complete Professor Granger's program. You will be released unto her care and all of your indiscretions will be noted by her and only her. If you leave the program before you've been given the go-ahead from Professor Granger, then you will return to this cell and all charges will be recharged. You, Mr. Louis are a lucky and free man."
Brighton stood shocked and confused, his eyes staring at Hermione with wary hope. "Uh... I... I don't... Wh-- Who are you?" he wondered, his question meaning more than it asked.
"I'm someone who is going to offer you a wonderful possibility, Brighton," she replied, holding her hand out for him to take. "But first, how about a nice lunch? Your first as a free man," she said, smiling lightly. He looked so familiar, even twenty years younger. A few scars less, his form not as strong, and his eyes less wise. He also felt jittery, like he was waiting for something to jump out from the shadows. The Brighton she knew never feared the shadows, but fought them diligently. He took her hand, his own calloused and shaking.
They left the building, her filled with a sense of triumph. He led her to a nice restaurant down the way, since she had no idea where she really was, let alone how to navigate the area. He kept throwing her uncertain glances as his eyes moved over the menu, as though he wasn't sure if he should simply get water so not to be a bother. "Order whatever you like," she offered easily, giving a shrug. "A first meal should be memorable, shouldn't it?"
"Yes," he replied meekly. "I... erm... I don't know how to repay you."
Setting her menu down, Hermione sighed, her hands tightening around each other as they clasped atop the table. "You will repay me by becoming a good man and living a life of secure equality," she told him, the full weight of her words seemed to sit on his shoulders, because they slumped.
"I don't... I can't possibly do that," he told her, his expression becoming haunted. "Look, lady, I don't know why you helped me or how you know me, but... but I'm not like other boys, all right? I'm not some regular kid who made a mistake or anything. I'm... I'm a-a-a monster. I--"
"No," she interrupted, her voice hard and forceful. "You are not a monster and I won't allow you to speak of yourself that way." She made sure not to speak loud enough for others to hear and cast her gaze around just in case she had gotten too loud. When she found there was no one paying attention, she turned her eyes back to his, only to find his were filling with tears. "Brighton," she said, softly, her voice reaching out to him. "You are a werewolf one night of the month." His eyes widened and lifted to hers in shock and worry.
"Are... Are you--" He stopped when she shook her head.
"No, I'm not. But my friends are, a lot of them," she said quietly. "And my husband was," she added, hating the last word. "I run a program, it's called The Werewolf Project, and it helps werewolves learn control." Inhaling deeply, she explained the logistics behind it. She explained about the Wolfsbane potion, though she didn't tell him how it became less potent, but how she knew it would. She told him of how she had already had every werewolf she had worked with become a controlled person. There was a language they spoke, one that she could speak to them, to teach them to learn control. They wouldn't attack unless provoked and they would no longer hurt themselves, but become free. She couldn't promise that society would accept them right away, but she vowed that she wouldn't stop until they did. By the end, his eyes were damp from hope rather than fear and disgust with himself. "I can give you what you've always wanted."
He stared at her, his expression still not quite sure if should believe. "I... I want to, I really do. But... the idea... the hope is just so... so big that I'm worried I can't... What if it doesn't work for me? Or if I learn it, but nothing changes?" he asked, his breathing picking up.
"I know you'll learn it. I know that you'll become all that I think you will. You will be an intelligent, nice, friendly man. And if the world doesn't accept it, then it is by no fault of yours. It is their pig headed, callous fears that keep them from knowing you," she told him passionately. "Don't learn it for them though, Brighton, learn it for yourself." Their food had come and gone, their discussion long and winded. She wanted him to know the ins and outs, to really understand it all. "I can't force you. I know the Ministry said I could, but I want you to decide. I won't make your future for you, Brighton. If you don't want it now, then maybe in a few years," she smiled lightly at the thought. Turning, she opened her handbag and pulled out a small new book before handing it to him.
"The Wise Word of Buddha," he read aloud, looking skeptical.
"Read it," she told him, nodding shortly. "Perhaps you'll gain some wisdom and an understanding of the world that's been missing." Rising from her seat, she dropped a small velvet bag with enough money to tide him over for awhile and held out her hand. "It was lovely meeting you, Brighton, and I hope to see you in the near future. If you ever need me, I'll be at Hogwarts for the next year. After that, just send an owl to the Headmaster and he can send it over to me."
She swallowed, not wanting to walk away from him. "If you choose not to take me up on my offer, then at least remember that the world is yours. The future is yours to create, the path you take is your decision. And, in the words of Buddha, 'It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or demons, heaven or hell.' I will be waiting for you when you make that choice," she told him, before walking from the table and leaving the restaurant.
