Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the Harry Potter universe, nor do profit from this work produced here.
Warnings: bullying, cursing, PTSD references, injured thestrals, a minor comment by Madame Pomfrey.
Also, this chapter features an overly-enthusiastic SJW!Hermione! Hope you enjoy!
The light and heat of the Sunday morning sun's steady creep over his face awoke Remus before the charmed bell, and for a long moment he simply lay in bed, lazy and content with the knowledge that it was Sunday and he had no work to complete. He hadn't had such a deliciously relaxed feeling in years- not since the morning sunlight had been beaming in through the windows of a teenage boy's dormitory, and the room had been outfitted in scarlet and gold instead of cream and mahogany. Smiling, he turned his head to look at his darling bride, who, in typical Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin fashion, was drooling and snoring, with her hair splayed messily over the white pillow.
I've married a goddess, he thought wryly, and wasn't quite sure whether he was joking or really believed it.
He started and whirled around as the bell behind him began to cheerfully chime nine. Dora shot up in bed, scrambling for her wand, and then groaned when she realized what it was and flopped dramatically back down on the bedclothes. "Make it stop, Remus; it's too early," she moaned, attempting to backhandedly slap his arm with her face still buried in the pillow. Remus obliged, but then gently shook his wife's shoulder. "Dora, you've got to get up," he coaxed. "We promised McGonagall we'd be at services."
"Nng." She tried to smack him again and this time succeeded. "We'll go… tomorrow…"
"Dora, I don't think that's how this works…"
She moaned again, and Remus sighed, half-exasperated, half-amused. "I'll get Teddy up," he compromised, "and then come get you in a few minutes."
Dora mumbled something which sounded an awful lot like "fine, whatever," and he snorted, getting up out of bed and making his way to the nursery. He allowed his wife another five minutes while he heated Teddy's mush, and then another ten while he fed the baby. After wiping his son's face clean of any orange-colored goo, he carried the cooing baby into the bedroom and whispered, "Dora, there's someone here to see you!"
"Mm? Who?" she mumbled groggily, rolling over, and then smiled, sitting up. "Ahh, there's my little man. C'mere, Teddy Bear!"
"Oh, I see how it is," Lupin replied, faux-offended, handing her the baby. "I can't get so much as a 'good morning, darling,' but you'll hop right out of bed for him."
"Mm, well, he's much cuter than you." She giggled and rubbed her nose against her son's, who shrieked with laughter. "Did you feed him?"
"Mm-hm. And we'd best get dressed if we want to feed us. Services start at ten, you know."
"Ooh, mummy and daddy are going down to the village, yes we are! And we're taking baby Teddy to church so he can meet the pastor and the all nice people and God, too!" She paused and looked over to Remus, frowning. "Er- is that right?"
He chuckled a bit to himself. "That's right, Dora." The Blacks, he knew, were not exactly known for being regular churchgoers, and Dora was no exception. Remus, on the other hand, had always taken his Presbyterian heritage very seriously, taught the faith as he was at his mother's knee, and fully intended to raise Teddy the same way.
His wife, on the other hand, sighed and snuggled back into the pillows, letting the child rest on her chest. Teddy pawed at her face. "You're sure we can't just stay here? Like, forever?" she said, smiling lazily and brushing the baby's (currently pink) hair with her fingertips.
"Come on, Dora; I have the worst craving for bacon."
"Oh, alright," she said with a scowl, getting out of bed and balancing Teddy on her hip. "If your bacon means so much to you…"
"Mm. Well," he said dryly, and when she turned he brushed a hand against her chin and stole a kiss, making Dora grin, "I can't say I don't occasionally like something a little sweeter."
"Honestly, Seamus, you're going to choke; slow down!"
"Oh, lay off, Hermione," Ron said eagerly, "This might be a new record!" He, Harry and Dean Thomas were all watching with appreciation as their roommate finished the last half of a muffin with one mouthful and then washed it down with a whole goblet of pumpkin juice. "Time?" he demanded, dropping the goblet back on the table and smacking his lips.
"Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds!" Dean crowed. "That's five seconds faster than the time you missed your alarm!"
"Brilliant!" The tower clock chimed half-past, and the Irishman cursed under his breath. "Blast. Gotta go, or Fr. Flyte'll have me head." He gave them a quick wave before jumping up and hurrying for the door. Neville scowled and threw Dean a sickle, huffing.
"You shouldn't be encouraging him," Hermione reproved, wearing a similar expression. "After everything we've survived, I'd rather not see our classmates die over a chocolate muffin."
"Oi, watch what you say about the chocolate muffins," Ron said, pointing a fork at her indignantly. "Those things are perfection in a cup."
"Mail's here," Neville noted, as a flock of owls soared into the hall. There was a collective cry from the first years as their goblets were knocked over by a sudden downfall of Sunday papers; the seventh-years, by now experts in the art, reached out and caught them before they could hit the table. Harry frowned as he unfurled his paper and turned to Ron.
"Hey, look at that."
Ron did, and his eyes widened. "Wow." Throughout the hall, whispers began to buzz at the picture plastered across the front page.
Several tables away, Draco Malfoy calmly took a bite of his toast and reached out to take his Sunday paper as his Horned Owl, Cassiopeia, swooped down to deliver it. As he did so, he began to notice students turning in his direction, peering in confusion and something more– fear and anger. Up at the staff table, Professor McGonagall's eyes had gone wide behind her spectacles, glancing up at him in shock, her spoon of bread pudding paused halfway to her mouth. Professor Lupin's face had furrowed in a deep frown, his wife touching his shoulder in concern.
With growing trepidation, Draco turned to his newspaper and undid the twine binding it in a roll. As he smoothed the paper out flat, he found the reason for the sudden attention. A moving black-and-white photograph of himself in the holding cell in Azkaban, awaiting his trial several months prior, glared out at him, and above the picture blazed a stark black headline:
Darker Marks: How One Teenage Wizard
Brought About the Death of Albus Dumbledore
By: Rita Skeeter
Draco closed his eyes tight in horror. Professor Lupin had been right. He should have realized she wouldn't leave, not after he'd just offended her; how could he be so stupid…?
Slowly, as if wishing the article would just vanish away, he opened his eyes.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has long enjoyed a reputation as a safe haven for the staff it employs and the students who call it home. Despite the security breaches that led to such tragedy last May, newly-appointed Headmistress McGonagall assured me in a personal interview (11 September) that, "…While nowhere is without risk, this school is among the safest wizarding institutions for any young student of the magical arts. There is no need whatever for concern."
Recent events, however, may lead one to inquire as to whether the new Headmistress's actions truly reflect this attitude. Despite that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Himself laid siege to the castle not five months previous, Professor McGonagall has seen fit to allow several Death Eaters to return to the school as her pupils- including one Mr. Draco Malfoy, the man directly responsible for the death of the beloved Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Mr. Malfoy himself seems to be relishing in his having escaped the retribution of the law. "Take a look at the battle memorial and you'll know all you need to about the Death Eaters," he informed me (personal interview, 11 September). "People died here, and I helped it happen."
One of these "people," it would seem, is the late headmaster himself. Shortly after joining the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, then-sixteen Draco Malfoy was assigned the prestigious task of bringing down one of the Dark Lord's greatest foes. Mr. Malfoy, it seems, took this honor upon himself with the utmost dedication: he devised elaborate schemes to ensure the headmaster's death, including two failed assassination attempts involving a poisoned bottle of mead and a cursed necklace. Much to his displeasure, these dangerous means were never delivered to their intended target, instead causing great harm to his innocent fellow students.
