Papers in the Roadside

Chapter Four

Papers in the Roadside

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September 21, 2003

Hermione blinked twice and rubbed her eyes, trying to push past the haze of her champagne headache as she walked through the underground. It had been a serious miscalculation to think that a brisk walk to work, rather than the traditional Apparition, would serve to clear her head. The bright sunshine was blinding to her poor, stress-dilated eyes and the result was ... unsettling.

For the second time that week, she thought she glimpsed Severus Snape on the street.

Chalking it up to an overactive imagination filling in the gaps in her questionable vision, she firmly shoved down the myriad emotions the sighting had stirred within her.

'Hermione, what's the matter?' asked Augustus. 'You're very pale, are you ill?'

Hermione hung up her cloak and rested her head on her desk.

The strain ... it must be the stress of everything...

'I'm fine. I had a late night last night, that's all. How are we coming?'

Augustus checked the small egg timer on their workstation. Ah, technology.

'Looks like another three minutes. Shall I read the paper to you to pass the time? There is an article I think you may find quite interesting in particular.'

The moon would officially change phase at 10:12 a.m. Though there wouldn't be any werewolves making the transformation until the moon rose, the viral matter would become active as soon as the moon became full.

It was 10:09.

Augustus read the article in the Prophet out loud to her.

'Listen to this: "Uriah Smeichari, vampire liaison to the Association for the Rights of All Beings, disavows any knowledge of the murderer's activities and denies any connection between the conclave in which Worple lived for three years to research his book, Blood Brothers: My Life Among The Vampires (for related story, see page 11), and the murders. Said Smeichari: 'Mr. Worple is clearly a very ill man. We in the Association have the deepest sympathy for the families of the victims but refuse to make this a vampire issue.'''

Hermione let out a short laugh of vindication.

'I'll bet Uriah has been trying to reach me for hours. I can't wait to see him try to talk his way out of this one.'

'Oh, my,' Augustus began. 'It says here that members of the Wizangamot are calling for the revocation of the anti-werewolf legislation.'

'Well it's about time.'

'Do you think Worple is really insane?'

Hermione said nothing.

'I mean, it says here that he was going on and on about the other vampires...that he had been told to do it...is he raving or do you think...'

Hermione stopped him.

'Augustus, I have no idea. I met him once a long time ago. He seemed sane enough to me...predatorily ambitious, but then it was at a party hosted by Horace Slughorn.'

Augustus returned to scanning the headlines of the paper.

Hermione held her breath as she watched the sand in the timer run out. For a long moment neither of them said anything, as they waited for the other to make the first move toward the experiment.

Augustus gestured broadly for Hermione to have the first look. She swallowed the lump in her throat and leaned forward to observe the potential cure.

A few globules of greenish-gray potion were all that were immediately visible. Hermione's heart began to pound.

'What is it?' Augustus asked.

Not answering him, she blindly groped for the extra lenses, sliding a stronger magnification into place. Focusing, she looked closer at the blobs.

The virus, or what was left of it, was dead, dissolving in the potion.

'Hermione, what's going on?'

Hermione straightened and looked at Augustus, shock evident on her face.

'We did it.'

'WHAT? Let me see that...'

Augustus looked through the lens at the decaying viral matter.

'Oh my God ... oh my God...'

A few moments later, both respected researchers were leaping up and down, shouting and carrying on enough to earn both of them a sharp reprimand from the hospital administration.

Of course, there was very little to be done when the administration joined in.

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September 26, 2003

St. Mungo's Hospital, London...A spokeswitch for St. Mungo's announced today that researchers have discovered what appears to be a cure for the lycanthropy virus. The virus, responsible for the transformation of people into animals when infected (most notably wolves), was discovered in 1897 by French wizard, Louis Pasteur ... The cure was developed by Hermione Granger, Healer-in-charge of St. Mungo's Research and Development and Augustus Pye, Healer-in-charge of the Dai Llewellyn ward. (For a related story on Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin, first class, see page 12) ... The Ministry of Magic is expected to comment on the discovery this afternoon (see 'Order of Merlin for Granger and Pye?' page 6). The cure is expected to go into wide-scale production at the end of next month. Small batches are available for immediate distribution to the elderly, frail, and extremely young (5 and younger). For more information, please Floo Griselda Thomas, Public Health Specialist at St. Mungo's.

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September 29, 2003

Ministry of Magic, London...In a surprising press conference at the Ministry this afternoon, Uriah Smeichari, vampire liaison to the Association for the Rights of All Beings, announced the organization's protest of the new lycanthropy cure created by ARAB's own Hermione Granger. Neither Ms. Granger nor werewolf liaison, Roman White, could be reached for comment. On the subject of the cure, Smeichari had this to say: 'We in the Association find this news disturbing and offensive. We are shocked and surprised that Ms. Granger, who has always shown such an interest in the social causes of werewolves, would have concealed her work...and her apparent bias...from this organization. Werewolves do not need to be cured. They have as much right to their way of life as any other magical being. What our society needs is tolerance and understanding of our lycan brethren...not to be labeled as "diseased" by supposed allies.' (For more on Granger's alleged ties to pureblood interest groups, see page 7)...