Taking some time to come to grips with what had just occurred, Hermione took a long walk around the city she was in. She found herself sitting atop a rolling green hill, cabins so far in the distance they appeared as small dots in her vision. The air was rather cool and damp around her, but she held her own against it. Turning her eyes up to the sky, she said, "D'you think he'll come to me, Remus?" She knew there wouldn't be an answer, but damned if she didn't hope there would be. "Brighton's a smart boy, he'll make the right choice." She nodded shortly, sniffling as her eyes filled. "D'you think he'll get along with the younger you? Imagine, you and Brighton as friends in this day in age." She smiled at the though, remembering how they were in her time. How close and comfortable they were. It was the first time she'd seen Remus really talk to a friend who wasn't a Marauder or someone related to James. She wasn't sure Remus ever thought of him as his best mate, but Brighton had always considered Remus his. "He'll come to me," she said, wiping her face and staring up at the blue sky in thought.
Awhile later, Hermione flooed back to Hogwarts. It was early evening and so she made her way to the library. She spoke a few moments with Madame Pince, who was walking up and down the aisles, checking that each book was in its rightful place. She thought it must be a job that lasted hours, but didn't comment. After gaining a few books on Defense Against the Dark Arts to review and asking the librarian if she had back ups for if she wanted to show them to her students, she made her way back to her rooms. She would spend the next few days going over her Defense Against the Dark Arts and sharpening her skills, though they were already as deadly as could be. Her classroom would have to be arranged in a way that she thought was more her style, which usually meant more books and a less oppressing and stifling surrounding. Her eyes darted to her calendar every once in awhile, as though she were waiting for it to pop up with an event for her to stop, but nothing would show. While she felt anxious to stop things and save people, she was also scared for the eventuality. What if she stumbled or screwed something up? What if she was killed before completing anything?
The next few days she spent with Albus, Hagrid, and Madame Pomfrey. She had yet to meet Professor McGonagall, as she was quite busy since arriving back. Brighton hadn't come to her, yet, and Hermione was sure that he would eventually. She focused her mind instead on other things, and was left with only her past to consume her mind. Hermione found speaking to Albus refreshing and while she gave him the more condensed version, she spoke to him about nearly everything. She went into wide detail about Harry, talking of his feats over his life and his kind personality. He was a true hero and she felt everybody should know it, though she couldn't go around boasting of a boy who hadn't even been born yet. And she told him of Harry's love for Susan, because she simply couldn't help but think of his heartbroken face and tortured self whenever her best friend was brought up. The way he cradled his wife, the way he cried out for her, how he had crumbled into a mass of emptiness at her death, it was all so... reminiscent of what happened to her when she lost Remus. Of course, Harry never had the chance to make it to shouting at her that she couldn't leave him, in fact he didn't even get the chance to really say goodbye.
She spoke of all her friends and all the losses that weighed down on her, and while Albus was a great listener, he simply couldn't offer the comfort Remus had. Sometimes, late at night, she rather wished the young Remus was around. And she knew, in her dire state of depression, that were he there during those selfish hours, she would pour it all out to him. Just one glance from his amber eyes would have her spilling her every memory and begging him to hold her, to soothe the pain away. But he would never see her in these nights, he wouldn't know of her despair, not like her Remus did. She would keep him at a professional distance and try and treat him like she did everyone else.
When the Welcoming Feast arrived, Hermione was in a tizzy. She was pacing from her office into her bedroom, straight across her common room without pause. Tomorrow she'd be starting classes with all those unfamiliar faces; she'd be teaching the parents of the witches and wizards of her time. She would know of those who died, those who worked for Voldemort, and those who simply weren't recognized as anything any longer. She'd teach them to fight and defend, even those who would go on to use her own teachings against her and those who fought on her side. It was her duty, her calling, her job. And she would teach them and encourage them, she would make sure that they knew what her defense methods meant. She would remind them of the person on the other end of the wand, the innocent or dark wizard. She would teach them humility and triumph, hard work and laziness. She would mold them into the wizards and witches needed to defeat Voldemort, even if she was the one who would eventually have to take on the dark man. She wouldn't let anyone else take her place, no. She would find the Horcruxes, if she even allowed him to get that far. It was all up to her.
Inhaling, she gathered her Gryffindor courage and left her room to make her way to the Hall. One glance out the window told her that the students were just arriving. She arrived in the Great Hall to find the Professors already seated and talking amongst themselves. There was an open seat beside Albus, waiting to be filled by her. When he spotted her face, he motioned warmly for her to come sit. As she crossed to him, she noticed that many of the other Professors were looking at her as though she had crossed a few boundaries and taken something of theirs. Sitting beside Albus, she blocked out the negativity coming from the others and focused on the nice, wise man beside her. He calmed her fears by filling her with funny little anecdotes about how the last few Welcoming Feasts had gone and warned her that the Marauders would likely put on a show for them.
When he introduced her to Professor McGonagall, Hermione had barely concealed her reaction to the woman. She was stuck between irritation and happiness. The McGonagall she knew had caused her severe problems in the last few years, let alone months. While she was a wonderful woman, one who had made it through everything, she tended to force Hermione into being a symbol of hope. She was overbearing, rather pushy, and far too involved in Hermione's life. She wouldn't leave her alone to grieve, instead wanting her to move on quickly and put all of her emotion into fixing the Wizarding world. This McGonagall, however, was not tainted by the fear of dying or the scared reality that the world was falling to pieces around her. She was pleasant enough, and kind in her voice, though there was a sternness only she could assert whenever she turned it on a student.
