There was definitely something wrong with Jenny, Remus decided, despite her assurances to the contrary. In the mornings she was pale and shaky, avoiding eye contact and pushing food away when he saw her in the Great Hall; in the evenings she would look much better, the colour returning to her cheeks along with her appetite. It worried him.
He had given up trying to push her to see Madame Pomfrey again, since it just made her annoyed. Apparently she and the Matron had had words at the beginning of the month; he didn't like to speculate on what could make Jenny voluntarily start a fight with a member of staff, or, for that matter, anything that could make Madame Pomfrey (who was kind to a fault and didn't ask too many awkward questions) shout at a hitherto model student. Both women seemed determined to remain silent on the subject, and no amount of Marauder-ish ingenuity had managed to provide any kind of clue.
Really, he knew he should leave it alone… but Jenny really wasn't herself.
He glanced across the Library to where she was working, alone; ordinarily, he'd be sat with her, but as a Prefect he was required to tutor those students in the lower years who were struggling, and she liked to sit nearby and distract him.
Ordinarily he wouldn't be complaining, but he couldn't stop himself glancing at her washed out skin or dull eyes. Even Herbology wasn't making her smile any more, though he knew she was putting up a reasonable show for their teachers and friends.
If only he could get her to talk to him…
0o0o0o0
"I say, Baker, are you alright?"
"Fine, thank you, Professor."
Professor Sprout peered at her over the Fanged Geranium she was repotting.
"Are you sure?" she asked, more gently. "You look awfully peaky."
Jenny sighed; peakiness was a state of being that she had long since acclimatised to, and one that every staff member she encountered felt the need to comment on.
"I just didn't sleep very well," she said, truthfully enough.
"Hmmm," said the Professor, sounding dubious. "Still, you'd best pop along to see Madame Pomfrey when we've finished here."
"I saw her yesterday," said Jenny, with a touch of annoyance.
And the day before, and the day before that… Jenny thought, miserably. She knew that her teachers meant well, but she was tired of explaining that she didn't know what was wrong with her.
"And?" Professor Sprout prodded.
"She thought it was food poisoning at first," said Jenny, wearily. Carefully, she heaped fresh compost around the roots of the plant in front of her; they squirmed, contentedly. "But now she's not so sure."
"Poppy will work it out," Professor Sprout assured her. "I don't think there's an illness she's encountered that she hasn't sent packing."
Jenny tried to give the older witch a comforted smile, but it must have come out as more of a grimace, as she went on:
"I can finish up here, if you want to get back to your dormitory for some sleep," she said, kindly. "You look exhausted."
"Thank you," said Jenny, and meant it. "But I'd rather stay here, if it's alright with you, Professor. I've not been sleeping when I get to bed anyway, and I'd rather have something to take my mind off it."
"Alright," said Professor Sprout, and got back to her pruning. Jenny concentrated on the Bonny Bluebells in front of her, trying not to get too annoyed with herself.
Though Professor Sprout said no more about it, Jenny could still feel her concern, which was oddly comforting. Since leaving the orphanage for Hogwarts, Jenny had long since come to think of her House Mistress as a sort of kindly, no-nonsense surrogate aunt. She had always been the one looking out for the younger children at the orphanage, and it was nice to know that here, there was someone looking out for her.
Even if that someone was also looking out for forty other Hufflepuffs and five greenhouses full of plants at any one time.
She stretched her shoulders, wearily. The tiredness she could cope with – and to some extent, the nausea – if she could only get through a night without any more terrible, clawing dreams.
"Ouch!" Jenny glared at the Bonny Bluebell in front of her: it bobbed up and down on its stem defiantly.
"Right," said Professor Sprout in a commanding tone. "If the Bluebells are annoyed at you, then you are definitely too tired. Bed."
She watched her, full of concern, as she collected her things.
"Has Poppy given you anything to help you sleep?" she asked.
"She has before," said Jenny, hoisting her satchel onto her shoulder. "But she didn't want to give me too much of it, or me to have it every day, in case I build up a tolerance to it, or something."
