Slytherin's Warning

"I say we make a habit of supplying all Britain's werewolves with free Wolfsbane. Then, after X number of months, add a couple extra tablespoons of aconite. That'll solve the problem right there, and get us out of this crummy unit to boot."

-QuickQuotes notation at monthly staff meeting for Werewolf Capture Unit

Lupin woke him the next morning. At his sleepy glare, Lupin said, "When my mother died, I didn't want to get up. I lay in bed all day, miserable and full of regrets. James and Sirius helped me to pull out of it, in time."

Understanding but not particularly liking it, Draco sat up rubbing his eyes. "And when James and--and Lily died?"

At first he thought Lupin wouldn't answer, but then: "Well, that time I tried drowning myself in a bottle, which isn't the best approach either, really."

Lupin had mentioned his mother... "So your father, he's still alive?"

"No." When Draco fumbled over an apology, Lupin said patiently, "Come to breakfast."

They ate quietly, and Lupin announced he had to go. "Order business," he said, surprising Draco by saying aloud what had always been silently understood. Draco only nodded, and after setting his dishes in the sink Lupin Disapparated. Draco wandered into the sitting room area and stopped short.

There were three novels on the coffee table, each by a different modern wizarding author. Lupin must have gotten them after Draco was asleep the night before. Tears prickled at his eyes and now at last, with no one to see him, Draco allowed them to fall. Mother. He didn't even have a picture of her here--he could so easily die in this war having never seen her face again. The thought was unbearable, and more tears welled up.

Remnants of his dreams returned; he'd seen his mother, though she looked less like an angel and more like a Grecian statue of a goddess, her perfectly falling robes and chiseled features fixed and rigid in stone. Strangely, he'd seen a statue of Granger as well, in much the same style, and the Weasley girl. Granger had looked rather prettier than he remembered her being in life, and he imagined her statue put on a pedestal among the old Greek and Roman philosophers, the magical and the muggle ones.

Weasley--it felt wrong to see her like that. His mother--well, Draco had seen a bust of her head and shoulders before. He could imagine a statue in her honour. And Granger was pretentious enough join the company of dead philosophers and ancient kings. But Weasley--in Draco's memory she was always in motion: jumping at him for insulting Potter, teasing a boy, her eyes fairly dancing, streaking across the sky in a Quidditch match.

Draco was not overly given to dream interpretation, but he guessed that it had something to do with the fact that all three were now frozen in time, at the age of their death. They would never grow old and wrinkled and have children--grandchildren in his mother's case--running around their robes.

Draco brushed ineffectually at his wet cheeks. At least he hadn't dreamed of the male Weasley. Ugh.

The Prophet came and Draco supposed he should have expected it, expected the headlines about his mother's death. There was a picture of his mother, one of the stock photos the newspaper always showed when she'd been to a society or charity event. He knew that reserved, gracious smile well. The article was infuriating. The Prophet, always so kind to her in the past, was like a shark smelling fresh blood in the water. Finally, each line seemed to shout, the death of someone who deserves it! Draco finally turned to the second article, still fuming. Another couple killed; a mudblood and a half-blood. Nothing new there. What arrested Draco was a quote from the man's mother, who sobbed, "No parent should have to outlive their child! I scarcely survived my sister's death in the first war--I cannot bear it!"

Padma couldn't bear it either, Draco thought. A sister, a mother, a child, a friend. Draco turned to the list of the dead, catching his breath at his mother's name midway down. Although none of the other names were familiar to him, he realized in that moment that they all likely had surviving relatives too, parents or siblings or cousins, and that for every name on the list there was surely someone who at this moment felt just as he did.

For the first time, Draco found himself glad that he had not managed to kill the mudblood, his second test for the Dark Lord. Though her family would never know any better, Draco at least knew that he wasn't the cause of their grief. Does this mean I believe the Light side? he thought uneasily.

Draco summoned a parchment, a quill and some ink and attempted to organize his jumbled thoughts.

I'm glad I didn't kill the mudblood
No one--or very few people--should have to feel how I feel right now
We shouldn't kill the mudbloods or blood traitors.

Number three was the logical extension of one and two. Draco stared at the wet, shining ink. His hand trembled as he wrote a fourth sentence.

This doesn't mean mudbloods should be allowed in our society
But if I've always been wrong about 3, what else might I be wrong about?