Albus went through with the Sorting Hat, and Hermione watched diligently as students were weaved separate and sent off to enjoy the comforts of their new Housemates. He made a quick note to all that the Forbidden Forest was very much forbidden, and then centered her out by announcing her as their new professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts. She rose from her seat gracefully, her gaze sweeping the tables to see expressions. Her eyes landed on the Marauders, each of whom were looking at her in their own way. Sirius was still suspicious, Peter still awkward, James was open and welcoming, while Remus looked at her curiously. He gazed at her with a familiar look in his eyes, one of trust and understanding. Her eyes lingered, but she moved on to see Lily, and felt her breath catch. She was really quite beautiful, Harry's mother, and she had a large book in front of her too. She was focused on Albus and Hermione, but her book was just waiting to be read.
"...She's a remarkable Professor, and I have no doubt that you will all quite enjoy her classes. While she's young, she won't be taking any raucous behavior, so don't think you'll be getting away with anything," he said, a twinkle in his eyes as his gaze fell on the Marauders too. "Now, the year has only begun and many things will greet us on our journey. Enjoy, young minds, this feast of welcoming," he announced, his arms widening and calling upon the food which appeared in a huge order over the tables.
Hermione smiled at Albus as he returned to his seat. They spoke about her classes and how he wished to sit in on one in particular with the seventh years, which she was quite excited about. She found she still looked for his approval in school matters, almost as though he was her professor and grading her on everything. Professor McGonagall spoke to Hermione awhile about her own curriculum and then gave her fair and long warning about the Marauders, while simultaneously praising them on their creative genius. A loud boom echoed throughout the Hall then and Hermione turned to see what they might have done.
Confetti hailed down from the sky, gold and maroon in colour. Trumpets sounded, as though recognizing royalty and balloons popped all around, dropping random items on each table. The Slytherin's found themselves tainted with smelly cheese raining down on them. The Hufflepuff's had whipcream explode all over them and their food, leaving them in an amusing, sticky mess of white. The Ravenclaw's were drenched in bouncing Jello rectangles, each looking like a book with a squirming candy worm sticking out of them. They splattered on the students heads and into their food. The Gryffindor's, save four, found themselves covered in chocolate sauce. And just as faces turned to the main table, Hermione flicked her wand to throw up a shielding charm on her head. She looked to Albus to see if he wanted the same, but was surprised to see him grinning and shaking his head at her, wanting to take part. Not a second later, an odd shade of orange pudding fell on top of the professors around her and she couldn't help but laugh at them. Up in the sky, written in elaborate cursive, was, "Welcome students of Hogwarts. The coming year promises to be very interesting. After all, we must all go out with a resounding bang! Respectfully, The Marauders". When the writing disappeared, sweets fell down on all five tables, of all kinds and sizes, even the Slytherins were gifted.
Hermione, not sure if she should take the chance, kept her shield up to be safe. Albus laughed uproariously from beside her, shaking his head and stroking his pudding covered beard thoughtfully. "Marvelous, wasn't it? Absolutely marvelous," he said, nodding.
"POTTER, BLACK, LUPIN, AND PETTIGREW, I EXPECT TO SEE YOU IN MY OFFICE!" Professor McGonagall screeched, rising from her seat and going to make it around the table. Her feet caught on to some pudding however, and she slipped. Hermione darted out to catch her, holding her up from the floor and bracing her feet against the ground. However, in catching McGonagall, she managed to get herself dressed in the offensive orange pudding too. Chuckling lightly, Hermione nodded as Professor McGonagall thanked her quickly before rushing off to shout at the Marauders.
"Eventful supper, wasn't it, Hermione?" Albus asked as she resumed her seat.
"Quite, Albus," she replied, nodding.
"Yes, I must say, next year will be quite... empty without the Marauders up and about," he admitted, looking rather sad.
Hermione nodded, not sure how to reply. "Well, you'll still see them and I'm sure their mischief will reach outside these castle walls."
"You think?" He turned to her, looking quite animated in his messy appearance.
She snorted, unable to hide her amusement. "Yes," she managed, shaking her head.
Later that evening, after the students had made their way back to their dorms and the Great Hall had been cleaned by the Marauders, Hermione walked the silent halls of the school. It was nearing the witching hour and Hermione was dressed in her nightgown and open robe, needing the crisp air and moonlight to calm her nerves. She was tired, but restless. She wanted to sleep, if only so she wouldn't be haggard while teaching the next day, but her mind was whirling with what could happen the next morning. What if she wasn't as prepared as she thought? What if she ruined the education of all those who took her class? Or what if she was too hard on them? Expecting too much of them? They were just children, she had to remember. And while she had grown up learning defensive measures because she truly had a huge part in the war, not all those she would be teaching would. She wanted to shield them from it, keep them from seeing too much or losing too many. But was that the right way to do it? By shielding them was she really teaching them what they should know? Harry always told her that it was better to know and be prepared, rather than to not know and fall into their enemies grasp. She sighed, feeling conflicted.