While these attempts were prematurely thwarted, one, it seemed, was destined to succeed. "I knew I wasn't capable of doing the job on my own, so I intended to repair a Vanishing Cabinet to allow other Death Eaters into the castle," continued Mr. Malfoy. On 30 June, 1997, his efforts came to fruition: several fellow Death Eaters (including his aunt, the notorious Bellatrix Lestrange) entered the school via the repaired Vanishing Cabinet. Mr. Malfoy then led his companions to the Astronomy Tower, to where the unsuspecting headmaster had been lured.
Thankfully, however, Mr. Malfoy's final plan was foiled: the late Professor Severus Snape arrived at the scene with only moments to spare and, as had already been pre-arranged with Professor Dumbledore, took the headmaster's life with merciful swiftness, in order that the Dark Lord might not come into possession of the dangerous magical artifact known as the Wand of Destiny. (For more details on the Wand, see my upcoming biography, Scars: Harry Potter and the Dark Lord's Downfall.)
Apparently ungrateful for his escape from the hands of the law, Mr. Malfoy's ambitious nature has not lessened– nor, it may be added, has his propensity for seeking out mentors of a darker nature. Werewolf Remus Lupin, newly reinstated professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, seemed more than willing to help the former Death Eater achieve his goals. "His class marks are really very good," says Lupin. "I may be able to help him find a career that doesn't require a- how shall we say it? A perfect track record?" Lupin, although widely recognized as one of Dumbledore's elite inner circle, has been mysteriously vague about the details of his work during the War, and refused to either confirm or deny rumors that claimed he ran in the pack of Fenrir Greyback, the fearsome werewolf still at large and known for his history of attacking children.
Mr. Malfoy admits to former aspirations for a career in the Ministry; what, precisely, his new objectives will include remains to be seen. In any case, Professor McGonagall certainly has an obligation to make a full inquiry as to the nature of Mr. Malfoy's future ambitions, as well as to keep close watch on any students or staff who show reason for concern.
Draco didn't dare look up after he had finished the article. He could hear the hall buzzing around him, his name laced into the whispers. One glance up told him all he needed to know: every student in the Hall had turned to stare at him, some with shock, others with obvious venom. Feeling the heat rush to his cheeks, he shoved the article into his bag and stood up, suddenly no longer hungry. So intent was he with escaping the hall as quickly as possible, he did not even see the foot reach out from the table of Ravenclaw fifth-years.
He hit the ground before he even knew he'd been tripped, books spilling everywhere. Several people laughed; a few others catcalled. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to his knees, gathering his books into his arms. His wrist throbbed painfully, as if he'd sprained it, and his robes were torn at the knee where they had scraped the stone. "Serves you right, Death Eater!" a voice spat nearby.
Death Eater. His stomach twisted hard. Unable to see for the burning in his eyes, he grabbed his potions book off the floor and told himself that he would not cry, not here in front of the whole blasted school– when suddenly he heard a voice cry out, "Oh, can't you leave him alone?!"
Draco looked up, startled, wondering as to the identity of his defender, and found himself looking into a pair of bright gold eyes. "Come with me," the girl said quickly, helping him up and away as people jeered behind them.
She led him out of the hall and down a corridor, where she stopped and let him go. "Are you alright?" she demanded. "They didn't do anything else to you, did they?"
He shook his head mutely, still cradling his injured wrist in his good hand, and did his best not to blink. If the girl noticed the shine to his eyes, she didn't make mention of it, but instead nodded to his wrist. "Let me see that."
Warily, he extended it to her, not daring to roll up his sleeve. No doubt she knew what it covered, but he'd learned from experience in the last few months that knowing and seeing were two very different things. The girl, however, didn't so much as flinch; rather, she pulled out her wand and tapped it lightly, murmuring, "Episkey." Instantly the pain vanished and the ligaments realigned themselves under his skin.
"…Thanks," he muttered, glancing up. "Brown, right?" She nodded, and he said, "Well, er… I suppose you saw the morning news…"
"Rita Skeeter is a vile cow," said the girl fiercely. "I mean, what she said about Professor Lupin…"
Draco, much to her surprise, was in agreement."She had no right," he spat. "The professor didn't do anything to deserve that."
Brown cocked her head, startled. "So… you don't mind that he's a…?
She trailed off, self-consciously twisting a curl of blonde hair and releasing it so it fell in front of her eyes, as if half-hoping it would distract from the hideous scars cut across her face. He remembered that she had been Fenrir Greyback's latest victim and forced himself not to stare. "Were you… that is, are you…?" He realized it was not the sort of question one asked and shut his mouth.
Brown stiffened. "What's it to you?" she asked coolly, and her hand twitched towards her bag, eyes flicking towards the wrist she had just healed.
Draco felt a rush of deep shame and didn't answer, eyes narrowing. "Look, not to be ungrateful, Brown, but why exactly are you helping me?" he demanded, voice growing frosty in his embarrassment.
She fidgeted, suddenly uncomfortable, and he suddenly realized the motive behind her actions. Ah, of course. Kinship with her own kind, that's natural enough. Much to his surprise, however, she expressed nothing of the sort. "…That article," the werewolf said, chewing on her lower lip, "That could have just as easily been about me. It would have been, if you hadn't been the bigger scandal."
"So?"
"So, I- I don't know," she replied, blushing. "I just… don't like seeing people treated that way, that's all."
But I deserve it. I don't have to like it, but whatever way I'm treated now, I deserve it. He stared at her uncomprehendingly, and the girl shifted her schoolbag and said, "I-If you go down to the portrait of the bowl of fruit, there's a secret passage into the kitchen. I'm sure the house-elves would give you some food, if you don't want to go back into the hall. Just tickle the pear and it'll let you through."
"…Thank you," he said uncertainly. Brown nodded her head and turned, heading back towards the hall. Before he could stop himself, he called out, "Professor Lupin saved my life."
The girl turned, startled. Draco flushed. "During the battle, I mean… he's a good man."
He hoped she'd caught the unspoken implication. Perhaps she had, because Brown's face softened slightly. "Yes. He is," she agreed, and then turned and disappeared around the corner.
The walk to Hogsmead was cool and breezy, leading the three teenagers to pull their cloaks tighter around their necks. "That was a horrid article," Hermione ranted for the fourth time. "I'm really starting to think we ought to turn her in!"
"Personally, I think Malfoy got what was coming to him," Ron snorted. "I mean, did you see his face when that kid tripped him? I thought he was going to cry-" He stopped short when he saw Hermione's glare at his smug expression and added hastily, "So, um, we should probably track that kid down later and give him detention?"
"Just so," she agreed nobly, and then added, "Let's hurry, I want to get to Scripts and Scrolls before it fills up; I heard they're releasing a new biography on Hesper Starkey today."
"Yes, I'm sure the book store is going to be just brimming for that," Ron said sarcastically. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"It wasn't fair what she said about Professor Lupin, though," Harry argued as they hurried through the busy streets. "He'd never hurt anyone, let alone a kid."
"That's just the problem, Harry," Hermione replied grimly. "It's not what she reports that matters, it's how she reports it. It's just this sort of thing that makes people think there aren't any good werewolves out there, and then they feel justified doing whatever they please to them. Oh, here we are!"
They'd reached Scripts and Scrolls; all four of them stopped in the street and stared, open-mouthed. Large posters covered the windows, emblazoned with shocking gold letters reading,
Scars: Harry Potter and the Dark Lord's Downfall.
