To Face the Wolf

Hermione Granger

Hermione had lost count of the times she'd tossed and turned beneath the covers after waking up from fitful sleep. Falling asleep again was impossible, so she got up. Crookshanks was nowhere to be seen, apparently not yet returned from his nightly roaming. She dressed in silence while the other girls slept on and slipped out of her dormitory to descend the stairs by the light of her wand. When she stepped outside the Common Room Sir Cadogan didn't speak, and looking back she saw him doze in his frame. For a moment, Hermione wished she had the Marauder's Map to check if Professor Snape or Filch and Mrs. Norris were anywhere near, but as she'd told Harry to give the map to McGonagall it would be hypocrite to want it for herself now, and dismissing the thought she moved on.

She had slept no more than a couple of hours that night, assailed by unpleasant thoughts every time she woke up. In addition to losing Harry over a broomstick and risking to lose Ron over a rat, something else was wrong as well. When she remembered, it caused an unpleasant jolt in the pit of her stomach. Today after classes, she would have to hand in her Time-turner to Professor McGonagall. She would get it back on Monday, her Head of House had said, unless examining it would take longer than the weekend.

'But I need it, Professor!' Hermione had begged when McGonagall informed her yesterday after dinner.

To no avail. 'You can miss a few Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes classes, miss Granger. It's not as if you're in any danger of failing any of your subjects,' was the answer, and that had been the end of their exchange.

Hermione did her best to believe this was not a punishment for reporting Harry's Nimbus 2000, but it didn't work. And it wasn't fair. The argument 'for your own good' seemed a great deal less appropriate when Professor McGonagall had used it against her yesterday than it had done when Hermione uttered the same words to Harry. The broomstick was possibly hexed by a dangerous ex-servant of He-who-must-not-be-named; the Time-turner was safe, coming from the Ministry of Magic, and she wasn't even Black's prime target. Moreover, she knew there was nothing wrong with the thing; using it was a little tiring, but that had been a calculated risk from the beginning. No reason for concern. Her situation wasn't really comparable to Harry's. Yet the Professor had acted as if it was.

Though she hadn't consciously decided where to go, at some point she noticed her feet had led her to Professor Lupin's quarters. Gazing at his name plate - it hung ever so slightly askew, she noticed - Hermione wondered how sneaky it would be to ask him to intercede on her behalf. She wasn't supposed to tell anyone else about the Time-turner, but surely Professor Lupin would be accommodating and find a way. It wasn't as if he didn't have a little secret of his own.

Or maybe more than one. She remembered the blue-robed stranger in whose company she had seen him, several nights ago, and the equally blue-robed Professor Snape she had encountered in his rooms... Yes, she figured Professor Lupin would be willing to help her. Though maybe not if she woke him up right now. Though if he hadn't locked or warded his door she could take a peek inside his sleeping room first.

She was still hesitating when the door was opened from the inside - by the Professor himself. He was fully dressed and looked a little preoccupied. 'Hermione!' he said, raising an eyebrow. 'What are you doing here at this hour? It's half past five in the morning.'

'I woke up and was unable to fall asleep again,' she explained. 'But, er - you're up, too, sir.'

'I was having the same problem.' He smiled faintly, though the preoccupied look didn't leave his eyes. 'Were you waiting outside my door?'

Hermione swallowed. 'I - I need your help, Professor.' Now she had taken the first step.

'I assume we're talking about your book?' Lupin asked. 'I've made sure Professor Snape knows that I know he has it. I can't imagine he'll keep it much longer.'

'That's very kind of you.' Maybe she shouldn't bother him about the Time-turner after all. But now that he'd mentioned Snape... 'I met Professor Snape in your quarters a few days ago,' she ventured.

Professor Lupin nodded. 'He told me so.'

'But it wasn't him!' she blurted.

The Professor stared at her, his eyebrows raised. 'I suggest we don't discuss this standing outside my door,' he said at last. 'We could go inside, though I doubt it would be the appropriate thing to do... so I think I'll walk you back to the Gryffindor Tower. I shan't order you to return to bed, but it is still night, and you should not roam the corridors, Hermione.'

Hermione smiled politely. Though she was disappointed at his suggestion, she didn't have a good reason to refuse.

'So you believe it was not Professor Snape you saw in my rooms?' he asked, when they were on their way. 'Why is it so unthinkable that he should wear blue robes?'

'It wasn't the robes,' she replied. 'Not at first. But he didn't seem to know me. He didn't even once call me "Miss Granger", and it was more than a two sentence exchange.'

'Perceptive,' Professor Lupin said.

Proudly she continued: 'And when I entered the Library he was already there, though I'd left your rooms before he did. And he was wearing black, as always.'

'He could have flooed to his quarters, quickly changed robes, and still reached the Library ahead of you.'

'Could be.' Hermione remained sceptical. 'But he denied having worn blue robes. He suggested I had been hallucinating.'

Professor Lupin glanced aside. 'Maybe you did?'