Draco shook himself. His mother barely dead a day, and look at the traitorous thoughts he was having! He crumpled the parchment and threw it away, ignoring the ink that stained his hand. He had to check on the Wolfsbane Potion; it was nearly time for the next step.

Lupin insisted that Draco share more happy memories of his mother each night before bed, and insisted that Draco get out of bed and dressed each morning. He was gone most of the day, so Draco probably could have returned to bed. But as he was already up and dressed, what would be the point really?

Unable to bring himself to continue the essays about the Dark Lord and not in the mood to study the healing book, Draco read the first novel, "My Love Was an Atlantean," by Vataire Sun Lu. It was an adventure story with a sideline of romance and a cheesy, upbeat ending. In other words, just what Draco needed.

After a few days of this, Lupin came in one night and silently gave Draco a small crystal vial. It contained a thick, silvery liquid that moved sluggishly when Draco held it up to the light at an angle. "What is this?"

"There were Aurors and Order members at your mother's memorial and burial, in case anyone of interest showed up. I volunteered to be one of them."

"And these are your memories," Draco said in realization.

"Yes. You will need a Pensieve to view them, of course. And as I don't have one, keep them for as long as you need."

Draco didn't thank people often, but... "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Lupin watched as Draco carefully put the vial in a robe pocket, then said, "I also will be here less from now on, except for the full moon, of course."

"What? Why? You're barely here now."

Draco had the sense that Lupin was choosing his words very carefully. "Ron and Hermione were working on something with Harry, something very secret."

"Something very dangerous," Draco muttered, but fell silent at Lupin's look.

"Harry needs--well, an assistant, I suppose. Someone to help him and watch his back."

"Because Weasley and Granger did such a good job.... Sorry. Do go on."

"I didn't know what they were doing before. No one did. Harry didn't want to tell me, I'm sure, but this... this is more than anyone could do on his own."

"You want to bring Potter here," Draco said flatly.

"No. He's tracked wherever he goes. He's constantly on the move. I'll be with him now." Lupin's words were direct. "But you're right. It is very dangerous, even more so than my other work for the Order, I think."

Draco didn't know what to say. "Don't die."

Lupin smiled faintly. "Well, if you insist."

After that Lupin didn't come home every night. When he did he looked drawn and exhausted and rubbed at his eyes. Fortunately, he happened to be home the seventh of November, exactly a week before the full moon. Draco ladled some of the steaming potion into a cup and carried it out to the main room. Lupin's eyes widened when he saw it.

Draco said, "Your first dose of Wolfsbane. You'll need to come home once a day to drink it."

Lupin took the cup and then gave Draco a searching look. He must have found some answer on Draco's face, because he gravely took the cup with both hands and drank, making a face at the taste. "Disgusting as ever." He smiled at Draco. "I knew you were brewing something, but I must admit I didn't expect this. Thank you, Draco."

"It was nothing," Draco said, but they both knew it was something.

Dora visited two nights later. Lupin wasn't home yet when she arrived and her unfriendly expression made Draco nervous. "Where's Remus?"

"Out, doing something for the Order."

She turned on him, drawing her wand. "What do you know about the Order?"

Draco shrugged. "Pretty much just that he's in it. I guessed that you are too but he doesn't talk about things like that."

Her wand didn't waver. "What kinds of things does he talk about?"

What did they talk about? "My--my family." Well, his mother. But "Jacob's" father was supposedly dead as well. He did not have to feign sadness when he said that. "Defense against the Dark Arts. I, er, I was brought up to think Purebloods are best, and I think he's trying to change my mind." The last was a calculated risk.

He assumed she was attempting to monitor his truthfulness in some way. She didn't look wholly satisfied by his answers. "And can you tell me why the Ministry seems to have no record of you or your family ever having existed?"

Draco was just arranging his expression into one of polite confusion when Lupin arrived. Thankful for the reprieve, Draco went to fetch the next dose of Wolfsbane. He heard Dora addressing the same question to Lupin.

""Jacob" is an alias, of course," Lupin said calmly. "Ah, thank you Jacob." He took the cup and drank, seemingly not noticing how Draco and Dora both gaped at him.

"You gave me an alias?" Dora finally asked, looking upset.

"His true name is not for me to tell, not since I offered him sanctuary."