"Well, you'll just have to make the best of it, my girl," said the Professor, stoutly. "Get yourself better."
0o0o0o0
Jenny stumbled along the darkening corridor, grumbling to herself.
"Knut for your thoughts?" said a voice from the shadows.
Jenny shrieked, wand already drawn.
"Sorry," said Frank Longbottom, emerging from the darkness and looking sheepish.
"Merlin's beard, Frank!" she gasped. "What are you trying to do – lie in wait and give unsuspecting students heart-attacks?"
"It's past curfew," he grinned. "No, don't worry," he waved a hand at her as she fumbled in her bag for her pass from Professor Sprout. "I know you've been in the greenhouses with Sprout – honestly," he continued. "It's not like you'd be up to anything particularly nefarious."
Jenny smiled, disarmed. You could always count on Frank to make you feel better – he had a latent instinct for when people were feeling down. He'd drop down in the seat next to you, or lean on the bookcase beside you (or jump out from behind a statue) and give you his easy-going grin and ask you what the matter was. It helped that he was never overbearing about it. It didn't matter how bad a situation was, talking to Frank made it seem more manageable, somehow, and Jenny loved him for it.
"Come and sit in my nook and tell me what's on your mind" he offered.
Jenny raised an eyebrow.
"You do realise how much of a pervert that makes you sound, don't you?" she asked, and Frank laughed.
"I could order you," he joked. "As a prefect, I mean."
"You're not helping yourself," she said mildly, and followed him behind the statue.
Flirting with Frank was one of the perks of being a seventh-year, and the best part was that neither he nor his lovely girlfriend Alice – nor anyone else, for that matter – ever thought anything of it. It was completely harmless and, after weeks of feeling rotten, a refreshing break from what had become normality.
Besides, however much she loved flirting with Remus, there was always a strangely dangerous quality to it. It came with the knowledge that both of them wanted to act on the chemistry between them, and the possible implications. There was none of that with Frank.
He was just what she needed right now: a friend.
"What are you doing back here?" she asked, settling down gratefully on the cool stone seat concealed at the very back of the alcove.
"Waiting for unsuspecting rule-breakers and scaring the living shit out of them," he said, in the near-darkness. Jenny could tell from his voice that he was grinning.
"You rotter," she admonished him, playfully. "Abusing your prefect privileges like that – you ought to be stripped of your badge."
"I won't tell if you don't."
Jenny laughed, probably for the first time in days.
"Now, are we going to sit here exchanging banter all night, or are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he asked, more seriously.
Jenny sighed.
"I don't know," she said, picking at the invisible lint on her skirt.
"You must have some clue," he said. "Is that rogue of a boyfriend treating you badly?"
"No," Jenny chuckled. "Nothing like that."
"Are you sure?" he asked, playfully. "I could rough him up a little if you'd like."
Jenny snorted.
"Now that I'd pay to see," she said. "Just imagine you two fighting – it would be like seeing grannies wrestling."
"I'll have you know that Remus and I are quite the duellists," he retorted, in mock offence.
"You know what I mean," she said, shoving him lightly. "No, Remus is just as lovely as ever."
"Then what?"
"My body appears to be in revolt," she said, finally. "I don't know why or what it is, and neither does Madame Pomfrey – but it's exhausting, and I'm fed up of it."
Jenny heard Frank shift in the gloom and felt a warm arm wrap around her shoulder; she leaned against him gratefully, glad to have a friend that she could depend on.
Frank gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "It'll get better," he said, and she almost believed him. "You'll see – and Madame Pomfrey will figure it out in the end, she always does."
"That's not the only thing," she said, quietly. "I keep having these awful dreams – nightmares really. They're horrible – it always starts off the same: I'm in my dorm' and my skin starts burning and stretching – my lungs are bursting, like I can't breathe right. I try to scream," she continued, unable to stop now, after keeping the dreams to herself for so long. "But I can't. I just keep opening and closing my mouth and gasping – like a horrible rasping, throttling kind of noise. Then there's this terrible ripping noise, and I look down and I'm clawing at my own skin – pulling great chunks of it out. There's blood everywhere.