She was leaning against a window, her hands cupping her face and her robe dancing around her from the breeze. The grounds of Hogwarts were really quite an amazing view, vast and beautiful. The moon spilled over the water in the distance and fell on her with enough light to keep her seeing everything with great clarity. A sound caught her attention while she stood knee deep in worry; the scuffling of feet. She whirled around, her eyes wide and her attention alert. The hall was empty, at least to the eye. It came to her suddenly and she smiled very lightly, hoping they wouldn't notice. "Accio Invisibility Cloak," Hermione announced, flicking her wand. It flew to her with nearly no resistance, save for James' outstretched hand, obviously trying to stop it from getting into the Professor's grasp. She held the familiar thin, soft fabric in her hands, reminded of the same useful tool sitting in her trunk for safekeeping. "First night back and you've already managed to break two rules," she commented, leaning back against the wall.
Sirius frowned at her, crossing his arms defiantly. "When I read the school guidelines, there was nothing about giving a nice welcoming dessert to your fellow schoolmates and professors."
"And I suppose Slytherin's love stinky cheese," she said, her brow lifting.
"I have it on good authority that they do," he told her, nodding as he smirked.
Sighing, Hermione tried to hide her smile behind her frown. They quite reminded her of her friends, Harry and Ron, and she felt a burst of melancholy hit her hard. "And is there a reason you're roaming the grounds this late?" she queried, looking away from them if only to get away from the familiar face of James Potter. "You should be resting, school starts early tomorrow."
"We were on our way to the library," Sirius began, while James simultaneously said, "We were sleep walking." They looked at each and frowned, before saying together, "I thought we were going with my idea if we ran into someone!" They sighed, shaking their heads, "So did I!" they exclaimed.
Hermione snorted, turning her attention back to them as her hands fiddled with the cloak, folding it up out of habit. "You were sleep walking your way to the library?" she asked, stepping toward them.
Peter looked up at her, his eyes barely making it to her face before immediately going back down to the floor. He was back against the wall, his arms crossed tight over his chest and his thin hair falling over his blushing face. He was standing so close to Sirius and James, she was surprised one of them wasn't forced into holding him. Remus, on the other hand, stood off to James' side, his expression one of defeat. It was as though he knew this was going to happen, and didn't look the least bit surprised or worried. He kept glancing at her, she could feel his gaze, but she had yet to really look at him, not when she knew his eyes could connect with hers.
"Exactly!" James and Sirius told her, grinning mischievously.
Hermione shook her head knowingly, "You were on your way to the Kitchens, weren't you?"
They stared at her surprised, their expressions giving away more than they had thought to. Realizing their folly, they covered themselves and cleared their throat. "No! We don't even--"
"Know where the Kitchens are," she finished, knowing what they were going to say. "Mm hmm." She nodded, rolling her eyes upward. "Well, you could be a lot less suspicious. I could hear you coming, as I'm sure Filch could."
"Maybe it's just your training that has you picking up on us," Peter blurted, staring at her with curious eyes. "You know, a-as an Auror," he pointed out.
Hermione stilled, her shoulders becoming stiff and her expression turning hard. "How would you know about that?" she wondered, her eyes raising to catch his. Perhaps she was staring at him harder than she meant to, because he seemed to recoil quite suddenly. Reminding herself that they were suspicious of her and likely went to Dumbledore, she calmed her senses. Forcing herself to relax, she softened her eyes at Peter. "Auror training or not, Mr. Pettigrew, tripping over one another's feet is loud enough to catch up on. Four people, especially your size, under one cloak is nearly impossible. I don't know how you manage it. I could hardly fit three, and that was two boys yours size and me, which at the time was quite small."
Sirius and James glanced at each other and then cast a curious and amused expression on her. "You had an Invisibility Cloak?" James asked, grinning.
"I believe the correct verb is 'have,' Mr. Potter," she replied, smiling softly. "It came in quite handy during my schooling years and later on in various missions," she admitted, feeling as though she were talking to people who knew her far better than they should.
The hall was empty and quiet, save for their voices reaching each other. The four boys were lined up against the wall, Sirius standing a little closer than everyone else. "And who were the other two guys?" he asked, lifting his brow and smirking devilishly.
Hermione's expression turned haunted, though she tried to hide it. "My best friends," she replied quietly, looking away. "We were quite the trio, always getting into trouble," she told them, wistfully.
Sirius snorted with disbelief. "You? But you had top grades in school, were Head girl, earned an Order of Merlin by the time you were twenty, and are possibly the youngest DADA professor ever," he pointed out skeptically.