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October 6, 2003

Chapel of the Merlin on the Green, London...Following the revocation of Ministry Decree number twenty-eight for the restriction and regulation of werewolves in Great Britain and Northern Ireland, the Banns were read for a number of werewolves and their partners eager to be married. Among them were ex-werewolf Remus J. Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, daughter of Theodore and Andromeda Tonks nee Black. Though Lupin, being among the first recipients of the controversial lycanthropy cure, was no longer an active werewolf, he and his fiancée opted to wait until the decree was revoked as a show of solidarity with those who were still affected by the law. According to sources close to the couple, they are taking a well-deserved break from activism to enjoy their honeymoon in an undisclosed location...

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October 20, 2003

St. Mungo's, London...A young boy is near death after receiving the lycanthropy cure this morning. 'It was terrible,' says healer Bran Smythwick, who administered the potion. 'I've never seen anything like it. He began to asphyxiate on the spot. Then the tremors began. He seized for close to an hour. He is fortunate that he isn't brain dead.' Hospital staff has ruled out an allergic reaction from their diagnosis and are now looking into the possibility of contamination. While the current supply of the cure is being tested for foreign substances, administration of the potion has been suspended indefinitely...

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October 20, 2003

Ministry of Magic, London...In a surprising move today, Uriah Smeichari, speaking on behalf of the Association for the Rights of All Beings, announced that Hermione Granger and Roman White have been removed from leadership of the organization. 'We feel that in light of recent events and Miss Granger's continued involvement in the promotion of the lycanthropy cure the time has come for us to part ways. We will remember proudly their legacy in founding our organization as well as those first, small victories. As we continue to move into the twenty-first century, however, it is vital that all our leadership have a clear vision of what we stand for.' When asked for comment, Granger replied 'You can't sack the willing.'

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October 28, 2003

Azkaban Prison, The North Sea...In a startling turn of events in the trial of the suspected mass-murderer Eldred Worple, the accused was found dead in his cell yesterday morning before his first scheduled appearance in court. A note found beside the body has led officials to rule the death a suicide.

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November 12, 2003

'Now drink it all down this time, Magda, or it won't work.'

'It tastes terrible...'

'Would you rather stay a werewolf?'

The octogenarian looked askance at Hermione.

'Give it here.'

She was only eighty-four...middle aged for a witch...but her appearance bore more directly in common with a Muggle woman of her age. Years of excruciating transformations had not aged Magda Dolworthy well.

Magda downed the concoction in one. Though she had taken the cure a month prior, it had not taken effect...largely because she had retched most of the foul tasting brew back onto the floor. It was ghastly from all accounts, but anyone who had become accustomed to drinking the Wolfsbane potion once a month should have had no cause for complaint.

Hermione strongly suspected that Magda had been neglecting her potion for quite some time.

Magda looked somewhat peaky, but a few moments later it appeared to pass. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. It had taken weeks to get the smell of regurgitated potion out of the floorboards.

'Congratulations, Magda, you are a free woman.'

She smiled and extended her hand which the woman ignored, embracing her firmly instead.

'Thank you, love. Thank you.'

Hermione awkwardly patted her on the back.

'Not at all.'

As Magda took her leave, Hermione put the kettle on in anticipation of the usual crowd of visitors. The shelter, now mostly emptied, was quiet except for the bubbling of the water.

'Magda leave, then?' asked Ron, emerging from the curtained partition that separated the kitchen/laboratory from the rest of the shelter.

Hermione nodded in response, sipping her own brew and staring into the middle distance. It had been a very trying day. First had been the inquiry at St. Mungo's to deal with the potioning incident. The cure was banned from production...that much she had expected to hear. Fortunately it turned out that her celebrity made her more of a political asset than liability so her fears of being turned out and stripped of her licensure came to nothing. Then came the bombshell that she was being put on probation and her storeroom privileges revoked in response to pressure from 'above'. Who, aside from the Ministry, that would be considered above the hospital administrators was beyond her, but she bore the indignity with as much good grace as she could muster. She did still need the job, after all. Then, to cap off her day, just as she was arriving at the shelter to do a bit of figuring on her situation, Magda Dolworthy showed up, looking much worse for the wear and asking if she happened to still have the cure. Despite every inclination to turn the baggage out on her ear for wasting her time, her compassionate nature ruled and invited her in for a second dose. While she attended her, Ron had arrived, ruining her only chance for any peace and quiet that day. She tried so hard not to blame him...which shouldn't have been difficult considering he really had nothing to do with her present difficulties...but resenting him was a temptation she couldn't resist.