On Sale This Halloween!
There was a picture of Harry looking very brave and heroic beneath it, framed on either side by a noble Ron and gravely intelligent Hermione. A small crowd had surrounded the window, preventing them from getting any closer.
"Bloody basilisks," Harry muttered, at the same time that Ron said in half-hopeless, half-awed resignation, "Good picture, mate."
"Look! It's him!" a voice cried, and the whole crowd turned. Harry barely had time to think, oh no, before he and the other two were being swarmed on all sides, asked for autographs and pictures and "Would you sign my copy, Mr. Potter?"
"Alright, alright, you lot, leave them alone, clear out!" a voice called, and the crowd swarmed away like a cloud of hornets as a chubby witch with merry blue eyes and indigo robes pushed through. "Terribly sorry about that, Hermione, dear; I forgot you'd be by today or I'd never have put that poster up. Oh, and these must be the boys; do all come inside out of the wind."
The inside of the bookshop was wonderfully warm and smelled deliciously of parchment and leather, arranged like a labyrinth of bookshelves into which the blue-eyed witch disappeared, humming a little tune. The shelves were filled with tomes of fiction and history and magical study; near the front there was a small supply rack that sold inkwells and quills, and Ron, ever the practical, quickly became engrossed with a beautifully crafted brass typewriter that chimed like glass whenever a line was completed. Harry sidled up to Hermione, who'd become engrossed in a copy of Le Morte d'Arthur and Other Legends (Wizarding copy with facing Muggle text), and muttered, "What d'you think I should do about that?"
"Hm? About what?"
"About the biography, Hermione!"
"Oh!" She closed the book and looked up, frowning. "Well, honestly, Harry, I think the only thing you can do is file a suit against her."
"Yeah, I was thinking that, too. Can you help me?"
"Well I'm not a barrister yet; besides, that wouldn't be my specialty," she replied, and then added thoughtfully, "Although I'm sure Tonks would know someone, if you asked. And of course it would depend on whether the story were defamatory or not."
"Yeah, but this is Rita Skeeter we're talking about," Harry reminded her, and thought nervously of every mean or rotten thing he'd ever done in his eighteen years of life. He knew Skeeter wasn't above using less-than-legitimate means of finding them, either; he could only imagine the sort of stories she'd get from a five-minute visit with the Dursleys.
"You know, Harry, there is one obvious solution," the witch pointed out, flipping to a page halfway through the book.
"Yeah? What?"
"Well… you could just write the biography yourself. If it came from you, Rita's book would never sell more than a hundred copies."
"What? No way!" He stared at her as if she'd grown a second head. "I'm not writing an autobiography, Hermione! C'mon, what would I even call it?"
"Oh, I dunno, mate," Ron said with a grin, walking over. "I think Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows sounds pretty epic."
"Not a chance," Harry said flatly. "Besides, no one's going to want to read about us, I dunno, eating mushrooms and sitting in tents for weeks on end."
"You could do a whole series!" Ron chortled, clearly not dissuaded. "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets! Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix!"
"Now that just sounds pretentious; we weren't even in the Order."
They were still bickering about it by the time they left the bookshop, Hermione with her book and two more in hand. The witch, whom Harry and Ron had learned was named Madame Meriwether, had upon learning the truth behind the biography agreed to remove the poster and vowed that she wouldn't sell a single copy. "What about Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire?" Ron suggested.
"Yeah, well, I still think Harry Potter and The Time I Nearly Died at a Bloody Dark Magic Cult Ceremony has a better ring to it," Harry groused. "Or Harry Potter and The Time Nobody Believed Me About It, Either. Oi, Hermione, which way do we go? I've never been in this part of Hogsmead before."
"We're on the south end; the main street is to the north. We'll cut through the churchyard, this way…"
There were two churches in Hogsmead, located in an open space in the heart of the town. To the west sat the Scottish Presbyterian kirk, with its crisp white steeple and proper rows of flowers by the door, and to the east an ancient RC church, St Guinevere the Penitent, which was all stone and stained glass and looked about as old as Hogwarts itself. Between these two was a wide green which Hermione said had been the place of a famous duel between Father McKinley and Reverend MacIrving, the kirk's founder, sometime in the sixteenth century (neither of the boys found it interesting enough to recall the date).
Now, quite apart from going to battle, the two parishes coexisted more or less peacefully, and crowds of churchgoers were pouring out of the front doors onto the green together as the bells of St. Guinevere's chimed eleven. "Oh, there's Professor McGonagall!" Hermione exclaimed, starting towards the kirk. The boys caught sight of the headmistress, dressed in stiff black robes with a hymn-book in hand; beside her were Lupin and Tonks, the later of whom was holding Teddy on her hip. "I've got to talk to her about my research essay-"
"Not right now, you don't," Harry said quickly, catching her elbow and steering her in the opposite direction.
"What? Harry-!"
"Look, just- talk to her later, alright? Please?"
But now the two were looking at him very oddly. "What're you on about, mate?" Ron inquired with a befuddled frown.
Harry hesitated, and then muttered, "I haven't gone in for my careers counseling yet."
"What?" Hermione was aghast; Harry shushed her. "Harry, that's awful! You really ought to go in, the sooner you get your applications finished the better!"
"Mate, it's fine," Ron reassured him, "trust me, Lupin's not going to bite your head off. Well, not right now, anyway-"
Hermione whirled on him. "Ron!"
"What? It was just a joke!"
"A very insensitive joke! Look, Harry," she said, as Ron pouted, "getting your applications in is terribly important! If you don't submit them soon, you might have to wait a whole year to apply again!"
"Look, I just forgot, alright? I'll get it done soon. I promise," he said, when Hermione gave him a look, "I'd just rather not have that conversation here."
She glared for a moment longer, and then sighed. "Oh, alright. No point in ruining a nice Sunday morning, I suppose." She shivered suddenly, and Ron looked over, concerned.
"Cold, are you?"
"Just a bit. Fancy a butterbeer?"
"Unless you two would rather go to Madame Puddifoot's," said Harry nonchalantly, and grinned when the other two burst out with comments of, "Certainly not!" and "Come off it, mate!"
"Actually, we've been meaning to talk to you about that," Hermione said awkwardly, as they started in the direction of St. Guinevere's. "This doesn't change anything, Harry; you do know that, don't you? I mean– we're all still best friends, nothing's changed…"
"No, it has," Harry said with a shrug. "You two are together now, that's a big difference. Just tell me when you want me to shove off and I will." He glanced over to see the two giving each other a worried look, and laughed. "Seriously, I'm fine with it. Frankly, I've been waiting for it to happen for years…"
"You're not the only one," Hermione mumbled under her breath, and then grinned when Ron blushed. They were just about to head down a road of shops when Hermione stopped suddenly, causing the other two to turn back.
"What's up?" Ron demanded. Hermione didn't answer, frowning curiously at the church door. As they watched, a certain blonde-haired figure dressed in familiar a raspberry cloak determinedly crossed the crowded green. Not far off, Parvati and Padma were watching with nervous excitement as Lavender Brown approached Seamus Finnigan, who was standing outside the church door in full black cassock and lace surplice, bidding Madame Pomfrey a good morning.
Lavender appeared to steel her will, and then spoke up, biting her lip. "Hullo, Seamus."
The young wizard turned, surprised. "Lavender! How are you?" he said, grinning, but there was nervousness in his voice. Harry glanced over to see Hermione's eyes narrow.