Hermione chuckled, shaking her head. "You realize that most of you get top marks, one of you is Head boy, and another--" She stopped herself before she could tell them that Remus would become a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. "And the Order of Merlin was not something I wanted," she said gravely, a bitter taste in her mouth.
"How could anybody not want that?" James wondered, stepping forward with curiosity.
Hermione turned to look at him, finding herself somewhat blinded by the similarities to Harry. Aside from the eyes, he looked just like the man she knew before he died. He only had three years to have the healthy look that James had, but Harry had worn it well. Feeling overwhelmed by just how much he looked like her Harry, she forgot to guard herself and said softly, "The cost was my best friend's life."
"How?" Remus asked from behind them, coming a little closer and looking at her with something akin to understanding.
Hermione found herself lost in her memories. "There was a huge battle, one that could truly mean the end of everything. We'd been training for years, possibly since my first year. We were all there, everyone who thought to make a difference. And Harry..." Her eyes teared up and her hands shook by her sides. "He was ready... He could have destroyed Voldemort--" she ignored their shocked expressions and flinches, "I know he could have. He was destined to; prophesied to." She shook her head, her mouth shaking, "But the second his wife was killed he lost all means to fight. She was everything to him... all that he loved. The only family he had left. And the second..." She exhaled heavily, tears slipping from her eyes. "When he saw her fall, he abandoned his fight with Voldemort and ran to her. That coward," she spat, her teeth grit, "killed Harry while his back was turned. While he held his dead wife, sobbing against her hand!" Her head turned back and forth, anger spilling out of her and overlapping her pain. "Voldemort disapparated after that, shouting that we would all know our place now, that we had lost. I couldn't... I wouldn't let him finish us though. There was still hope, there was still a future. I... I killed the next Death Eater I saw, told everyone that it wasn't over, and we finished that Battle with a feckless victory on our end. The pathetic Death Eaters ran off with their wands between their legs, scared of a few children." She clenched her jaw, turning her back on them and walking to the window. "I lose a best friend and I get an award. Congratulations me," she spat, darkly.
"What you did though... that was courageous," James told her. She could hear his footsteps approaching and turned to greet him, hating that she saw hazel eyes instead of green. "Would that Harry fellow have laid down and let it end? Or would he have fought like you had?" he queried, his brows lifting.
She didn't hesitate, knowing the answer easily. "He would've fought to the bitter end. He would have killed them all given the chance," she replied, knowing he had her there.
"And would you think him a hero? Would you think he was worthy of the Order of Merlin if he had?" he asked, staring straight at her with an understanding she had sorely missed. She nodded slowly, her tears brimming at her eyes edge. "Then don't you deserve it, Professor? Don't you think you're courageous or worthy? You didn't let them win. If they believed they had won, they would've gone on to destroy more people, kill more innocents. You..." He swallowed, shaking his head. "You saved us."
Hermione stared at him a moment, before reality crashed down on her. Reaching out, she handed him the Invisibility Cloak and shook her head. "Not yet, James, but I will," she replied, before turning away from them. "You boys better get some sleep," she called to them. "I won't be a pushover in the classroom."
"Y-You mean you're n-not going to give us detention?" she heard Peter call out incredulously. The other boys immediately began quietly chastising him for reminding her of their indiscretion.
Hermione turned to them, still walking, "I don't believe there is a school rule against sleepwalking library goers," she said simply before turning and making her way back to her rooms.
As soon as she was hidden behind her portrait door, she let her sobs out. She had revealed more than she should have, even if they didn't know who Harry was or anything to do with the battle that happened twenty-three years into the future. Pressing her hands against her face, she chastised herself for being so stupid and so ridiculously trusting of a group of boys who hardly knew her, one of which who could later become a Death Eater. She didn't even want to think of the ramifications of what she said, and moved to her room to bury her sorrow in her pillow. It didn't take long before she had cried herself to sleep, one filled with the same nightmare and heart wrenching reality.
The next morning, Hermione felt tired and heavy with worry. After taking a long shower, in hopes of washing away her fear, she dressed for class, accidentally putting one of Remus' robes on instead of her own. She hadn't figured out her mistake until she nearly tripped walking into her office. She had skipped breakfast, instead having a quick muffin and cup of tea, feeling her stomach was too severely knotted for anything more. Smoothing out her robes, she picked up her curriculum book which had been praised and given permission by Albus, and made her way into her Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
Students wouldn't be arriving just yet, so she had some time to prepare. She had taken time out of the last few days to rearrange the class, and found it all the more comfortable. She kept the window shutters open, giving the room a rather sleepy but lightly sunned look to it. She moved the desks back some and spread them out more to give them a little more room. Bookshelves were lined with books she would be using and handing out for research and in-class essays. The iron chandelier was unlit and hanging down from the center of the roof. Her desk was centered at the front so she could keep watch on everyone and be close if anything happened to the students. She felt bad for hoping that she didn't have any "Neville Longbottom" types in her class and immediately told herself that if she did, she would make sure to help him along the way to becoming just as strong, powerful, and heroic as Neville became. A trunk holding a Boggart that Hagrid had caught for her sat in the far corner, waiting to be used, and small statues of various magical creatures lined the cupboards beneath the windows. A werewolf, goblin, unicorn, giant, house elf, centaur and wizard sat in stone, each making their own movement to fit their kind.