"And I keep thinking: 'Why aren't Jo and Lucy and Felicity waking up – I need help!'. I just can't stop – there's more of my flesh on the floor than on me at this point, and underneath it's all gone funny. Not like muscles and organs and bones, like you'd expect, but all blue and scaly and spiky – like there's another skin beneath mine, somehow – all slick and glistening – and it wants to get out."
She took a breath; it felt so good to finally be telling someone all this; Frank stayed silent beside her, listening intently.
"After a while it stops hurting so much and starts feeling, I don't know… better… like I'm finally free of something that's been holding me inside. And then I start to get hungry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Ravenously hungry… and it's deep, and dark, and starts to engulf everything… a-and I look over at Jo, or Lucy, or Felicity, sleeping in their beds…
"All I can think about is this terrible, gnawing hunger that's taking over my mind – and – and then…"
She trailed off, leaving the awful implication of that sentence hanging in the air.
"That's just gross," said Frank, after a few moments.
"Yes," she said firmly. "It's revolting."
"And this is every night?"
"Since before Christmas," she said. "And in my dream there's this voice how nice it would be to rip and claw and tear… saying how juicy everyone looks…"
She fiddled with the cuff of her jumper, uncomfortable.
"It's like something wants out of me, like it wants me to be like that all the time – and I'm frightened…."
Frightened that I won't be able to stop it, she added, privately.
It was a thought that had surfaced more than a few times over the past month or so, and every time she had fought to squash it.
It filled her with dread.
Frank gave her shoulders another comforting squeeze, bringing her back out of her dark imagination.
"You're probably just over-tired," he said, gently. "You do so many activities – with the choir, and chess club, and in the greenhouses… and the mock N.E.W.T.s are coming up…"
He patted her arm.
"Once all the stress of those is done with you'll feel much better," he said, with an easy confidence that Jenny envied. "Maybe you should ease up a little on your clubs or something – at least for the time being."
Jenny nodded, thoughtfully.
"I've been wondering about it," she said. "But I don't want to let anyone down."
Frank made a tutting noise that Jenny had hitherto associated with Madame Pomfrey.
"You wouldn't be," he assured her. "Everyone needs some time off every once in a while. You'll run yourself ragged if you're not careful."
"I'll think about it," she said, with a rueful smile.
"Good," said Frank, patting her arm. "Or I'll set Sirius on you."
0o0o0o0
"Have you got a minute?" Poppy Pomfrey looked up from her list of tinctures and balms, and smiled.
Pomona Sprout's head was stuck through the open door to her tiny office, looking like she was about to be up to something.
While this was never a good sign, the ensuing chaos was usually entertaining to watch, so she put down her quill happily, and beckoned her friend in.
"For you," she said amicably. "Naturally. Pull up a chair."
She pushed the half-finished inventory to one side as her friend sat down, raising an eyebrow.
"Busy term planned?" she asked, eyeing the stack of requisition scrolls.
"Quidditch practice last month," the matron explained. "Between Black and Potter, and the antics of the Slytherin team I'm almost out of my basic bits and bobs. I'm going to write to my old friend Abigail at St Mungo's for the more unusual things. I'm sure – with persuasion – Horace can help me with the rest…" she pursed her lips in a faintly disapproving manner.
Horace Slughorn, the resident Potions master and head of Slytherin house wasn't a bad sort, all tolled, but he put a little too much emphasis on success for Poppy's liking. He was also practically legendary for fiddling the accounts, and always had his favourites – his exclusive 'Slug Club', that did nothing but divide friendships and provide Horace with future useful contacts.
It got up Poppy's nose.
Pomona, who had a similar opinion of their colleague, snorted.
"Given sufficient crystallised pineapple, you mean," she chuckled.
"Indeed," said Poppy. "You know, one of these days that man is going to turn into a pineapple."
"Well, he's already roughly the right shape," said Pomona, with a devilish grin, and they both laughed.