"Fine, I'm fine," she chirruped, but it was clear she was anxious. "Er, Seamus, I was wondering…." Lavender took a deep breath. "W-when you're done here, would you like to get a butterbeer with me?"
The immediate area around the two suddenly went quite quiet; half the crowd hastened politely away, the other half– mostly students– pretended not to pay attention while still listening in eagerly. The young werewolf had blushed a rosy hue of pink, highlighting the waxy white of her scars.
"Er, um… Lavender, look," Seamus said quietly, drawing her aside, but the trio were still in earshot, "I-I don't think that would be the best idea."
"…Oh?" the witch whispered hoarsely.
"I-I just…" Seamus rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably and sighed. "See, I had me talk with Professor Lupin on Friday," he said apologetically. Lavender's eyes widened. "And, well, he helped me see what I'm supposed to be doing with me life… and you, this, it can't be a part o' that. I'm sorry, Lav, really."
"Oh," she whispered again, eyes going a bit glossy. "I see."
"We'll still be friends," Seamus pleaded. "It's just, things will be different now. You knew they would be."
"Yes… I suppose I did, deep down." She offered him a watery smile and wiped her eyes. "I do hope you'll be happy, Seamus, really."
"Thank you, Lav. I knew you'd understand."
At this, Hermione let out a noise of wordless anger and broke her silence, stalking over. "You utter and absolute arse, Finnigan!" she snapped, startling the pair. "How could you!"
"Pardon?" said the wizard, surprised.
"You've fancied her for ages, don't pretend you haven't, and now that she suddenly doesn't meet your standards because of something she didn't even choose-"
"Oh- no, Hermione, you don't understand!" Lavender interjected.
"Oh, I think I understand perfectly!" she shrieked at the traumatized acolyte. "You know, I could understand this from someone like Malfoy or Zabini, Seamus, but you! I thought you were better than this! I guess it goes to show you don't really know a person until-"
"Hermione, he's joining the clergy!" Lavender exclaimed, cutting her off.
Hermione broke off, gaping silently for a moment as Seamus let out a breath of relief. "O-oh," she stammered. "As in…"
"As in the Catholic clergy," Seamus finished, flushing. "So, no girls."
"Oh," Hermione said again, rather stupidly. "Oh. I-" She was quickly turning the color of a ripe tomato. "I'm sorry, Lavender, Seamus, really, I- I didn't think-"
"That's alright," Lavender replied, a little shell-shocked. "But, er, thanks for the support, Hermione."
"Yes. Right. Um- sorry again. Right." She turned and hurried away as quickly as she could without running, ignoring the chortles from the other students.
Ron was still snickering two blocks later. "It's not that funny!" Hermione snapped. "How was I supposed to know what they meant?"
"Maybe if you just kept your nose out of it…" Harry murmured, intending for only Ron to hear, and was therefore quite startled when the glass of his spectacles suddenly turned opaque. "Oi- Hermione!"
The halls of the castle were empty and quiet, deserted of the students who would rather be spending their time on the grounds or down in the village. Draco Malfoy, having finished his breakfast of tea and muffins from the kitchen, had taken to walking the more deserted parts of the castle, thinking to himself. Thinking about the article, about Lavender and Professor Lupin, about his parents and the War and the Dark Lord, about the tattoo on his arm and the application bearing his name sitting on a desk somewhere in St. Mungo's. He thought for a long time about that. He'd only been to St. Mungo's a handful of times; his father avoided the place like the plague, the white walls and cheerful healers bearing too many bad memories for the head of the Malfoy household, but Draco held no such resentment for the hospital.
Ever since the professor had assured him that the Sisters would at least consider his application, the prospect of being a Healer had grown clearer and realer in his mind. He had begun imagining hurrying through hospital halls in a green robe, barking orders in triage, testing potions in the laboratories. His optimism was burgeoning, it was too strong now to quell it. Part of him relished in the possibility of discovery and accomplishment, his natural ambition stretching towards opportunity; another quieter, humbler part just wanted the chance to try to make a little bit right, after all he'd done wrong.
A third part was adamantly insisting that he be cautious, wary of getting his hopes up: how could he be so foolish as to put his faith in the mercy of strangers, however good and generous they claimed to be? He knew the real world, he'd seen how it worked. Most people, if given the chance, would do what benefited them and those they loved rather than take chances on the wellbeing of a outsider, let alone a convicted criminal only given a second chance on a mere a technicality.
He thought about all of this as he walked the quiet, empty halls of Hogwarts, wrestling with himself and his uncertainties. Pausing beside a window, he watched as the specks of dust floated lazily in the late-afternoon sunlight. As he did so, he noticed something moving along the grounds below, a large dark speck against the green, and he frowned, trying to make it out. After a moment his eyes adjusted; it was the gamekeeper, carrying what appeared to be an injured thestral over his massive shoulders.
Draco felt the painful jolt of a duty left undone; he'd been putting off asking the bumbling professor for permission to join his class for two days now, and he wasn't looking forward to the task one jot. He knew he'd have to do it by the end of the day, as the next Care of Magical Creatures class happened Monday afternoon.
Draco was no Gryffindor; he had rarely been brave simply for the sake of bravery and had only begun considering characteristic nobility a valuable trait within the last few months. But he was a Slytherin, and that meant accomplishing one's goals regardless of difficulties, even if that meant getting his hands a little dirty. So, mustering up all the courage he could find in his snake's heart, Draco swallowed hard, set his shoulders and turned towards the nearest stairwell.
Ten minutes later, he found himself standing on a grassy knoll overlooking the groundskeeper's hut, permission papers in hand and unable to make his feet take another step.
Not far below him, the half-giant had set the thestral down on its side, gently brushing its neck and speaking to it even as he bandaged what appeared to be several long gouges in its side. "Easy there, girl," Draco heard him murmur, "Jus' hold still-"
Quite against his request, the thestral let out a pained whinny and flinched as the groundskeeper pressed a strip of white gauze along a laceration. Draco grimaced in sympathy; the man sighed deeply and patted its neck. "Jus' a few more, girl, an' then yeh can rest, I swear it…"
"What happened to her?"
Draco didn't even realize he'd spoken until the man started and turned. They stared at each other for a long moment, the former reddening, and then the groundskeeper nodded warily. "Mr. Malfoy. How d'yeh do?"
"Fine." He nodded to the thestral, asking again, "What happened to her?"
"Oh." The half-giant rubbed the back of his neck and looked to the injured animal. "Can't say I rightly know, ter be honest. Ain't never seen anythin' like this before." He glanced to the blond and said uncomfortably, "Yeh mind if I…?"
"Oh, no. By all means." The half-giant nodded and knelt down again, picking up the gauze and what appeared to be a sort of salve. Draco crept over, curious despite himself. "…Is she going to be alright?" he questioned, as the man continued his ministrations.
"She'd be dead by now if she weren't," the groundskeeper grunted. "These wounds are at least a day old; looks like she got away quick enough, but I don' want them getting' infected…"
"That's what the salve is for?"
"Mm."
He fell silent, watching as the man pasted on another strip of cloth. The wounds were long, he noticed, perhaps about a foot in length; five cuts, evenly spaced, with the first generally shorter than the others. "These marks," Draco noticed, frowning deeply. "They look like they were made by human hands."
"Mm. Tha's what's got me puzzled." He finished his work and wound up the massive ball of gauze, screwing the cover back on the jar. "See how most o' them go fer the rump or the nose? Tha's typical wolf hunt behavior, 'cept I've never heard o' a wolf with five claws."