The door opened earlier than she expected though she showed no sign of outward surprise. She sat at her desk, her book open in front of her and her wand laying beside it and against her palm. She had the Seventh year Gryffindor's and Slytherin's first, unfortunately, and hoped that the Marauders wouldn't cause any unneeded havoc. When she looked up she found herself staring at a familiar and quite unfriendly face. She held back the dark urge to kill him as he walked down the aisle, his robes billowing dramatically. Severus Snape took his seat near the front in a far corner, his greasy black hair fell to cover his face in chunks. His pale face and long nose were immediately covered by the book he lifted and burrowed himself into. Hermione drew her gaze away and told herself to calm down. This was not the Snape she knew, if it were, he'd be hexing her into oblivion and sneering at her incapability to attack. She chose not to reach out to him, knowing he would only answer her as a Professor and act as though he was doing his student duty by being the least bit polite.
The doors opened soon after and students began filling her class. She was quite surprised by just how many greeted her and wondered if they were very skilled or if their last professor had just been rather forgiving in his grading. Before long, she was faced with a full classroom, save for the last four who meandered in just shy of the bell, taking their specific seats. She could tell from the way people avoided the two long desks that seat four that they were indeed the Marauder's place. Such unequivocal claim had been placed by them and Hermione wondered if when she was in the Trio back in school, students then had stayed away from her, Harry, and Ron's seats. It seemed that way, given that they were always open and waiting to be occupied. Odd that she hadn't really noticed.
Coming out of her musings, she looked around the classroom and took in the faces of those sitting in the seats before her. She hardly looked at the Marauders, taking care not to act as though she knew them any better than the rest and moved on to go through name call. A few names struck out at her, but she continued on, making no expression of interest or distaste for their future. When she was done, she looked up to see that the students were examining the room, many of them watching the statues walking around the cupboard top. The unicorn was prancing elegantly, while the centaur kept looking up at the sun with a curious expression. The goblin was counting money from his pockets and rearranging his glasses every few seconds, while casting annoyed looks at everybody around him. The house elf was running around cleaning things with its grey stone-made cloth, while the Giant kept trying to pick his huge foot up for no apparent reason, only managing to pitch himself over. The werewolf was loping back and forth across the cupboards, occasionally stopping to throw its head back and howl, though no sound came out of his mouth. Lastly, the wizard was watching them all with a pensive expression, scratching his jaw and occasionally swirling his wand around carefully.
One of the students reached out, her shaking hand going for the werewolf as it paced. Her expression was one of suspicious curiosity and Hermione shook her head, knowing the girl was about to be harmed. She'd hardly started a class and she was already going to have to send someone to the Hospital Wing, with a bite taken out of them, no less. She moved swiftly, appearing in front of the girl as though she had apparated, which, of course, was impossible in Hogwarts. "D'you know anything about werewolves, Miss Swick?"
She cleared her throat, looking abashed. She was a Slytherin girl, her crest stared up at Hermione primly. "Of course, we learned about them in third year," she replied, sounding snotty.
"And when you learned about them, did your professor tell you it was intelligent to reach out and try to touch one as it was pacing?" she queried, her brow lifting.
"No, of course not," she replied quietly, sounding affronted. "But it's just a statue!" she protested, her eyes widening and her mouth turning to a frown.
Hermione held her hand out behind her and didn't have to look, since she knew that the werewolf would step onto her hand naturally. When its weight filled her palm, she moved her hand to hover in front of Tara Swick. The werewolf's back arched and he began growling at the girl, looking poised for attack. "Each statue is infused with a hair from each being it shows. It has the natural ability and actions of those that you see. Werewolves are naturally cautious of people, therefore, if you startle him, he will attack," she told her, her finger running down the werewolf's back until it sat back and leaned into her touch.
"Then why isn't it attacking you?" she asked nastily, looking annoyed to be chastised.
Hermione smirked at the young girl, standing up straight and moving her hand to let the werewolf down. It stayed put for a moment, turning to look up at her as though it didn't want to leave. She frowned at it, trying to hide her amused smile and made a clicking noise until it nodded and jumped down to the cupboard shelf. "That is a strong question, Miss. Swick," she replied, but didn't elaborate. She could feel Remus' smile and found it odd that a twenty-six year younger grin from the man had the same warming effect that her husband's had. Moving back to her desk, she lifted her wand and pointed it at the blackboard behind her so that a scrawl would appear.
"Wait," someone cried out, not wanting to change subjects yet. "How did you get a hair from all those creatures?" a young Gryffindor boy asked, not even bothering to raise his hand.