"Tea?" asked Poppy, shooting the kettle on one of the neatly kept shelves with a blast from her wand. "Francesca Puddifoot sent me some more samples – some of them aren't bad."
Pomona wrinkled up her nose.
"As long as it's not pink," she said, and Poppy laughed.
"How about 'Ceylon Blue Sapphire'?" she asked. "It's pretty much just tea – but with cornflowers in it."
Pomona grunted.
"The thing I don't understand about Francesca," she said. "Is why she feels the need to make everything so twee. I mean – there isn't really any medicinal or flavour use for cornflowers in tea. I bet she only did it because it's not pink."
Poppy smiled. Francesca Puddifoot and Pomona Sprout had never got on, even when they were in school, and enjoyed a slightly prickly and ultimately private rivalry. They were both superb Herbologists, but while the down-to-earth Pomona had chosen to go into teaching and research, Francesca used her considerable skills solely in the pursuit of meddling with other people's relationships. She was notorious for it: she had even opened a romantic teashop so that she could better observe the effects of her potions and teas.
A few more lazy flicks of her wand sent cups of hot tea floating through the air to their waiting hands. They sat back in their chairs, enjoying the peaceful cacophony of Hogwarts at eventide.
In various parts of the Castle, unseen House Elves were washing dishes, lighting fires, tidying classrooms and gossiping; students were laughing, arguing, doing homework and generally misbehaving, their teachers ignoring them as best they could. Pallid ghosts slipped about the Castle like wandering mists, greeting one another in the corridors and going about their own, clandestine business.
Adding to the general clamour were the mysterious creaks and pops and pings that the Castle made of its own accord, heating and cooling with the weather and the fires of its inhabitants. There was the odd, distant, hoot or screech from the direction of the Owlery, and strange, remote howling from the Forbidden Forest.
It had driven Poppy mad the first time she'd come to Hogwarts, having spent her youth in Paris, which had its own set of night-time noises but always seemed much quieter than the Castle she had come to work in.
Now though, it felt like home. If she stayed elsewhere she found it impossible to sleep without the rhythm of Hogwarts echoing through the night.
Eventually, as the torches in Poppy's office flickered alight of their own accord, Pomona spoke.
"Jennifer Baker," she said, thoughtfully.
"Ah," said Poppy. "Yes."
She had wondered whether the girl would be the reason for Pomona's visit.
"She's not well, is she…"
It wasn't a question; it didn't need to be.
"No," said Poppy, quietly.
"Any ideas?" asked Pomona, gently. It was common knowledge that for all her mildness, Hogwarts' matron did not like to be beaten.
"It's rather defying classification," she admitted, a note of annoyance in her voice. "Every time I think I've solved it, a symptom changes and then I'm stumped again." She frowned, deeply. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it was doing it on purpose, leaving poor old Jennifer being stuck with the brunt of it."
"What have you ruled out?" asked Pomona, and Poppy understood.
"You care about Jennifer, don't you?" she asked, gently.
For all her nonchalance, her friend was quite attached to her favourite student. It was difficult not to be: Jennifer Baker was a pleasant, friendly, hard-working girl who had come to Hogwarts from an orphanage, wide-eyed and astonished by everything. Pomona had taken her under her wing, to some extent.
"Yes," said Pomona, with a touch of guilt. "Someone has too – I know the kids back at the children's home write to her from time to time – and she has no lack of friends here, but…"
"But she's a Hufflepuff and you're her house Mistress," Poppy finished. "It's perfectly natural to feel protective Pomona," she continued, reassuringly. "I know you're new at this – compared to me - but believe me, no one would hold it against you."
She paused for a moment, watching her friend's face in the torchlight.
"Besides," she said, astutely. "There's always one or two that affect us more than the rest."
Pomona nodded, thoughtfully.
"I'd hate to point it out to her," said Poppy, with a hint of amusement. "But just look at Minerva and Lily Evans."
"Not to mention the 'Slug Club'," Pomona added derisively. "Though I'd hesitate to suggest that that was anything more than a way to cultivate useful contacts," she added, tartly.