Perhaps it was because of his recent meetings with Lupin and Brown, but Draco's mind immediately caught onto the idea of wolf-man. "Werewolves?" he questioned, and received a sharp look from the half-giant in return. "I didn't mean it like that," he added quickly.
"Oh. No, full moon was more'n a week ago; these cuts are fresh," the groundskeeper dismissed. "Besides, their hands turn inter paws, too, and I've never known a werewolf ter hunt a thestral. Nah, my closest guess is a Veela– though why in Merlin's name there'd be a thestral-huntin' Veela in our forest…" He patted the thestral's neck and stood up, dusting off his hands. "I'll have Lupin take a look at her later, see if there's somethin' that's wandered into the forest that needs takin' care of." Draco was slightly nervous to realize he wasn't exactly sure what the groundskeeper meant by "taking care of."
"Well now," the man said, turning to face him. "Any reason fer yer visit, Mr. Malfoy, or were yeh just concerned about Dusky here?"
"Er- no, actually…" He lifted the permission papers, uncertain. "I, er…." I desperately need to take your class, despite having been an absolute prick to you in the past. I'm extremely in your debt, and I promise that I won't try to get you sacked this time. Let me take this course, pretty please? "I need a favor," he settled on.
The man's bushy eyebrows rose. "Oh."
"Yes…"
They stood there awkwardly for a moment or two. The thestral let out a little whinny. Draco felt the cold wind flip at his blond hair and shivered.
"Blasted wind," the groundskeeper rumbled, frowning and glancing to his cabin. "D'yeh fancy a cup o' tea?"
"Oh. Er…" Draco glanced towards the tiny wooden hut. He could see meat cleavers on the wall and hams dangling from the ceiling. An absurd image of Potter and his friends at the evening meal popped into his head:
"Best stew I've ever had, wouldn't you say, Weasley, old boy? Wonder what's in it?"
"Sort of tastes like ferret to me. Say, where d'you suppose Malfoy's gotten off to?"
The man was still waiting. Draco swallowed and decided that, all things considered, this was a chance he had to take. "Sure. Why not?"
"Swell. I've got a kettle boilin' on the fire." He turned towards the cabin and stumped off without a backwards glance. With growing trepidation, the boy followed.
The inside of the cabin was warm and cozy, smelling of leather and salt. There was a bed in one corner beside the merrily crackling fire, a table in the center, and, tucked in beside the fire, what appeared to be a very old writing desk, covered with papers and books. Draco shut the door behind him and watched nervously as the gamekeeper bustled about the kitchen. "What d'yeh take? Milk or sugar?" he called over his shoulder.
"Plain, thank you."
"A'right then." Draco's eyes widened as the man reached for the cleaver. Sweet Merlin, this is the end.
Very much to his relief, the massive hand missed the cleaver and hit instead upon a cabinet door, which it opened and retrieved two large ceramic mugs. The groundskeeper– Professor Hagrid, Draco reminded himself, call him by his proper name or you'll never get into the class– poured a helping of black tea into each and then handed one to the boy, gesturing for him to take a seat at the table.
"So," he said pleasantly, but not without a little mistrust, "What can I do yeh fer, Mr. Malfoy?"
That sounded receptive; a good sign. Draco stalled by taking a drink of his tea; it was still hot and very strong, but it warmed him right to the bone. "I, ah," he set the cup down, "I was wondering if– well you see, Sir–" The man's beetle-black eyes widened at the title, "–that is to say–"
"Spit it out, lad," said Hagrid gruffly.
Draco nodded. "Right. Er, well, I need to be in your class." He winced at the bluntness of it and hastened to add, "I mean, I would be very appreciative if I could join your class. Sir."
"Oh." The professor frowned at him, apparently confused. "I thought yeh didn' like me classes. Dropped them, didn' yeh?"
"Um." Um? UM? You are a Malfoy; you can do better than "um!" "I, well, I made a mistake. In that regard." He took another drink of his tea and wished it were a dram. Maybe then he'd have a little more courage. "I really need this class, Sir. See, I've- I've sent in my application to St. Mungo's, or Professor Lupin has, I mean, and–"
"And yeh can't be an Healer without a Care o' Magical Creatures NEWT," the man cut in, understanding dawning across his features. "I see."
Draco swallowed. "And, er… that's not the only reason I'm here, Sir."
"Oh?"
The embarrassment snaking through his stomach suddenly tightened, choking the words in his mouth. He knew he owed the man an apology, knew it full well, but he couldn't make himself do it. Apologizing was not in the Malfoy nature… and, to be honest, Draco didn't much want to admit to himself just how much of an arse he could be, either.
Stop your stuttering and act like a man, a voice that sounded an awful lot like his father sounded in his mind. Malfoys also take responsibility for their actions. You made this problem, now fix it.
The professor watched, confused, as the young man took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
"I-I wanted to apologize. I know I've been a- a real prick to you, in the past, and whether or not you let me into your class, I think you have a right to know that. And, well, I'm sorry." He flushed and opened his eyes, gaze dropping to the mug of black tea in his hands.
Hagrid eyed him, surprised and not a little suspicious. "So. Yer sorry fer gettin' yer Da to call the Ministry on Buckbeak?"
"Yes," Draco mumbled, shame-faced.
"An' fer tryin' to get me in trouble with Norberta?"
"Ye- who?"
Hagrid waved his massive hand impatiently. "My dragon."
"Oh. Oh, yes." Although dragons are pretty dangerous…
"An' fer causin' trouble in me classes?"
"Yes."
"An' fer tryin' to get me sacked?"
"Yes."
"Multiple times?"
"Yes…" He winced again and added, "Especially for that. I had no right. I've been a foul git to you, and- and I really am very sorry for it." When Hagrid didn't answer, he grimaced and stood. "I'll be on my way then- I'll tell Professor Lupin it didn't work out-"
"Whoa now, where're yeh goin'?" Hagrid said, surprised. "Yeh've got two weeks o' homework ter be catchin' up on!"
"I- what?
"An' another year o' readin' to do- hold on now, I'll get yeh yer books…" He stood and went shuffling through the hodgepodge mess on his desk.
Draco couldn't believe it. "You're- you're letting me into the class?"
"Well o' course I am; couldn't very well turn yeh down, could I? Not after an apology like that. Besides, if yer really wantin' to be a Healer, yeh'll be needin' an O in the NEWT- never took it meself, mind, but I'm guessin' yeh can't pass it wi'out knowin' yer class-work… Here we go!" He pulled out a thick textbook triumphantly from the pile. "That's last year's- an' here-" Another book, "-that's this year's. We've done up to chapter two; yeh've got an Acromantula essay due on Tuesday, but I think I can give yeh a what'd'yeh-callit– an extension, 'at's it, until Thursday. That sound a'right with yeh?"
"Y-Yes!" Draco stammered, startled. "Yes, it's- that's fine, that's- thank you-"
Hagrid dismissed this with another airy wave of his massive hand. "Don' mention it. Two pages, front an' back."
"Two pages. Thursday. Acromantulas."
"Right. Now yeh'd best be gettin' on to Professor Lupin- he'll be needin' to change yer classes, won' he? I think he went down to services this mornin', but I'm sure he'll stop by his office on th' way back…"
"Right- yes- thank you again-" The blond wizard hurried for the door, unable to help smiling. As he opened it, he remembered something quite suddenly, and turned back. "Sir?"
Hagrid blinked. "Huh?"
"You- You didn't mention… being sent to Azkaban. When I was apologizing, I mean." He swallowed. Even the mention of that awful prison made him feel sick.