Hermione frowned at him, "You'll raise your hand next time, Mr. Smith," she said first. "While a unicorn hair is incredibly expensive, you can buy them, which is what I did." She couldn't go looking for a unicorn, as it wouldn't come near her. She had to be innocent and she wasn't; not really. She had killed, harmed, and been tainted by far too many deaths to be considered innocent. Moving on, she focused on the next statue, "I was in a Giant colony last year. An old friend of mine was half Giant and he told me how to find it. I spoke to a man there and kindly asked him for one so I could use it in my statue. He gave it to me, simple as that," she said with a shrug. "I know a Centaur who lives nearby here and he offered me a hair when I told him of my plan, so that was also quite easy." She smiled lightly, "And I know a very nice House Elf who was anxious to give me all of his hair if I so needed it," she added, nodding. "I spoke to a Goblin at the bank and after a long conversation, one that involved my never trying to make a profit on it unless I planned to share it with him, he also gave me a strand of his hair. The wizard was quite easy, a friend of mine gave me his." She shrugged her shoulders again, "Simple as that." She turned back to the board, hoping to change the subject, but was once again interrupted.
"You never said how you got the werewolf hair," a male voice called, which she immediately recognized as Sirius'.
Hermione turned, lifting a brow at him before saying, "Quite right, Mr. Black. How very observant of you." She turned to look at the statue werewolf who now sat curled up on the cupboard, his tail wagging around restlessly. He legs kept bucking out randomly, as though he were running in his sleep.
"It'd be nearly impossible to get a werewolf hair! You couldn't get near it while it was changed," one of the students told her, shaking their head vehemently. "And if it wasn't changed, then it's not the same." He made a face then, uncertain, "Right?"
"Sort of," she replied, nodding. She couldn't lie to them, not when she believed what she was doing was for a good cause. She wouldn't go into full length however, just the bare facts, she decided. "Most can't get near a werewolf when it's changed. I can walk into a colony of werewolves without a problem, and walk out with not a scratch on me. Full moon, full form, and not an enemy in sight." She stepped toward them, noting their shocked expressions. "I have a fair bit of friends who are werewolves and one of them was kind enough to allow me to take one of their hairs for my statue."
"But Professor, werewolves attack humans. It's in their nature," Tara Swick told her, crossing her arms.
"Attacking is not in their nature, Miss. Flick, defending is. Werewolves are naturally playful animals who enjoy roaming in the moonlight. They get along just fine with all other animals. The only reason a werewolf attacks a human is because he knows that wizards and witches will attack it out of fear. Since a werewolf wants to live just as much as any one of us, he naturally reacts to save his own life." She paused, watching their faces. "Wouldn't you think to attack if you saw a werewolf right now? It's your first reaction, is it not?" She watched them all nod. "And if you were a werewolf, would you be afraid that humans were going to hunt and attack you?" They nodded again, this time more slowly. "Then doesn't it then make sense that they attack you first. Survival of the fittest, of course. They're only trying to live."
"You can't really believe that werewolves are kind or nice or good people at heart," she heard a boy snap, his voice laced with disdain. "They kill innocent people, hurt humans, because of what? Fear? They're mongrels, the lot of them. And they should be killed for being what they are," Snape told her viciously, his eyes casting a dubious glare at Remus and the others.
Hermione noticed that numerous students agreed and found herself glaring at the young boy, her mouth turned in a frown. She had also caught the way Remus had paled dramatically and felt sorry for having to talk about something so very personal to him. Walking toward Snape, her long hair swaying at her back, she noticed that his expression turned to one of mild surprise that she would think to come to him, let alone speak to him. "Fear is what makes us human, Mr. Snape. If you were fearless, you would be foolish. Fear can keep a person alive or be the reason for their death. But make no mistake, a werewolf feels fear just as you do. They feel everything you do, they just can't come right out and say it. And when you stand before one, your heart beating at a frenzied rate because you're terrified he's about to kill you, remember that the same thing is happening to him." She stared at him head on, taking in his cold black, dull eyes and giving back a dark stare that challenged him to say any different. He stayed silent and his mouth creased in a annoyed frown.
Lifting her head, she looked over the classroom. "Since you've all taken such an active interest in the topic of werewolves, you'll write me a three foot essay on them. I want to know what you think of them, and what you know of them. I will not fault your beliefs but grade you on coherency, fact, and proper presentation. You have until the end of class, books are on the shelves and I'm open for questions if you have any," she announced, making her way back to her desk and closing her curriculum book, knowing that her first lesson was not going as planned.
The scratching of quills greeted her ears and Hermione looked up briefly to see that the students were beginning their work, though they looked none too happy about it. She smiled lightly, feeling anxious to know what the students around her truly believed. Was there a chance that some of them thought it would be interesting to know a werewolf? Would they be open to the idea that werewolves could be tamed and controlled? Or were they all scared and worried about werewolves attacking and killing them? She frowned at the thought, hoping it wasn't that way. While they worked, Hermione went over her curriculum book, determined to get back on course next class. She could feel the change of atmosphere suddenly and knew that one of the Marauders was planning something. The way everything stilled told her that the class was waiting anxiously for the show, and she somehow knew it had to do with Snape.
