Ok, I've been gone for a while, and this chapter is short. But I wanted to post it to remind y'all that I'm still here, I haven't forgotten you, and I meant it when I said I'm not abandoning this story. My muse just needs a swift kick in the rear. I promise promise promise I'll have another chapter up soon, and a long one. Toodles!
Hermione was submerged into darkness as she slammed the pantry door behind her. The sound of her labored breathing was amplified in the small space as she sank to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest.
The dam broke, and her entire body quivered with the force of her tears. She gasped for breath, letting them freely stream down her face, and almost welcoming the familiarity of the anxiety attack's suffocating embrace.
It felt as though everything she knew had shattered. Her world was collapsing around her and just shattering into thousands of tiny shards of fucked-up reality. It was almost funny to Hermione that she had felt she could make an impression on somebody like Leo. Somebody who obviously had some seriously dark, depraved issues rooted deep within his psyche. And what he had shown her just know—well, she knew that he was a conniving, manipulative, dark-hearted bastard, but knowing it and seeing it were two different things. Seeing it and being held captive by it—just standing there, helpless to fight him, even in her own head…
But that was just it. Helpless to fight it, even in my own head. Hermione sobbed harder at the realization that this was probably Leo's daily struggle. He probably fought that monster inside of him constantly for his sanity. The image of Leo sweating, screaming, and clawing at his bedsheets flashed in her mind and her heart broke at the horrific memory. She couldn't imagine not having a solid sense of self; not knowing who she truly was… not knowing which was the human and which was the monster.
She had no sense of the passage of time as she rocked back and forth in the darkness of the pantry. Eventually the invisible hands constricting her airway loosened their grip, and she gulped the cool air greedily. She hiccupped and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her sweater, before a whiff of something familiar drew her attention.
She fumbled for her wand and managed a hoarse "Lumos."
Even though she knew she was in a pantry, she was unprepared for the intense reflection of her wandlight on several dozen glass jars and bottles. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she supported herself with the door handle and rose to her feet to better inspect the contents of the shelves around her. Her nose hadn't deceived her: sitting there was a tiny bottle of Peace Draught.
She unstopped it with shaking fingers and held it under her nose, eyes nearly rolling back into her head. Just the smell was enough to bring her the rest of the way down from the precipice of her panic attack. Upon closer inspection of the consistency, she could tell it was brewed by the skillful hands of Tonks. She had never been so grateful for Molly's insistence that they keep all the standard potions on hand at Headquarters at all times. She put the stopper back in the bottle and pocketed it, knowing there would inevitably be another instance in which she would desperately need it.
Her eyes perused the row of bottles, boxes of powder, and pastes. Each was labeled neatly in Molly's delicate script. It had to be here… she knew it…. Aha!
The square bottle she had plucked from the shelf was heavier than she remembered, and she nearly dropped it. She had forgotten how dense the liquid inside it was, accounting for its unusual weight. The calligraphy on it read Osteorea.
It was a potion of Mad-Eye's own creation, a derivative of Skele-Gro that he always touted whenever he had the opportunity to discuss the intricacies of potion-making. They had heard the story a million times over, and she was certain they'd hear it a million more.
"Well it was a grand idea at the time to try to grow ourselves some tails. There had been an article in a recent underground Auror periodical about experimenting with the formula of Skele-Gro, of which the Skele-Gro lawyers weren't very fond… well, anyway, some chemicals didn't quite agree with each other and I ended up with three extra fingers and my partner at the time, whom I had christened Barry—that wasn't really his name, but he was Russian and that was much easier to pronounce—ended up with a rather embarrassing tail. You see, it resembled a bratwurst in both length and girth, and you can imagine the stares it provoked seeing as it was merely covered in skin, and at first glance you thought it might be a—"
"Enough, Alastor." Molly would always cut him off at this point, her hands clapped over Ginny's ears.
Hermione chuckled despite herself. After his mishap and a trip to St. Mungo's, Mad-Eye had ended up with a combination of Skele-Gro and Essence of Dittany that was an excellent way to repair broken bones, numb the pain, and strengthen the neglected muscle around it. She rummaged around in the cabinets until she found small flask and tipped the pearlescent liquid into it, struggling with the weight of the jar. It was very full.
A pair of strong hands reached around her to hold it upright while she poured. Hermione stiffened and her breath hitched, but she was more or less trapped, with her back pressed against Leo's solid chest. Lost in thought, she hadn't heard him come up behind her. She inwardly cursed herself for being so careless, but she dared not move, she was so terrified.
Leo put the stopper back in the bottle and set it on the table, but didn't step away from her. Her heart was beating so rapidly that there was not a chance in hell he hadn't picked it up with his heightened werewolf senses. She didn't know whether to cry or bolt, so she did neither.
Still behind her, arms still encircling her but taking care not to actually touch her, Leo lifted the flask to her mouth like she was a small child. Hermione took it from him, a little more forcefully than she had intended, and tipped the liquid down her throat.
She inhaled sharply; it seared her throat with coolness, and tasted of mint. The chill raced down her spine and numbed her fingertips and toes. Her ankle burned as though it had just been submerged in ice, but only briefly, before the sound of grinding bone made her dig her fingernails into the counter. There was no pain, only numbness; and then after several seconds, she found she could bear the full weight of her body on both feet once more.
She gasped in relief, and became aware again that Leo was still behind her.
"Leo—" she started, but his hand on her arm silenced her. She began to tremble again, the episode in the living room fresh in her memory.
His voice was surprisingly soft and almost strained when he spoke next. "Please…"
Had he not been behind her, she surely would have fallen over. She couldn't recall a time when he had ever used that word with her.
"Please don't be afraid of me. I can feel you shaking."
And she was. Some of it was from the sensation of cold, most of it was from fear, and some of it was from an emotion she couldn't put her finger on. With him, it was never easy to describe or understand how she felt.
"You haven't exactly given me reason not to fear you, or trust you," she managed to croak. When did her voice get so hoarse?
Leo exhaled, a weary sort of sigh. His breath tickled Hermione's ear and she stiffened again. His hand was still on her forearm, and it was warm. Hot, really. And then his large, callused hand brushed over her smooth skin, moving up to rest on her shoulder. He left a trail of goosebumps down her arm. She didn't know if he noticed. She didn't know if she cared if he did or not.
They stood like that for several moments, both of them tensed, as if for a duel. But it wasn't a duel they were fighting with wands. She was sure he realized it by now.
"I know," he breathed, and this time she could feel his lips barely brush her ear. The knuckles of her clenched fists were white, still resting on the countertop. When she finally had the courage to turn around and face him, he was gone.
The full moon was the following night, but Leo barricaded himself in the attic all the same, reinforcing it with spells. Hermione lay in the guest room bed she had often slept in during her stays at Grimmauld Place. The familiarity of it was calming, but the feeling all but vanished as soon as Leo's whimpers and muffled howls reached her bedroom from several floors above. For young weres with only a few years of transformations under their belt, the nights leading up to the full moon were agonizing. She drew the quilt closer to her chin, knowing that neither of them was going to get much sleep.