The half-giant looked startled. "O' course not. Why would I? Wasn't yer fault, was it?"
"No- but my father-"
"But yer not yer father," Hagrid said, as if this were obvious.
To Draco, it wasn't. "People tend to lump us together," he replied, confused.
"Well, who yer father is isn't something yeh can help, is it?" The half-giant's black eyes were both serious and kind as he said simply, "Yeh can't judge people on where their family comes from- only what they choose to do with themselves. Yeh see?"
The irony did not escape the young wizard, who managed a small smile. "I think I'm starting to," he agreed. "Have a good day, Sir."
"An' yerself, Mr. Malfoy."
The blond gave him a nod and then left, shutting the door behind him. As the truth of the situation washed over him, he began to laugh in relief. He pounded his fist into the air and whooped for joy in a manner that would have made his ancestors cringe as he hurried up the path to the castle, intent upon rushing straight up to the Defense classroom without a moment's waste.
Back inside the hut, Rubeus Hagrid chuckled to himself and finished off his mug of tea. Maybe people really could change, after all.
"I can't believe it. He actually let me in!"
Remus grinned to himself; the boy was practically gleeful. "I should get him a Christmas gift…" Draco said thoughtfully, which was really a much more pleasant look on him than his sneer.
"Mm. He likes useful things, if I recall correctly," the professor mused. "Or baked goods."
"Good to know. Oh, I nearly forgot– he said he wanted to talk to you, about an injured thestral. He's not sure what hurt it."
Remus frowned. "Did he?" The blond nodded. "Thank you, Draco. I'll go see him now; you go on down to dinner."
The young Malfoy nodded and headed for the door. As he was about to go, he turned. "Sir," he said hesitantly. "Professor Hagrid said– well the thestral, he said the wounds suggested a wolf attack. But it couldn't have been, Sir."
"Oh? And why not?"
"The creature– that is– it had five claws. Five, not four."
Lupin stared. The young man bit his lip. "I just thought you ought to know, Sir."
"Yes…" His mind was whirling. "Thank you, Draco. I'll see to it, right away."
The young man nodded and left, leaving the door open a crack behind him. Remus organized his class notes for the next morning and set the permission slip aside to be filed with McGonagall on Monday, and then sent a patronus to Tonks informing her he'd be a bit late to dinner. Then, fastening his cloak tightly around his shoulders, he departed the classroom and locked the door behind him.
Clouded dusk was falling over the green when he found his way outside, the wind whipping his cloak close against his legs and racing through his brown hair. Somewhere not far off, a crow cawed twice and then fell silent. The scent of rain laced the air, the wild sort of smell that meant a storm was on its way, setting him strangely on-edge.
He found Hagrid halfway down the hill to his hut, holding a yellow-burning lantern in the dim light. The man raised a hand in greeting, a black shadow against the indigo clouds. "Evenin', Lupin!" he called through the wind. "The young Mr. Malfoy told yeh I was needin' yeh, did he?"
"That he did!" He approached the taller figure, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the lantern-light. "Something about an injured thestral, I hear?"
"Mm-hm. Thought yeh might take a look at it, see if yeh've any idea what got ter her."
"I'll do what I can." He followed the man down the hill to the edge of the hut, where the silhouette of a thestral lay on the ground. She stirred as Hagrid approached and knelt down beside her. "Hullo, girl," the half-giant murmured, patting her head fondly. "I've brought a nice man here ter see yeh; jus' want ter take a look at yeh now, alright?" As he spoke, he carefully removed one of the bandages, and Remus's stomach twisted at the ugly sight. "A'right, Lupin, let 'er smell yeh, now…"
The professor approached carefully, hand extended, but as soon as the thestral caught his scent, she let out a screaming whinny, milky eyes wide, rearing and kicking as she tried to get to her feet.
"Whoa there, girl!" It took a good deal of Hagrid's considerable strength to restrain the beast without harming it; Remus retreated quickly and waited until the gamekeeper had calmed her down, stroking her neck soothingly. The thestral's breathing was still labored. "Blimey, can't imagine what got inter her; she's usually the friendly sort…"
"I don't blame her," said Lupin grimly, approaching the creature from behind so that she wouldn't notice him. "I can tell you right now, Rubeus, it was definitely a werewolf that got hold of her."
"Can't be; the wounds are fresh. Full moon was over a week ago, wasn' it?"
"Mm." He nodded as he knelt beside the thestral, trying not to let her catch his scent; thankfully, the wind was in his favor. "That's the troubling part; whoever it was, they weren't transformed."
The half-giant let out a low sigh. "An' here I was, hopin' we had a mad Veela or summat escaped from Mungo's. How can you tell?"
"I've seen hunts like this before. It's standard pack dynamics; surround the animal, take out the haunches and bring it down." He spread his hands like claws over the lines of bandages and found them too small. "They were Ferals, too."
"They?"
"There were at least two of them, but no more than three. That's why they lost her." He frowned. "To try to take down a thestral with only two hunters, they must have been starving…"
"There're plenty o' rabbits in these woods. Why go after a thestral?" Hagrid wondered.
Remus shook his head. "Rabbits are a poor source of iron; try to live off them too long and you'll get sick." He lowered his head and breathed in deeply through his nose, before shaking his head again, looking up. "I can't pick up a scent. She must have licked the wounds clean, poor beast."
"An' yer sure they were Ferals?" Hagrid's voice was somber, black eyes gleaming in the light from the lantern.
"Positive," said Lupin gravely. "Only Ferals have claws like that. No, if they were Tame they'd have used a tool, some sort of spear, perhaps. This lot tried to take her down with their bare hands."
The groundskeeper let out a low sigh. "So we've got two Feral werewolves, runnin' round the Forest."
He shook his head. "They've already moved on. I've been in the village all day, I'd have detected the scent for certain."
"If the wind was in the right direction."
"Fair enough. But I'm fairly sure they're no longer here, I would have noticed something."
"If yeh say so," he rumbled. "But some'un still has ter tell the Headmistress."
"Probably best if I do the honors," Remus sighed. "It's good you found her, Rubeus; if there've been Ferals anywhere near this school recently, we'll have to put extra security out. The villagers need to be warned, too."
"Righ'. You head on up, Remus; I'll be along."
"Will do." He turned and headed up the path towards the front doors of the keep, ducking his head against the wind. As he did so, Hagrid called:
"Remus? Are yeh doin' a'right?"
Surprised, he glanced back. The man's face was half-cast in shadow, but the part that was lit bronze by the lantern looked stony. "Only I read that ruddy article, in the paper this mornin'," he nearly growled. "Foul harpy, that woman."
"She's written worse about me before. Worse about both of us, actually."
"Aye, she has. But now with this…"
Remus was silent for a long moment, and then replied, "I'll be alright, Rubeus. But your concern is much appreciated, I assure you."
The half-giant nodded sagely. "Right. Well, take care o' yerself, Remus."
The defense professor returned the nod with a wry smile and then turned, hurrying back up the path. He reached the side-door just as thunder broke along the horizon, and the cold rain swept in, falling across the dusky hills in sheets of grey. The castle, in comparison, was wonderfully warm and dry, but the chilled darkness outside seemed to have seeped into his skin, piercing deep through his heart and setting the usually mild-mannered man into a base harshness. Any straggling student who crossed his path quickly skittered out of the way, startled by the swift pace and luminescent yellow of his eyes.
He slipped into the Great Hall as inconspicuously as possible and hurried up to the dais where the staff table was set. Dora was present as well, seated beside Professor McGonagall and trying to spoon-feed Teddy mushed peas. "Remus!" she said in surprise, as he rushed up the steps. "Goodness, love, you look a fright! What happened?"