Poppy sniggered, and then frowned as she turned her mind back to their conversation.
"I've asked her to come in on Sunday afternoon," she said. "I'd like you to join us if you could – a fresh pair of eyes won't hurt, and Jennifer might appreciate the support… I know I would. She gets more grumpy every time she comes in – and I don't blame her. After a month and a half of this I'd be pretty fed up, too."
Pomona grunted her agreement.
"What have you ruled out?" she asked, already, and Poppy told her; it was quite a comprehensive list.
When she was finished, the two friends sat back in their chairs, thinking hard.
"It sounds a lot like her body's trying to reject something," said Pomona, her young face creased with worry.
"You'd think whatever it was would have left her system by now, though" Poppy huffed in frustration.
Suddenly, Pomona sat up.
"You don't think she's pregnant, do you?" she asked, and Poppy raised an eyebrow.
"Jennifer Baker, pregnant?" she said, considering. "It could explain the nausea… but she had a fever, right at the start of it – a really nasty one. I don't associate that with pregnancy."
"Could that have been something she'd eaten, confusing the diagnosis?" Pomona asked.
"It could, actually," said Poppy, after a moment's thought. "But look, she really doesn't seem the type."
"Who can say who's the type?" said Pomona, reasonably. "We're all idiots when it comes to love – particularly when we're teenagers."
"True," Poppy allowed. "Is there anyone she's sweet on?"
"She's been walking out with Remus Lupin for a while…"
"Remus Lupin?" said Poppy, with some surprise. She remembered seeing them kiss in the Hospital Wing before Christmas, but surely two people who were so sensible… "I wouldn't have thought it of him, either," she said, slowly.
"No," agreed Pomona. "But it wouldn't be the first time."
"No…"
"We'll have to talk to Albus," said Pomona, sadly. "He'll be so disappointed in them."
"Let's see what she has to say about it on Sunday, first," said Poppy, decisively. "Then we'll take it from there."
Pomona nodded.
"It's not going to be easy for them," Poppy said, soberly.
"No…"
"Well," said the matron, briskly. "At least it isn't something worse."
0o0o0o0
"Is Jenny alright?"
Remus looked up as Lily dropped into the seat next to him. He blinked, trying to make his eyes less fuzzy from his dismal Potions essay, and glanced around: the Common Room was unusually quiet tonight – even for a Sunday evening – as several of the lower years had tests looming. There had been a certain atmosphere of tense and desperate study for the past few days, and the Common Room had been pervaded by the kind of quiet that you usually found in libraries.
"She was yesterday," he said.
"Oh…" said Lily, in a way that did not inspire confidence, and frowned.
"Why?" asked Remus, when it became clear that his friend wasn't intending to elaborate.
"I just saw her – she looked really upset," said Lily, with a grimace.
Remus dropped his quill onto the table, suddenly alert.
"What?" he demanded. "Why?"
"I don't know," Lily snapped. "That's why I asked you." She glanced at his panicked face and her expression softened. "Sorry," she said. "I'm still wound up about that prank James pulled in Transfiguration. I shouldn't take it out on you."
"She was fine yesterday," he repeated, concerned. "She's been feeling a bit rough though, lately – that could be it."
"She was outside the Hospital Wing," said Lily.
"And she was crying?" he asked, worriedly.
"It looked like she had been crying," his friend clarified, slowly. "Although now I think about it, she looked more furious than anything else."
Remus fiddled with the parchment on the table in front of him, the sounds of the quiet Common Room suddenly jarring.
"Could you keep an eye on this lot," he asked, finally, mindful of his responsibility. "I'm supposed to be on duty – but I want to see if she's ok."
"Of course I can," said Lily, pulling an enormous textbook out of her backpack. "Tell her to feel better, ok?"
But Remus was already hurrying out of the Portrait Hole.
Lily smiled slightly. Jenny was a lucky girl.
0o0o0o0
Genuine concern aside, Remus felt like a right tit stood outside the concealed entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room, waiting for Jenny.