"You're sure you can trust him?"

Lupin gave her a reassuring smile. "If I was not, I would not drink the Wolfsbane he brewed me."

She seemed startled at that, and swung around to study Draco, who was cleaning out the cup the muggle way. Potions often did not react well to cleaning spells. "I--thank you," she said uncertainly. Draco glanced at her and saw conflicting emotions on her expressive face. Behind her, Lupin lightly rubbed his throat, looking pained, but his expression was neutral again when Dora turned back to him. Some of the ingredients in Wolfsbane, like aconite, were poisonous in doses just minutely higher than the potion required, so Draco supposed it made sense for the potion to burn going down as it built up in Lupin's body.

"Trust me, Dora," Lupin was saying. He locked eyes with the Auror.

"You know I do," she replied. The intensity of their gaze made Draco uncomfortable, though he was glad that Dora would apparently stop investigating him. He quietly slipped back into his room, neither adult seeming to notice.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Draco pulled out the photo he'd clipped out of the newspaper and, as he did every night, gazed down at his mother's beautiful face. Although it was a wizarding picture, she moved very little, just smiled her enigmatic smile. How could she have killed herself? Was it an order from the Dark Lord? To what end? She was not a marked Death Eater, and surely she had little sensitive information. How could she abandon Draco by dying--and doing so by her own choice? Didn't she understand the need, deep in his bones, for her to be safe?

Sighing, he tried to push away the treacherous thought that returned again and again. Potter's mother died for him. Took a Killing Curse, the legend says. Did you even think of me when you crushed your poisonous necklace? Each time the awful thought occurred, Draco felt terrible. How could he even begin to compare his mother and Lily Potter? His mother, a Pureblood lady managed the house elves and a charity organization, with Potter, the mudblood Gryffindor who studied Charms? Shaking his head, Draco called, "Nox," and slipped under the covers. As he closed his eyes, one final thought stole across him: They were both mothers.

He suspected that Lupin and Dora left for the night, possibly to Dora's house. Lupin didn't return until late evening the following day, bringing with him packages of muggle Thai food. Though Draco had already eaten, he ate a few bites, the unfamiliar foods' textures and tastes strange on his tongue. He suspected Lupin had only stopped at the house for his Wolfsbane dose. After swallowing the potion with a grimace, Lupin leaned heavily on the countertop before turning to wash the cup. Was it Draco's imagination or was Lupin moving more slowly than normal? Before he could ask Lupin said, "I'll be in my office."

Yes. The office. Nearly every moment Lupin was home he was barricaded inside that mysterious room. It put Draco in a difficult position--all those months he could have talked to Lupin any time, yet now, when he had so many questions, Lupin was always gone. Yet, even as he wanted to question Lupin and pick apart his arguments, Draco was afraid he might not be able to. Even as Draco grieved for his mother--the knowledge of what had happened tore at him anew each time the clock chimed the hour, each time he closed his eyes--Draco no longer had simple faith in the proper order of things. If only time could slow down just a little, perhaps he'd be able to process everything.

The second-to-last day before the full moon Lupin didn't leave the house--or his office. Draco knocked on the door at lunchtime and Lupin opened the door. "I think I'll give lunch a miss today," he said quietly.

Draco frowned. "You need to keep your strength up."

Lupin closed his eyes for a moment before admitting, "Anything I eat now won't be in my stomach for long."

"Rest, then."

"Sitting in a chair is hardly strenuous." Behind Lupin Draco could see a bit of the office; the desk, covered in pieces of parchment, a cushioned chair and floating candles, already lit. They both knew perfectly well that poring over books did not equal resting. But Draco was not Lupin's keeper. He nodded, and Lupin shut the door.

When Lupin emerged that night he blanched at the plate of food at his place and shook his head before Draco could say a word. Taking the glass, he stared at the brownish sludge within, then straightened his shoulders and drank. He offered it back to Draco with a shaky half-smile and turned back towards his office. He made it two steps before collapsing.

Swearing, Draco dropped the cup and knelt by Lupin's side. The older man's arms seemed rigid and locked in place, and Draco could see muscles spasming under the skin. "Merlin," Draco breathed. He must have made an error in the potion--there was no other explanation. Why had he even attempted Wolfsbane? It was far, far beyond any school potion. And now he'd inadvertently poisoned the very person he was trying to help.