Sighing with resignation, Hermione decided to do the right thing. "Mr. Black, continue to do what you're planning to do, and I'll have you cleaning bedpans every Quidditch game," she warned. A gasp was issued from the young man and she looked up to see his indignant and disbelieving face. His wand hung limply from his hand, and he waited for her to take back her claim. She stared at him, her gaze unflinching and he abruptly dropped his wand and turned his attention to his essay. Hermione gave a sharp nod of triumph before turning back to her book. Not a second later, she was saying, "The same goes for you James, and I take no issue with you being the Chaser. I have my ways, and you will surely be visiting Madame Pomfrey while your back-up takes your place in the air."
"Low blow, Professor G," James replied, sounding crestfallen.
"Why does he get to be called James and I have to be Mr. Black?" Sirius whined, looking put out.
Hermione rolled her eyes, admitting only to herself that she hadn't realized she'd made a distinction between the names. "Oh, but you sound so very sophisticated, Mr Black," she replied, smiling to herself as she baited him.
He scoffed, crossing his arms childishly and frowning at her.
"Would you both please just do the assignment, some of us are trying to work," came a soft but annoyed female voice.
Hermione looked up to see Lily Evans glaring at James and Sirius, her hands on her hips and her expression lined with irritation.
"Evans, please stop flirting with me. I have an essay due at the end of class," James replied, grinning at her. "Rain check!" he offered.
Snorting, she blushed, glaring at him before she turned back to her work in a huff.
"James, I do believe you've embarrassed her," Sirius announced with a dramatic sigh.
"Embarrassed?" James said, sounding incredulous. "Impossible! Lovely Lily couldn't possibly be embarrassed by her obvious and unhideable love for me!" he exclaimed.
"Unhideable is not a word," Remus informed him, sounding amused.
"Is too, I just made it one," James replied, shrugging easily.
Hermione found the whole thing quite amusing, but knew she couldn't simply let it continue. "James, are you done your essay?" she asked, staring at him expectantly.
"Haven't even started, Professor G, I was gathering my insight," he told her, grinning.
"Gather it quicker, Mr. Potter," she told him, her brows raising. "Because you aren't leaving this classroom until I have your essay in my hand. And I'm going to add another foot for every word you say here on in," she warned, her mouth twitching in a sly smile.
"Cruel," Sirius told her, shaking his head and frowning.
"The same goes for you, Sirius," she told him, pointedly.
He grinned at her, sending a wink her way before turning down to his essay.
Hermione shook her head with exasperation, glancing at Remus out of habit, only to find him gazing at her. His amber eyes reflected curious intrigue and she wondered if everybody else thought it odd how easily she interacted with the two Marauders. Taking a quick look around the class she found only Snape looking at her oddly. On the random occasion, Lily too would look up at her with mild suspicion but then turn her attention back to her work. Her eyes met Remus' again, finding that he was really quite as comforting to look at as her husband had been. She felt relaxed in his presence and before long she wasn't so overwhelmed with the classroom atmosphere around her or the fact that she had completely gone off topic from her curriculum. When he smiled very lightly at her, she nodded and returned her attention to her work. She had to be very careful, she couldn't be gazing at students when she was supposed to be teaching them.
The rest of the class was uneventful, aside from a few mischievous looks from Sirius and James that she had to watch carefully. As everyone filed out, they dropped their five foot essays on her desk. Hermione noticed that the Marauders lingered back until the end, each, save for Peter, leaving her with a small grin before their exit. With a deep sigh, Hermione shook her head. She knew that in future her classes with the Marauders were not going to be easy. She had to be careful how much attention she gave them, especially Remus. And she had to admit that James seemed to look at her different, with some sort of respect that hadn't been there before. Sirius wasn't quite so suspicious, even seeming mildly friendly now. She hoped Remus had made up his mind and would come and see her about her program, but he had yet to do so. Chewing her lip, she resigned herself to the fact that she was now a professor, one who would be having a very cautious career. With the Marauders loose, havoc would surely ensue.
A/N I'm happy to say that my back is no longer bothering me. My deepest thanks goes out to all of you who sent out your 'get wells' for me, I really appreciate that! I'm working on updating all of my stories outside of Secret Life and The Werewolf Tamer, which each have a number of chapters already written. Since I don't usually write ahead for BITTT, AFA, or Growing, I have to write them in my spare time. Right now, however, I'm getting ready to move to another apartment. I'm also quite worried about my computer, which is breaking down on me. I have all my stories on it, and I'm beginning to worry that i might just lose them all. Unfortunately, I can't afford to get it fixed or get a new one. Sighs... In any case, I hope you'll stick with me and I'll try and update the other stories soon :D
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please review!
Much Love,
-Amanda