At the moment, however, he appeared immune to her scowls.

Ron poured himself a cup of tea as Roman and Remus entered, loaded down with parcels of various shapes and sizes...provisions for the coming week.

'D'you see the papers, Hermione?' Roman asked, throwing a copy of the Prophet on the table. 'Apparently you're now banned from producing the lycanthropy cure altogether.'

She tried valiantly not to grind her teeth.

'It has been brought to my attention, yes,' she replied evenly. 'Not that it matters in the slightest. Even discounting the people we've cured, our numbers are lower than they've ever been. If they aren't coming to us for help then we can't help them, potion or not. Magda makes the last of the regulars, and it's not as if every werewolf in Britain doesn't know where to find us. I'm afraid some of them are starting to believe the rubbish that Uriah is spreading...'

'Magda was here? That woman is a menace,' Roman ranted. 'You wouldn't believe how close she came to infecting people when she transformed. It was like she'd never even taken the potion.'

'I think it's very likely that she wasn't taking it. She only came here for the potion the once,' she replied, voice deliberately calm.

'Wasn't she registered at St. Mungo's?' asked Ron.

'If she was I never saw her. The few times she came here she was completely unable to stomach the stuff. Hell, she barely kept the cure down this time.'

'Oh, dear God,' breathed Remus.

Hermione allowed everyone to pause for a moment to consider the implication of their housing an un-potioned werewolf for a year and a half.

'Well, she's not a lycan now, so we don't have to worry about her anymore,' stated Roman, raising his cup.

'Here, here,' chorused everyone.

A moment later, the newly christened Nymphadora ('It's Dora or I'll hex your bollocks off') Lupin walked in.

'Now here's a sober looking lot. Who died?' she asked. She attempted to throw her cloak over a chair and missed. Shrugging in resignation, she poured herself a cup of tea and took a seat beside her husband.

'No one, thank God,' answered Remus. 'Is Harry coming?'

'Dora' took a sip of her tea and nodded.

'Soon enough. Said he had a few things to finish up and we're to go ahead and start without him.'

'Right,' began Roman. 'So what do we know so far?'

'Well, quite a lot, actually,' said Ron, removing a tattered notebook from his pocket.

Hermione's eyes widened. Not only had he prevented her from preparing for the meeting, Ron actually prepared notes. It was galling! Either she was slipping or Ron was finally applying himself. Oh, how she hoped it was the latter.

'You prepared notes?' asked Remus.

Ron shrugged his shoulders.

'By all means, proceed then,' said Remus encouragingly.

Ron nodded solemnly and continued, flipping through his notebook.

'Well, so far,' he began, 'we've pretty much established there's some sort of conspiracy between the Ministry and vampires to subjugate all the werewolves in Britain...'

Roman interrupted.

'Hold on a minute. How'd you figure that?'

'Well it's quite simple, really. They hushed up the information on the bodies, held back the cure, and made all those laws. The Ministry has to be involved at a very high level,' he replied.

'Right, go on,' said Remus.

'And it's obvious now that if the vampires didn't kill all those people themselves that they certainly set Worple up to take the fall...only they didn't count on him being quite so mouthy about it. Not to mention the business with Smegma...'

'Smeichari,' Hermione corrected.

'...booting Hermione out of her own organization.'

'Right, we know all that,' said Roman, 'But where do you get the idea that they're conspiring to enslave the lot of us?'

'Who ever is behind this is really for the anti-werewolf laws and against the cure. If they just wanted all the werewolves out of Britain, why oppose the potion?'

Hermione was impressed.

'Ron, I'm impressed,' she said. 'You've really given this a lot of thought.'

Ron blushed crimson.

'Well, outside of one memorable month you spent as a cat, I've never known you to botch anything you brewed. It wasn't hard to figure that someone had contaminated that batch of potion to get you in trouble. I thought this whole mess was over once they captured Worple but it isn't, and I don't like the idea that someone might have it in for you.'

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat as everyone stared at her, smiling those knowing smiles, and tried to think of something to say.

The door opened.

'Wotcher, Harry. What's the news?'

Harry entered and sat without removing his cloak.

'How'd the inquiry go today, Hermione?' Harry asked, apropos of nothing.

Warily, she replied, 'Fine. The administration said they knew I wasn't to blame for the bad batch, but that they were under a lot of pressure to discontinue the potion. I've been put on probation and had my storeroom privileges revoked temporarily.'

'You were put on probation?' Harry asked, clearly unsettled.

Hermione was not at all comforted by his reaction.

'Yes, but with the way everything has been at St. Mungo's since that incident, it didn't come as much of a surprise. It's hospital politics, Harry, that's all.'

'Did they say anything else about your work over the next few months?'

