An Encounter of Sorts

The candles in the abandoned classroom were now coming to a flickering, slow end. What were once smooth, white stalks of wax had now burned down to nothing more than tapered greasy lumps in their iron holders. The dancing light they struggled to give off was making it difficult for Hermione to continue researching. Surely, it was getting close to the wee hours of the night.

She quickly glanced down at her watch and moaned. It was nearly two in the morning...

Hermione berated herself for getting too involved with her reading. However, she also remembered that books were all she had at the time being. Harry and Ron absolutely hated her... hated her for what she thought had been a noble act born from good intent. They had excommunicated her from all discussion over some silly broomstick. Honestly... a Firebolt was more important than the safety of Harry these days...

Quietly shutting a thick tome, she felt tears of anger and hurt well in her muddled brown eyes. It was becoming increasingly difficult to feel happy in a place she used to love so much. Everywhere she went, she felt her former friends' scathing looks on her. In all of her classes, she had thrown herself into helping Neville get along with his work to try and ignore them. During meals, Seamus Finnigan had scooted himself into spot where she used to hunker next to Ron, while Hermione sat near the end of the table, pretending to be immersed in her schoolwork. More than often, though, she tried to avoid meals altogether. Eventually, hunger would gain an upperhand on Hermione, but, as she ate, she would rather have felt famished than to have to endure bitter asides and sneers from two people she loved dearly.

Even Hermione's safe haven, the library, became less than so. She was distracting herself from the animosity by helping Hagrid out with Buckbeak's appeal that evening, when those two buffoons-for-friends had shuffled in to work on the History of Magic essay they had been putting off. After tutting at them for procrastinating over such a simple assignment, she had gathered her books and quills, storming out into the hallway.

She didn't know where to go afterwards. Hermione's main task at the minute was helping Hagrid, who seemed to be one of the few people remaining at Hogwarts that didn't find her crazy for turning in a Firebolt. She definitely did not want to go back to the Gryffindor tower. She hated being in the common room, where everyone else could see her and murmur about to whom her loyalty lay with, or some other stupid gossip. The only comfortable place there was her bed, specifically with the canopy drawn. Even her roommates were giving her cold looks for snubbing out Gryffindor's only chance at winning the Quidditch Cup.

It was because of this that Hermione was mildly pleased when she had found a slightly dusty, abandoned classroom not too far from the Fat Lady's portrait. She had finished as much work as she could for the night there in comfort, completely forgetting the notion of time. She difficulty tried not to think of the consequences for sneaking into places where she had been disallowed. If Hermione were caught, she would suffer at the hands of Filch. She desperately wished she had companions to get into trouble with... at least then, you had someone to laugh about it with after it was over.

Hermione was now panicking even more after realizing the time of the night it was. Gryffindor tower wasn't that far away, but it certainly was long enough of a walk to come nose-to-nose with distress. She didn't even consider using the Time Turner around her neck. Dumbledore had entrusted her to only use it for classes... However, being caught at this moment, not to mention when they had been told to be in their common rooms after-hours out of fear of Sirius Black, would bring harsh punishment. Still, she refused using the Time Turner. Hermione sighed. She couldn't possibly sleep in the grubby classroom. Being caught off her guard would be even worse...

Hermione then made up her mind to take her chances with pacing down the hallway. Quietly, she gathered all of her supplies, stuffing as much of it as she could in her bag. Everything else was tucked under her round right arm. Hermione then gently opened the door, wincing as it groaned slightly on its hinges, and stuck her head out far enough to get a good view. The corridor seemed abandoned. Not bothering to shut the door behind her, she slipped out as stealthily as she could and started forth.

As she tiptoed along, Hermione looked around the walls. The people in the paintings that were still awake shot disapproving glares at her but said nothing. However, she barely took notice. Hermione was much more worried about bumping into one of the less benevolent ghosts or faculty members. As she neared the portrait, she kept casting glances at the area she had left behind her. It was during one of these checks that she ended up doing what she had feared most--meeting another party in the eerie hallways of Hogwarts.

Hermione had been terrified that the wanderer would be Filch, or perhaps Snape. She nearly fainted on the spot when it was someone she didn't expect at all.

"Hermione?" questioned Professor Lupin, looking nearly as surprised as Hermione felt. "What... what are you doing around the hallways at this hour?"

She didn't answer immediately, but silently prayed that he thought her pale coloring was from worry of being punished. Hermione couldn't let Professor Lupin know that she carried a dark little secret of his that she had figured out on her own.