Hermione frowned. Time to mention the other occasion when she'd seen those blue robes, even though it meant confessing she had been out of bounds. 'But that wasn't the first time I saw those robes,' she began hotly, 'though it wasn't Snape who -' She fell silent, realising he'd been teasing her, but even as she did he stopped smiling.

Oh no! She had definitely been out at midnight, on that other occasion. How many points would he take from Gryffindor? Why hadn't she thought of that before - because he was such a kind man? Because she was tired and losing her edge? She waited for the verdict.

It didn't come. 'Tall and blond?' he asked. 'Long hair, braided?'

And shining. Hermione nodded.

'He's a guest,' Professor Lupin explained, walking on again. 'An involuntary guest, to be precise, the victim of some hex or curse that made him end up here at Hogwarts. We're investigating the matter, and we hope to be able to send him home soon, but there are - complications.' He paused, appearing to consider for a few moments. 'I'm afraid I can't tell you more. Less than half a dozen people know he is here - more than enough. Hermione, promise me you won't mention Finrod's presence to anyone -'

She gasped, one hand flying to her mouth, frozen on the spot. What? What have I done?

Professor Lupin halted as well. 'What's the matter?' he asked, full of concern.

Finrod Felagund, here at Hogwarts? I have conjured up Finrod Felagund from The Silmarillion? 'It's nothing, really. Just a yawn. Lack of sleep, Professor,' she said, taking a deep breath against the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm her. 'I won't say a word about it. Promise.' Finrod, at Hogwarts? But he can't be real, can he?

'Excellent,' Professor Lupin replied, though he was looking slightly sceptic. 'In that case I'll speak with Professor Snape and ask him to consider returning your book.'

Oh dear. He was such a kind man. Hermione felt ashamed that she'd even considered bringing up his - condition.

'So, what is the title?' he inquired casually. 'Just to make sure Professor Snape doesn't fail to, um, remember which book it was.'

'The Silmarillion,' she replied. 'And the author's name is J.R.R. Tolkien.' Finrod Felagund. Here at Hogwarts. I must see him! I must!

'Ah!' Professor Lupin said almost eagerly. 'The talking book!'

She shook her head. 'No, not a talking book. The author was a Muggle, and the name is spelled -'

'It's all right, Hermione. Just joking.' His voice did sound a bit odd, though. 'The Silmarillion,' he repeated. 'By J.R.R. Tolkien. I'll do my best, Hermione.'

'Thank you so much, Professor!' If only he knew...

He didn't take the hint but continued to accompany her; apparently, he doubted she would make it back to the Tower on her own, though it wasn't her Sirius Black was after. All the time, she was keenly aware of him; he kept walking closely beside her. Werewolves are not dangerous unless the moon is full, she reminded herself.

Back in the Common Room she sank down on a couch, realising she'd entirely forgotten to bring up the Time-turner. And what if Professor Snape had read The Silmarillion and knew Finrod was here? Hermione wondered if conjuring up a character from a book was considered Dark Magic in the Wizarding World, what the punishment would be (would they expel her?) - and how many volumes she'd have to consult to solve the problem.

Where will I ever find the time now? she thought despairingly.

***

Sirius Black

Dementor.

He curled up like a foetus. They were coming for him. That will be life in Azkaban for you, Black. Voices crying horror. How could you, Sirius! James and Lily... They're dead, Sirius, both of 'em... Chilling laughter. You. Traitor. Murderer. As black as your name. He was freezing, shuddering, eyes squeezed shut. Whimpering like a homeless dog - but he couldn't change into Padfoot. He was being pulled apart.

Laughter again. But why did it sound different this time, and where had the cold gone? Blinking furiously, Sirius managed to open his eyes. With great difficulty, as if the air itself had become viscous, he turned his head to where he had seen the Dementor approach.

There was no Dementor within sight, only the tall stranger who called himself Finrod. He seemed to be holding up something. It was too dark for Sirius' human eyesight to be certain, but it looked like...

... a Dementor's cloak?

'What happened?' he croaked, sitting up awkwardly. Trying to stand was not advisable. The lower half of his body felt as if he was the victim of a jelly-legs jinx.

Finrod turned the frayed cloak inside out, examining it as if he was searching for the Dementor's remains. 'I don't know,' he replied at last. 'Whatever was inside this cloak kissed me, but it had no mouth - just an empty hole. Nothing, in fact.' Gingerly, he touched two fingers to his lips. 'Rather disconcerting, a not-kiss from a not-mouth.'

'So that's why you laughed?' The fellow had to be insane. Too bad. Sirius had just begun to think this was someone who might actually listen first and judge later.

'I laughed with relief,' Finrod replied. 'At first, it was a frightening experience, but nothing is... nothing, even if it wears a cloak to hide it. Not something worth fearing.'

'But laughter is its food! Dementors feed on happy thoughts and memories!' objected Sirius. 'So how could it vanish when you laughed?' He was not having this conversation, really. It would be too daft.