'Not that I recall, no. They told me to report directly to them tomorrow morning for my reassignment.'

Harry appeared to ruminate on this for a moment before announcing, 'You and Roman are going to be followed beginning tomorrow morning until further notice.'

'WHAT?' they chorused in unison.

'Harry, you can't be serious!' said Hermione. 'It's just a minor inconvenience, that's all.'

'Hermione, can you brew potions while on probation?' Harry asked.

'No, the other staff will have to see to that while...Harry, where are you going?'

Harry stopped just before the door. Without meeting her eyes, he said, 'Maybe someone is just being particularly vindictive in going after your livelihood. There may be a chance, however, that whoever is behind this is concerned that you and Roman may organize resistance to whatever they're planning.'

Hermione paled.

'You seem awfully sure about this, Harry,' said Roman. Harry ran his hand through his hair in an agitated fashion. Kneeling beside Hermione's chair, he lowered his voice to a whisper.

'I intercepted a message this morning, before your inquiry, from Scrimgeour to the administrative board at St. Mungo's. He ordered that you were to be kept busy and isolated over the coming months and that under no circumstance were you to have access to potions equipment or supplies. He also said that additional precautions would be taken if you continued your association with Roman.'

'Harry, you're frightening me. What sort of precautions?'

Harry stood and straightened his cloak, looked from Hermione to Roman and strode quickly to the door.

'You're going to be followed until further notice,' he called back over his shoulder.

And with that, he left.

---

Everyone stayed at the shelter for another hour making small talk and digesting Harry's news. Hermione was accustomed to having to deal with bad publicity. It was far more comforting to think her probation was a result of media pressure rather than from some nebulous villain seemingly afraid of her potions skills. That especially seemed an odd thing to fear. If she had been a famous duelist or a great strategist, maybe she could see being perceived as a threat. But as it was? She was a bloody swot, and it had been a damn long time since she'd been in fighting shape. What the hell did these people think she was brewing, biological weapons?

'Hermione, I need to get going, are you sure I can't walk you?' Roman asked one last time.

'Quite sure, love.' Hermione looked into those fiercely caring eyes and was struck by remorse so deep it made her chest ache. 'Roman ... I'm so very sorry I've dragged you into all of this...'

Roman gestured and cut her off.

'Save it, Hermione. Do you remember when we first met?'

She smiled.

'Like it was yesterday. I was pamphleting Diagon Alley. Well, littering, more like ... and then you saw me from across the street...the first one all day that listened to a thing I was saying! And you grabbed a handful of flyers that blew your way and started shouting at the top of your lungs...'

'War heroine decries Ministry oppression! Scrimgeour was an advocate of Death Eater pacification...don't let him sell your rights away!' Roman shouted in a close approximation of his street voice.

Laughing, she said, 'I'd never seen such a thing! You bellowing at people on the street, getting right up in their faces, confronting them with all that righteous fury! I thought you were making fun of me at first...'

'Never. You were brilliant out there. Reminded me of my civilly disobedient youth.

'Hermione,' he said softly, 'being a minority means that, inevitably, there will always be choices of fight or flight. But as long as there has ever been the slightest chance that fighting the good fight would spare one soul a single iota of the pain that I've had to endure living in this maddening, Victorian, hypocrisy we call the Wizarding World ... well ... flight has never truly been an option.'

'Nor for me.'

He smiled. 'Then we understand each other. Good night, Hermione.'

'Good night, Roman.'

---

Alone in the shelter, Hermione quickly assembled the interior wards, eager to get home. Locking the door behind her, she began to put up the exterior wards when she was suddenly covered in a shower of pebbles.

'What the...' She looked up too late. A sudden, crushing blow to her shoulders forced her to her knees. Hermione lost her grip on her wand and it dropped out of sight. She scrambled to face her opponent, unwilling to keep him at her back while she searched for her wand. A black-cloaked figure leered at her, feral grin displaying an impressive pair of gleaming, white fangs.

Her mind screamed Accio! and her wand dutifully found her hand. A point-blank Stunner absorbed harmlessly into his undead body. Panic began to take hold. Before Hermione was able to recall anything in memory that might possibly help, movement behind the monster's left shoulder caught her eye. The vampire saw her glance behind him and turned fast enough for Hermione not to perceive any movement at all. The shadowy figure brandished a wand and slashed at the air as the vampire flew straight up as if pulled by invisible strings. In that instant her breath was taken from her as searing pain flared across her chest and blood began to course down her torso. Weakly, Hermione sank to her knees, as consciousness began to slip away. There was a sensation of falling, but inexplicably she never seemed to meet the ground. In a fleeting moment of lucidity, she became aware of a pair of arms bearing her up and a face that had haunted her dreams and nightmares alike for the last six years. His name was the last thing to cross her lips before finally succumbing to unconsciousness.

'Severus...'

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