Professor Lupin was a werewolf... or so she had surmised. It had been a revelation that dawned on her ever since Professor Snape assigned an essay on werewolves when he substituted for Lupin. Hermione never said anything, partially because she figured, though the chances were slim, that she may have come to a false conclusion. And even though the thought of such beings frightened her a little, Hermione never had the biases that students who had come from Wizarding families clung to. Instead, a small part of her wanted to trust Lupin. Before this shocking discovery, he had seemed like a genuinely good person. Even afterwards, she still wondered how a man like him could possibly have such a beastly double life. So she went on treating him as she had before, with the manner of a student eager to learn only her lessons and nothing of his personal life.

However, the light from the moon that washed the hallways in a soft light had fallen upon Lupin's features in a mildly creepy way. His normally gray face was tinted in a bluish glow, causing his hazel eyes to stand out quite strangely, and his mouth hung slightly open from the surprise of running into her. His chestnut hair was in complete disarray, and if possible, he seemed even more pallid and thin. Hermione then realized that the luminous orb in the night sky was in its Waning Gibbous stage, meaning that the full moon had just ended. No wonder he looked like such a complete wreck... Even though Hermione was well acquainted with the many fearful things in the Wizarding world, the little girl in her could not help being scared that Lupin would turn into a wolf on the spot and devour her whole. Nonetheless, she tried ferociously to keep her cool and struggled to spit out an excuse.

"I..." she started, but her sentence hung in mid-air. Lupin furrowed his eyebrows, as if worried. Those expressive eyes of his... Hermione looked into them once and felt as if all she could be was honest. "Iwasupallnightstudyingprofessor," she whispered shrilly, eyes growing large.

"Pardon?" he asked, mildly confused. "Where were you studying? The library closed long ago." Hermione looked down at her feet, ashamed.

"I was studying in an empty classroom down the corridor, sir." She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"Hermione..." started Professor Lupin, but he waited a few minutes to pause. "You know that we've tried impressed just how much the staff wants to maintain the safety of the students." Hermione was ashamed with how disappointed in her he sounded.

"I know..." she sniffled. "I've just..." Her voice trailed off, as she began feeling all of the hurt she was going through boiling inside of her. She then did something that Professor Lupin did not expect. Hermione burst right into tears.

It had been a long time since Lupin had been around teenagers, especially girls at that age. He was naturally unprepared and at a loss of words when she started crying. All he could think of doing was gently shushing her, and gingerly patting her on the back.

"Hermione, you'll have to calm down," he whispered, eyes darting around the corridor. "The last thing I'd want to do is wake anyone up." She knew Lupin was right, so she sniffled loudly and hiccupped, trying her best to stop crying. When her wailing had decreased significantly, he leaned over so as to be at Hermione's eye level. "Would you like to go to bed now? Or perhaps come to my office to talk?"

Hermione merely stared apprehensively back at him. She felt that a talk would be rather nice, as she was tired of only having Hagrid and her books to comfort herself. However, Professor Lupin was a dubious character...

In the end, loneliness won out. She mumbled softly, and Lupin took that as an affirmation.

"Well, I won't keep you long," he said, smiling slightly. His thin hands then suddenly took the books from Hermione. "And for the love of all that is good, let me take those books! I'm surprised your spine hasn't snapped from the weight of them all." He jumbled around with them slightly, and once he got a good holding on the texts, began to lead Hermione to his office.

"You don't... mind me being a nuisance?" she asked timidly.

"Nonsense," he murmured flippantly. "I'm somewhat of an insomniac in the first place." Hermione could guess why, but didn't dare to say her reasoning aloud.

After what seemed like an eternity, Professor Lupin and Hermione had woven through the halls and floors of the castle and came upon a painting of a withered old man with a bottle of rum in his hand. As they approached, he awoke with a snort.

"You again!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "You teachers don't need to be wandering around the hallways at night... it's a bad example for the students!" The man then hiccuped and slouched, while Lupin tossed an amused look at Hermione, in hopes of getting her to smile. Her mouth curved weakly.

"Lutraphobia," Lupin whispered calmly. The man in the painting grumbled, and then swung the frame aside. With a facetious tone, the teacher turned to Hermione. "I hope you don't go around telling everyone how to break into my office. I'd have to get that mental case to make up a new password, and he always chooses the most doltish things."

"Of course not!" she responded at an unusually loud tone, as if not quite getting that Lupin had been joking. He sighed, and walked into the office. Hermione felt inclined to laugh. It looked so much different than from the last time she had visited the office. Instead of the many photos of Gilderoy Lockhart's smug face, there was an array of tanks with interesting creatures in their confines. The walls were lined with the same shelves as last year, only there were books in place of self-congratulatory awards. The door that led to where the teacher slept was left unadorned, instead of having an ugly, elaborate nameplate hanging on it

"You know," Hermione managed to say. "I had this little... phase ... where I would chase Professor Lockhart down here to ... autograph my belongings. He was only to glad." She smiled sheepishly and blushed, not so sure as to why she was telling such an embarrassing story to her teacher. Lupin laughed dryly.