"I need to speak with you and McGonagall," he said in a low voice, drawing the Headmistress's attention. "Hagrid found an injured thestral in the forest. Looks like it was attacked by Ferals."
"Ferals?" Dora exclaimed, at the same time that McGonagall demanded, "Are you certain?"
"Beyond a doubt, and Dora, if you could please lower your voice? I'd rather not send the whole hall into a riot."
"Are they still here?" McGonagall questioned.
"I didn't pick up anything, but I can't be certain. I don't think it could have been more than two or three, or the thestral wouldn't have escaped-"
"Do you know who it was?"
"Afraid not. I couldn't lift a scent off the wounds."
The Headmistress's face had gone white, but she nodded and turned to Dora. "Tonks, dear, if you could send in a call-"
"I'll get on it right away," she vowed, standing. "Remus, if you could take Teddy-"
CRASH!
Everyone jumped as the oak doors rebounded against the walls. McGonagall and half the staff table was on their feet immediately, Lupin included, his mind flying to every sort of creature who could throw such massive objects in with such force–
But there was no creature. Nothing at all, in fact, except for one petite middle-aged witch, wearing too much makeup and dark hair escaping her bun in flyaway strands. Violet sparks crackled in a halo around her as she strode quickly, heeled boots clicking, to the Ravenclaw first-years' table, and Remus realized in awe that the doors had been thrown open by the sheer force of her magic.
"Get up, Bobby; go pack your things, we're leaving–!"
"I beg your pardon!" McGonagall called, aghast, and hurried down the dais steps in their direction, several other teachers trailing in her wake. "Who, may I ask, are you, and how did you get into this castle?!"
The witch drew her wand; everyone in the hall gasped, the nearest scooting back on the benches. With feline reflexes the Headmistress drew her own, and then stopped, green eyes flying wide. "Aerona Baines?"
"Professor McGonagall," the woman said stiffly, not lowering her wands. "Just the woman I wanted to speak to."
"And were you incapable of doing so over letter?" the Headmistress demanded. "Or in a private meeting?"
The witch ignored this. "I'm taking Bobby home. I thought you were mad, letting criminals back into this school, but this! Putting our children at risk, have you no shame?!"
McGonagall bristled. "This school is among the safest places in all of Europe for young wizards; if you're insinuating I would ever put my students in danger-!"
"Then what is this?!" the witch shrieked, pulling a crumpled newspaper from her pocket and shoving it in the headmistress's face. "Murderers and monsters, in these very walls!"
"The trials were public knowledge! You knew full well that those boys would finish their schooling here–"
"The Malfoy boy was bad enough, but that, that crosses a line!"
She flung a finger in the direction of the Defense professor, standing just behind the headmistress. The hall fell dead quiet.
"Mrs. Baines," McGonagall began, nearly trembling with fury, "It was clear from your son's book list just whom I had decided to employ this term. You were under no obligation–"
"The booklist!" the witch scoffed scornfully. "Anyone could have overlooked that!"
"Your inattention to detail is not the school's fault," said the headmistress coldly. "Moreover, Remus Lupin is one of the most talented and I daresay most honorable Defense professors with whom I have ever had the honor of working. If you have a problem with him–"
"Professor," a soft voice said, and McGonagall glanced behind her, surprised. "If you will allow me…?"
The headmistress bit her lip, and then nodded and stepped aside. Mrs. Baines's eyes narrowed; she leveled her wand, even as Bobby whispered behind her, "Mum, he's nice, he's never hurt me or anything…!"
"I understand your reserve," Lupin said carefully, stowing his wand and raising his hands in peace, "Believe me, I do. Which is why I have done everything in my power to make sure people like you will never have to suffer the way I have suffered."
"Get away from us," the woman whispered fiercely, her hand shaking.
"I would never hurt you or your son," he continued gently, "Nor anyone else, not willfully. Your son could have a great education here, please… don't deprive him of that because of me." He extended a hand and stepped forward. "Please-"
The witch brandished her wand, and Remus just had time to realize his mistake before he was lifted off his feet and flipped head-over-heels backwards.
He landed, hard, on the Gryffindor table, crying out as he slammed into the ancient oak and several goblets and plates. He caught a brief glimpse of the witch sweeping her son out of the room, oblivious to the gasping and shouting of the students and staff, before he shifted his hand sideways and then choked out a noise of pain, jerking away. His hand hit another piece of silver, burning him, and he scrambled off the table in a mess of skittering plates and falling cutlery, burning himself, knocking the wind out of his lungs as he hit the hard stone. For several seconds he lay there, heart pounding, dimly noticing as students crowded around him. The world seemed to be fading in and out of focus.
"Remus!" He recognized that voice, dimly aware that it was his wife's, but he couldn't place her in the rapidly de-focusing mob. "Let me through! Let me through, that's my husband!"
"Professor, you're bleeding!"
Dazed, he touched a hand to his head, and drew away to find a thick, red substance dripping from his fingers. "…Pr'b'bly… tomato…"
The slurred speech struck him as oddly funny, and he laughed a moment before he realized that he had the worst headache, and really, it had been a very exhausting day. Even the stone floor seemed so terribly comfortable…
"Oh no, Professor, don't go to sleep! Professor!"
As the world went black, he had the sudden realization, about which he could not bring himself to care, that he was displaying quite a few of the symptoms of a concussion.
"Remus."
His brow twitched in annoyance. Certainly it wasn't time for class already?
"Remus, we need you to wake up, love."
He moaned and shook his head. A splitting pain shot through his skull and his eyes snapped open, staring around wildly. This wasn't his room. This wasn't his bed. Where was Dora? Dora? Dora!
"I'm right here, love! I'm right here!"
A pink-haired face swam into his vision, and Remus realized he'd called her name out loud. "Dora, where in the world…?"
"Don't try to talk just yet, Professor," a voice said to his left, and he flicked his eyes over. One worried Lavender Brown, hair tied up and having donned a student orderly's apron, looked back. "I'll go get Pomfrey and McGonagall; they wanted to know when you woke up…"
She hurried away, leaving behind only Dora. "What in Merlin's name happened?" he groaned.
"You got a good crack on the head, love," the auror said sympathetically. "Madame Pomfrey's healed the concussion, but you've still got a hefty goose-egg, there."
He frowned and raised a hand to the side of his head, just behind his ear, wincing as his fingers brushed over the tender lump. "…The silverware…"
"She gave you some dittany for your burns. You'll have a bit of scarring for the next few days, but it'll go away." Dora scowled suddenly, her hair going a stormy color of indigo. "That bitch…"
"I'm fine, Dora," he sighed, sitting up. "Just let it go…"
"Let it go! Remus, she assaulted you!"
"She was scared," he countered firmly. "She thought her son was in danger. Either one of us would have done exactly the same thing for Teddy."
There was a long pause, and then she sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I know. But that doesn't make it right!"
"No, but it makes it understandable." He reached out and squeezed her hand. "Nobody got seriously hurt, Dora. That's what matters."
"That's debatable," she grumbled, but was prevented from arguing further by the approach of Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall.
"Evening, Remus," said the later, sitting down on the bed beside his. "How are you feeling?"
"I've been better. Then again, I've also been worse," he replied with a chuckle. "My concussion's gone, isn't it? I can leave now?"
"Don't be ridiculous!" the Healer said sharply. "You're staying right here until I'm certain you're well!"