He did not know how to summon Dora--why had he never asked how?--and in any case she would surely not believe it an accident. Why had he not studied the books on healing more? Pointing his wand at Lupin, Draco said, "Venter cassus!" Immediately Lupin gagged and started vomiting. Draco conjured a basin and held it for the other man, casting the charm again and hastily canceling it when only bile came up.

What else? Draco levitated Lupin into the washroom and drew a steaming hot bath before lowering Lupin in. He didn't know how much the vomiting spell had accomplished; after all, Lupin had been drinking the flawed potion for nearly a week. All he'd consumed the previous five days had already been absorbed by his body. Draco winced as he recalled the warning signs--Lupin leaning on furniture for support, his sickliness all day. Still, it was tonight's dose that was the tipping point. Surely if tonight's damage was reversed, Lupin had a chance.

The hot water and steam eventually began to take effect and some of the tension left Lupin, the tremors slowing and finally stopping. Belatedly Draco realized he really ought to have removed Lupin's robes first; he hadn't been thinking. Now the water-clogged material was heavy and awkward to remove. He left the shirt and trousers beneath the robes alone. He had no desire to see the scars from previous full moons.

The moon. Of course--it was tomorrow. That was what had precipitated this whole disaster. Lupin was breathing easier now and Draco felt reasonably sure he would last the night. Whether he had the strength to survive tomorrow's transformation was another matter entirely.

When the water had cooled, Lupin's breathing was not so laboured, but he had yet to open his eyes or speak. Draco considered reheating the water, but decided in the end to vanish it, cast a drying charm on Lupin and levitate him to bed. Lupin's colour was off, but how much was the result of his lycanthropy and how much caused by the bad Wolfsbane? There was no way to know.

The diagnostic spells Draco managed to cast indicated that Lupin was now in a natural sleep. Draco felt torn; on the one hand, Lupin greatly needed the rest, but on the other, he desperately wanted to wake the older man. When Lupin woke, Draco could give him a nourishing potion, and possibly a strengthening one as well. He could assess the damage to Lupin's health better, maybe even figure out where the problem in the potion occurred.

Realizing he needed to make the potions he intended to give Lupin, Draco moved to the cauldron in the corner of the room. As he worked, he sent frequent glances to the still figure in the bed. The adrenaline rush started to wear away and Draco caught himself nearly nodding off. Fortunately, he came to himself in time to save the bubbling potion. An easy one, yet Draco had nearly melted the silver cauldron. He scowled, disgusted with himself; some Potions Master he'd make!

Lupin stirred a few hours before dawn, blinking awake and rubbing his joints as though they pained him; the wrists, elbows, shoulders and where his neck met his body." Draco didn't know what to say as Lupin turned towards him, finally settling on a feeble, "It was an accident. You probably don't believe me, but it was."

Lupin sighed. "It is a very difficult potion." That suggested he believed Draco, which seemed too much to hope for.

"No work today, of any kind," Draco ordered. "I made some potions for you."

Lupin took the first vial, but hesitated and gave Draco another searching look.

"For Merlin's sake," Draco said irritably. "If I'd botched the potion on purpose to harm you you'd be dead now."

Lupin said evenly, "I hope wanting to know what I'm drinking is not too much to ask," and Draco blushed.

"Oh, right. That one is a nourishing potion. It's easy on the stomach, so I think you won't have problems with it. The one I have is a strengthening potion." Lupin drank the potions and leaned back against the pillows, looking weary. Draco left the room at last and went to the washroom. On the way back towards the bedroom he spotted pieces of glass on the floor--the remains of the cup holding the last dose. He vanished the mess with a flick of his wand, wishing the rest of the mess was so easy to fix.

As dusk approached, Lupin said softly, "It's time," and struggled to his feet.

"Here, let me help you," Draco offered, but Lupin brushed his arm aside and walked under his own power to the trapdoor. His back was straight as he descended the ladder and closed the door.

There was no fury or blood-soaked rage in the werewolf's howls that night; only pain. It was like a rabbit being tortured. As Draco stood frozen above the sealed trapdoor, he could only think that the werewolf was dying. He was hearing Lupin's death cries, and all he could do was pull his robe tighter about himself and wait for morning.

Note: You should be pleased; I was tempted to end the chapter with Lupin's collapse.