"Ah, yes. Lockhart." Lupin smirked. "I seemed to remember cleaning out my office a few months ago, only to find a photograph of him sobbing like a baby and messing with his mussed curls behind my dresser. I promptly chucked it out the window, and it hasn't given me any trouble since." Hermione laughed, still feeling foolish for ever being enamoured with such a simpleton. Lupin thoughtlessly drummed his fingers on his desk, then shot a look at Hermione. "Tea?"

"Yes, thanks." There was an awkward silence that was only disturbed by the sound of Lupin searching blindly for a teapot. Hermione coughed. "Are you feeling better, Professor? We've missed you these last few days. Professor Flitwick is a wonder with charms, a nice substitute, and a great wizard, but not so good when it comes to handling Billywigs. He was floating around the room half of the period. "

"Hmph?" He seemed caught off guard. For a moment, the emotion in his eyes faltered. "Oh... yes." He grinned, and filled the pot with water. "I must be turning into a right geezer quickly. It seems like everyday that I hack up a lung. Madam Pomfrey fixes me right up, though, rest assured." He quickly changed topics. "I think the Billywigs were Flitwick's idea, though... I never thought of using them in class..."

Hermione found it hard to smile. Now that she knew his secret, it was painfully obvious that Professor Lupin couldn't tell a lie if his life depended on it. Nonetheless, she remained polite while she toyed with a chipped mug in her hands. There was silence, until Lupin set his wand to the pot, causing the water inside to boil and steam in a few seconds. He swiftly poured it into each mug, and then dropped in teabags. Sloshing the liquid around with a spoon, Professor Lupin sat himself across from Hermione and looked her right in the eyes once more. Hermione tried to keep from shivering.

"Very well, Hermione. We came here to talk." He clasped his hands and leaned in closer. "So, tell me everything."

For a moment, Hermione felt as if she really would tell him everything. From the films that used to scare her as a child, to her prized Time Turner, to the fact that she knew he was a werewolf... it reminded her of a potion she had read about before while flipping through one of the gads of books in the library... Veritaserum. It wasn't a potion, though, that had this effect on her. There was such understanding floating in those sad eyes that she felt obliged to confide Lupin with all of her secrets. She shook her head slightly, and reminded herself why she was upset in the first place. Suddenly, all of the melancholy feelings came swooping back once more.

"Well, you see... Harry received a Firebolt for Christmas, Professor." As she spoke, she looked down at her cup. It looked as if she was confessing everything to her tea, rather than her mentor.

"So I heard. And you turned it into Professor McGonagall's care, if I heard correctly." He sipped his tea, and then barely lowered the mug. The whole time he stared intently at Hermione.

"Well, yes... and now everyone seems to be against me." Salty tears rolled off of her full cheeks and fell into her drink. "Nobody seems to understand that I care so much about Harry... I don't want Sirius Black to do anything to him! And I thoroughly believe, Professor, that he was the giver of the broom!" As she spoke how she felt, Hermione began to feel as if her theory seemed more and more idiotic. "I... think he could have hexed it to hurt Harry..." She noticed an odd expression passed over Lupin's face when she brought up Black.

"I wouldn't be angry at you, Hermione," he said slowly. "I myself would be highly suspicious of mysterious objects coming into Harry's possession. That aside, I also wouldn't put it past Sirius Black to attempt something that surreptitious." Hermione's brow furrowed, as she found that last remark dubious.

"How would you know that? Did you know him?"

"Hermione, he did kill Harry's parents, Peter Pettigrew, and twelve Muggles..." He wrinkled his nose, as if the answer to her question had been too obvious. "Perhaps many more..."

"Oh." Hermione flexed her hand, and then took a draught from her cup. "Boys are so stupid..."

"Ahem," coughed Lupin, clearing his throat. "I do resent that." He gave a small laugh.

"Well, you don't count," Hermione replied quickly. "You're a man." Well, not quite... she thought sarcastically.

"I'll have you know that I was once quite the mischief maker as a student." He fidgeted with his teabag. "Never, under any circumstances, makes conjectures about people you don't know, Hermione. You'll find that to be a rather useful piece of advice." If Hermione weren't so sure that Professor Lupin was a werewolf, she would have felt ashamed. Instead, she pushed her frizzy mass of hair behind her shoulders and chewed on her lip.