"Really, Sister–"
"No arguments, Mr. Lupin, now drink up."
Well-used to her domineering ways, Remus accepted the de-swelling potion she handed him without complaint. After gulping it down, he turned to McGonagall and his wife with a grave, "If I remember correctly, we have bigger problems than angry housewitches at the moment."
McGonagall glanced meaningfully to Lavender, who turned to Madame Pomfrey. The Healer nodded. "You're dismissed, Miss Brown." The girl ducked her head and hurried off.
"I've already alerted Arthur and set three of my best men on combing the forest," Dora informed him as the infirmary's door shut. "They'll send me a patronus if they find anything."
"And we have four guards each on the ramparts and patrolling the village," the headmistress added. "No one's getting into this castle unless they belong here, Remus. And…" She hesitated. "You know we'll have to warn the students. The villagers will need to be informed, as well…"
"Fine." His face was very grim. "We don't take chances with Ferals. I've met a few good ones in my time, but most of them wouldn't have any qualms about attacking a student, let alone a shopkeeper."
The conversation paused as three blurs of silver shot into the room. "Nothing to report, Chief," the first patronus, a salamander, hissed promptly.
"Nor I, Chief," agreed the leopard.
The rooster ruffled its feathers. "I found some blood and rabbit bones on the eastern side, all the marrow was sucked out. But they're days old; whoever did it's already moved on."
"Thanks guys. Kopp, Payne, you join the patrols; Haywood, you're off for the night."
The three patroni nodded and vanished. McGonagall stood. "I have to write a letter to mayor, let him know to alert all the villagers to be cautious." She glanced to Remus. "I imagine the Daily Prophet will have another special soon."
"So be it. The more people who are aware, the better."
She gave a sympathetic nod and disappeared from the wing. Madame Pomfrey turned to Dora and said frankly, "My patient needs to rest."
"What, and he can't do that if I'm here?"
The Healer sniffed as if she very much doubted it. "In my experience, Mrs. Lupin, the pangs of new love are not productive to recuperation!"
Dora's hair went magenta even as Remus groaned, "Really, Sister…"
"Two minutes. Then out!" She bustled away into her office, leaving the two to laugh awkwardly and glance at each other, still red.
"The pangs of new love," Dora snorted. "Merlin, you'd think we were a pair of hormonal teenagers!"
Remus snorted and leaned up to give her a lingering kiss. As Dora drew away, her face fell. "…Okay, she might have a point."
"Mm. Perhaps, yes." He grinned and tapped her nose. "Go take care of Teddy, I'll be alright."
"Fine, fine. Goodnight, Remus." She leaned down and gave him a brief peck on the forehead. He smiled a bit, and then winced. "Hey," she said seriously, tilting his chin up to meet her eyes, "That woman is just an awful old hag. You know that, don't you?"
He opened his mouth, but didn't answer.
"Remus."
"She was frightened, Dora." He smiled sadly. "Goodness knows I'd be far more prejudiced than her, if I weren't what I am."
She sighed and brushed his hair back with her fingers. "You're such a good man," she murmured. "Feel better, love."
"I will. I love you, Dora."
"Love you too." She winked and then vanished behind the curtain barrier. Remus waited until he heard the door close, and then sighed.
Madame Pomfrey peeped her head out of her office. "Was that all? I gave you a full two minutes."
Remus chuckled. "That's all, Sister."
"Well, then." She walked over, holding a Dreamless Sleep in her hands. "You really ought to rest, if you want to be ready to teach tomorrow."
"Will do. Thank you, Sister."
The Healer's smile softened, reminding him of the first time he'd met the good sister when he was just a shy young boy, almost thirty years ago. "Anything for one of my favorite patients." She handed him the potion and squeezed his shoulder fondly. "Sleep, Remus."
He nodded and uncorked the potion, downing it one go. As darkness began to settle in again, he caught a brief glimpse of Pomfrey dimming the lantern, before drifting into the soft comfort of sleep…
Everyone in the Gryffindor common room stirred as the portrait opened, revealing a tired-looking Lavender Brown. "How is he?" Hermione demanded, rising to her feet. "Is he going to be alright?"
"He'll be fine," Lavender replied, undoing her bun and letting the ringlets fall around her face. "He had a concussion, but Madame Pomfrey set him right."
"Did he look upset?"
She shrugged. "Madame shooed me out before I could ask any questions. I think they wanted to talk about something important and didn't want me overhearing."
The rest of the room's occupants– the Trio, Ginny, and Neville– glanced around at each other. "He looked really on-edge when he first came into the Hall," Hermione recalled worriedly. "I've never seen him so…"
"D'you think he knew about the witch?" Ron wondered.
"I don't think so. It seemed like he was almost…"
"Scared," Harry finished.
The room fell into a brooding silence at that. At last, Lavender sighed and said, "If it's something important, they'll tell us as soon as they can. I'm going to bed."
"Lavender," Hermione began, but the werewolf shook her head.
"It's fine, Hermione. Good to know what to expect, right?" She tried to smile, but it didn't really work. "Oh, Ginny, here." She reached into the pockets of her robes and handed the redhead a small vial, before turning and heading up the stairs without another word.
"I think I'll turn in, too," said Neville, standing. "Long day tomorrow."
"Me too," Ron agreed. "Harry?"
"Yeah, I-"
"Actually, Harry, I wanted to talk to you," Ginny broke in. The other three shared a look, and Hermione quickly made her excuses. All three vanished up the stairs, but Ron spared him a look of warning that clearly spoke of fiery retribution should his best friend have any ill intentions towards his sister.
Quite the contrary, however, Ginny seemed to have no romantic intentions on her mind. As soon as the doors were closed, she withdrew the dreamless sleep from her pocket and held it out. "I told Lavender I needed it," she said quietly.
Harry shook his head. "I've told you, Gin, I don't want to get dependent on those things."
"Harry, you need your rest!"
"Look, Gin– whatever this is, I'll get through it on my own," he promised, pushing her hand back towards her. "I just need some time, alright?"
"That's just your problem, Harry! You always try to do things 'on your own!' Let other people help you for once in your life!"
"I didn't mean it like that–"
"I know. But–" She extended the vial again. "Please, Harry, at least just take it up with you." When he still looked uncertain, she tilted her head in a rather convincing way and looked up at him with her big, hazel eyes. "It'd make me feel better."
He struggled for a moment, and then caved. "Fine," he muttered, taking the vial. "That's bloody low, Gin, using that face…"
"It's for your own good." She touched his cheek, worry writ across her features. "Please, just… take care of yourself, Harry. For me."
His anger abated. "…I'll do my best, Gin." She smiled sadly and nodded. "Have a good night."
"You too." She stood on tiptoes to kiss him, and then made her way up the stairs to the dormitory she now shared with Hermione and the rest. With a low sigh, Harry did the same. He changed and crawled into his four-poster, closing the curtains and casting a few wordless silencing charms. Determined, he hid the Dreamless Sleep under his pillow and then closed his eyes. He would do this without potions and spells. He would.
It was only many hours later, after shooting awake in bed with screams that echoed back at him from the charms on the curtains, that he finally broke and gave in. Wiping at his eyes angrily, he gulped the mixture down and then lay back against the pillows, furious with himself and Voldemort and a war that was supposed to be over. Slowly, his anger abated as the potion took effect, and he had the drowsy thought as he fell asleep that being a hero wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
A/N: Another long chapter; sorry! Hopefully the next one will be shorter. Please tell me what you thought! (I run on reviews, folks!) God bless!