It had taken nearly half an hour for someone heading inside to pass him and agree to find her, and now he was stood, arms folded, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He wasn't sure what to expect, after Lily's description of Jenny's mood.
He was scared, though he didn't ant to admit it to himself.
What if Jenny – his Jenny – was really sick? What if was something that Madame Pomfrey couldn't fix? What if –
What if he lost her?
Visions of curses and horrible diseases flashed in succession through his mind.
They didn't bear thinking about.
He shuffled his feet, feeling helpless and uncomfortable.
No, he told himself. I'm just overreacting… people can have things like 'flu and stomach bugs for months at a time, it's not that unusual…
It didn't sound particularly convincing, even inside his own head.
He scratched at one of the pale scars absently, and froze, hand in mid-itch.
What if he'd turned her?
Could I have turned her? he thought, desperately, as terror stole over him.
True, he'd never been around her at full moon, but what if he'd accidentally scratched her arm or something – would that be enough?
With a sense of impending doom, he recalled the cut she'd had on her wrist when she'd visited him in the Hospital Wing in November. She'd told him it was the secateurs she'd been using in the greenhouses – but what if she'd been wrong. He bit his lip, fairly quivering with fear.
He'd never heard of anyone becoming a werewolf just from a scratch – particularly when it wasn't full moon.
He knew he'd never bitten her as a werewolf – people would of noticed; she would quite probably have been dead after an attack that violent. Had he bitten her as a human? He couldn't remember.
Their make-out sessions had been getting increasingly heated, he knew, and he wouldn't have been overly surprised to find that he'd nipped at her lips, or ear or neck…
Remus swallowed hard and pushed these awful thoughts out of his head.
It just wasn't possible – and besides, if Jenny had become a werewolf the teachers at the very least would have noticed, and he would have been for it.
He looked up as Jenny climbed through the hole left by the barrel that served as the door to the Hufflepuff Common Room.
She looked pale and drawn, and he started forward immediately.
"Are you alright?" he asked, keeping his voice surprisingly even, given the turmoil within.
"More or less," she said, surprised.
"Oh," he said, feeling equal parts intense relief and mild embarrassment. "Er, good… Lily said she thought you were upset," he explained, on her look of bafflement.
Unexpectedly, Jenny's face darkened.
"Oh, that," she said, with an air of annoyance.
He took her hand, reassured; now it was his turn.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really," she said, with a small smile. "Suffice it to say that Madame Pomfrey has officially run out of ideas about what's wrong with me."
She sighed and leaned into him; he wrapped an arm about her waist.
"She and Professor Sprout asked some very inappropriate questions," she said, into his shoulder. "That was probably when Lily saw me."
"They ought to know better than that," said Remus, with a frown. He tightened his grip on her waist, protectively.
"I know that they're just trying to help," she said, clearly frustrated. "But they were bloody rude, frankly."
Remus gave her a tight hug.
"Chin up, love," he said, brushing some of her wayward hair out of her face. "They're figure it out in the end. Maybe Frank's right – everyone's feeling the strain at the moment."
"Yes, well," Jenny huffed. "I don't see anyone else's bodies falling apart."
0o0o0o0
She didn't sleep that night, she was too annoyed.
Of all the outrageous suggestions!
She sat in the darkness, fuming.
Interfering old bats! she thought, uncharitably.
And the worst of it was yet to come, of course.
As private as Madame Pomfrey and Professor Sprout had tried to make their meeting, she knew that neither of them had used muffling spells on the door of Madame Pomfrey's office. They couldn't, really, with patients in the Hospital Wing that might need tending.
Jenny had seen several injured Ravenclaws in the beds of the Hospital Wing on her way in, and by about ten minutes in she had no intention of keeping her voice down.
Hogwarts being what it was, all of Ravenclaw would be talking about the argument – probably the rest of the school, too, by the end of the day.
Fleetingly, she wondered whether she ought to have warned Remus, but dismissed the thought. He was far less credulous than the majority of their classmates.
She tutted to herself.
This one was going to be hard to live down.