"I don't like being hated," Hermione blurted out suddenly. She then heaved a pathetic sigh. "I really would love getting along with everyone, and meeting eye-to-eye with my friends... It just seems like everything I do gets me grief, no matter hard I try to be good." It was Lupin's turn to look down at his shoes. He let go of his mug and propped his head up in the table, hands running through his disheveled hair.

"People are very unfair, Hermione," he murmured, without looking up. "While it's nice to have people who appreciate the aesthetics, we really can't live in what we dream to be a perfect world." He put his hands in his head and looked up. "Injustices are committed every day in this world. You and I are among the unlucky ones who know it and struggle to put up with. It's just a shame that people your age have to learn that truth so soon." Hermione really couldn't add to that comment, but she had a good guess of what personal experiences he was speaking from. She felt flattered, though, that Lupin was speaking to her as if she was his equal, and not some whiney adolescent. She stiffly brought the mug to her lips to swallow down some tea.

"I also suggest you continue playing the mature one in this argument of yours. Harry and Ron, despite whatever negative things you associate them with at the time being, are good people. Don't give up on them." He then flashed a smile. "You are right. Boys can be such prats." He examined his empty mug, and continued to speak. "I really do hate taking sides, but I believe you're right in this rift between the three of you." Hermione nearly died from beaming at the prospect of someone agreeing with her.

"I don't hate them, Professor!" she exclaimed. Hermione played with the collar of her shirt, and blinked. "They're just so frustrating sometimes."

"I know." Lupin snorted. "You don't think I was an agony to someone just like you when I was a Third Year?" He went to the pump in his office, and proceeded to rinse out the mug. After discarding the teabag, he turned to look at Hermione and crossed his arms. She rose from her chair, and pushed it in. "I know I'm no one to come to when in dire need of great advice... but whatever you do, don't make them admit you were wrong." He smiled waggishly. "It will drive them nuts, and make them think twice before trying to make you cow to their complaining."

"You're a bad example to your students," snickered Hermione. She collected her knapsack and slung it over her shoulder. Her smile faded, as she could not figure out a way to show how much she appreciated having someone to listen to her. She walked up to Lupin, and taking him by surprise, firmly grabbed his left hand in her small one.

"Thank you," she said evenly and sincerely. She shook his hand gently, and let go. "It really does feel good to have someone to mewl to."

"Hermione, if you ever need help, or a good listener, I'm right here." He seemed genuinely pleased that he had helped her a bit. "Just don't expect me to be so lenient on punishment next time I catching you mincing about the halls." They both couldn't help but chuckle.

After Lupin had gathered the rest of her books, the two left for the portrait of the Fat Lady, guided by the bright moonlight. When they reached their destination, Hermione turned to her teacher one last time.

"Professor Lupin.... If you don't mind me asking..."

"Go ahead, Hermione," he answered pleasantly. He played with the cords that tied at his waste absentmindedly.

"What were ... you doing out so late?" Lupin paused, and seemed to think for a moment, as if choosing his words thoughtfully.

"I was coming from a discussion with Dumbledore. Personal matters, I'm afraid." He took one of her rolls of parchment and thumped her head softly with it. "Sorry, Miss Granger." He then handed back the paper and smiled. "Now go to sleep. I think I'll finish up Professor Flitwick's lesson on Billywigs, and I want my students in prime condition."

"I will." As she spoke the password ("Metanoia") to the rather disgruntled Fat Lady, she thanked Lupin one last time. With a cheered heart, she climbed inside the common room. The dying embers of the fire reminded her of the fading candlelight in the musky classroom from earlier. Scaling the stairs to the Girls' dormitories, Hermione reflected upon her conversation.

Earlier, when Hermione had first run into Lupin, he looked like a rather grizzled site, and someone she was unsure of relying on, his werewolf nature terrifying her slightly. The harsh moonbeams did nothing to help that appearance, either. However, in the warm glow of the lights in his office, she had noticed just how young and naive he looked. Age lines and gray streaks aside, she saw a man who had never quite outgrown his gangly, tall teenage frame and puckish demeanor. Lupin was just someone looking for a little empathy and company, like she was. Hermione thought of the cliché of looking at people in a new light, and laughed at how literally she was now taking it, shaking her head. Perhaps if he were a student with her, they would have been remarkably good chums...

Perhaps, she thought, falling into her bed without bothering to change. Hermione snuggled into the sheets, feeling more solace than she had in a long time. For a while, she would totally disregard the fact that her instructor was a werewolf. For a while, Professor Lupin could be trusted.