'You don't understand. I laughed because it was nothing, and not the other way around. Or so it seems to me now.'

Realisation hit Sirius then: the stranger had saved him. Did he owe the fellow a life debt now? Or rather, a soul debt? Abruptly, all his anger and frustration boiled over. If he had a wand he'd have been hard put not to hex Finrod all the way back to where he came from, wherever that might be. 'That's rubbish! It can't have been nothing!' he yelled. 'When a Dementor kisses you, it sucks out your very soul! What remains is an empty shell.'

With a brief glance at the empty cloak draped loosely over his arm Finrod replied, as patiently as if he were addressing a small child: 'Do I look like an empty shell? So, no, I don't think that this... Dementor sucked out my soul. But then, as long as it is in good shape my body is rather strongly attached to my soul.' He laughed softly.

It wasn't a happy laugh. If anything it held regret, and Sirius felt a shiver run down his spine. Not chilling or unpleasant - more like the shiver of fear and pity one felt for the sad fate of another.

Still, it was unbearable. He'd had more than his fair share of shivers in Azkaban. The Dementor had come too close. He would have no more of this weirdness. No man was supposed to react to those filthy creatures the way this being had, deceptively normal though it looked. Sirius cleared his throat. 'If it didn't suck out your soul, I bet you don't have a soul. Are you even human?' His eyes. I should have realised before how alien his eyes are.

The other shook his head. 'No, I am not human. But if you believe that only humans have a soul, your view of Creation is limited. Would you deny the angry willow a soul? Would you deny the ginger cat a soul? The rats you want me to catch? Would you deny' - and his pupils glowed in the dark - 'that a werewolf has a soul?'

At that, Sirius rose to his hands and knees, the weakness gone from his legs. There was no way in hell he would discuss Moony with an alien. With a growl he transformed, and Padfoot turned his back to Finrod.

'Wait!' the other cried. 'Please!' But Padfoot didn't want to wait, nor was he here to please others. He stalked off, hackles raised, managing not to run until he was certain his departure could not be mistaken for a flight.

***

Remus Lupin

When the portrait hole closed behind Hermione, Remus returned to his quarters to see if Finrod had reappeared yet. As it turned out he had: he was lying on the couch, one leg drawn up, arms behind his head. A formless heap of what looked to be black cloth was lying on the floor in front of the couch. Approaching, Remus saw that Finrod was staring at the ceiling, his eyes unfocused, as if he was in trance.

Remus picked up the black thing, illuminating it with his wand-tip. It was a garment, a long cloak with a hood, frayed, foul-smelling and clammy. He dropped it in disgust. 'What the hell is this?' he said.

The next moment, he jumped back with a yelp. Finrod's eyes focused immediately and he leaped to his feet, resembling nothing so much as an animal startled from sleep. His hands were raised as if to fend off an attacker but when he saw Remus he lowered them and sat down on the couch. 'It wasn't my intention to scare you; I must have dozed off after I came back. I was having a rather vivid dream. Were you out looking for me?'

Was it imagination, or did he sound guilty? As well he might. 'I intended to,' Remus replied, 'but I got distracted. Do you always sleep with your eyes open?'

'As do all of my kindred.'

Weird. Don't their eyes dry out? Remus gestured towards the crumpled piece of cloth. 'And do you happen to know what this is, by any means?'

'What is it you want to hear?' Finrod inquired blandly.

Shoving the cloak aside with a foot, Remus sat down beside him. 'Whatever wisdom his Majesty deigns to impart to me?'

Finrod laughed softly. 'It's not an attribute I took along to feign a more convincing Snape, if that's what you think.'

'Then what is it?'

'A Dementor's cloak.'

'Let me get this straight,' Remus said, after a brief silence. 'You leave these quarters in the dead of night for a stroll across the Hogwarts grounds. You encounter a stray Dementor. It's rude enough to give you the cold shivers, so you appeal to its sense of decency and talk it into handing you its warm cloak by way of compensation?'

'Enlighten me, Remus. Is that wizarding humour?'

'Werewolf humour, perhaps.'

Finrod smiled wrily. 'As it is, I did speak to this Dementor. But all it did was open its mouth, or whatever it was, to kiss me.'

Remus couldn't help gasping, every trace of amusement gone.

Finrod tried to explain what he thought had happened, but Remus doubted that he knew what to make of his brush with the soul-sucker. It could be true, as he claimed, that body and soul were more strongly bound together and harder to sever in those of his kindred. The people of the stars. But Remus had no way of knowing whether it was.

Instead, he concentrated on the thing that wasn't beyond his grasp. 'Who told you it was called a Dementor? I never did, and somehow I can't imagine it was Snape - or did he?'

'It wasn't Snape,' Finrod confirmed, as if they were playing a riddle game and he wasn't allowed to give straight answers.

Remus had always been good at playing such games. 'It was Sirius Black, wasn't it?' he said.

Finrod nodded gravely.

(TBC)