Chapter Twenty Four- The Job Interview

Hermione stalked after Harry like an angry cat, all the way from Professor Dumbledore's office into the Gryffindor common room, past the fireplace where their friends were chatting, and up the narrow staircase into the boys' dorms, seething silently. She pushed the door shut behind them with a heavy thud, threw up a silencing ward and turned on Harry.

"Why didn't you say anything to Dumbledore?! You can't let him do this! He's potentially sending Lupin off to his death at the hands of some sick, twisted serial killer. Didn't you see how scared he looked? I can't believe you, Harry Potter! You have some nerve pretending to be on his side, and then sitting back and letting Dumbledore use him like that!"

Her voice grew louder and louder until she was shouting. Her wand was still in her hand and scarlet sparks flew from the tip as she waved her arms about. She began to pace up and down in front of Seamus and Dean's beds and her expression was livid.

"So much for protecting him! Or giving him a better life! I knew you were spending too much time holed up in Dumbeldore's office- is this what you've been learning from him? His stupid, bigoted attitude, where Remus is less than human and should know his place and is expendable?"

Harry flinched, even though he knew that that wasn't true. Hermione was so busy pacing that she didn't see. He clenched his fists, trying to control his anger at her for even thinking it. He knew that sometimes, like Ron, she blurted things out without considering the consequences. Few of their classmates would have believed that she could be so emotional and hot-headed but she took some things to heart, without the slightest grain of logic. If she would only calm down enough so that he could explain...

He listened, fuming, while she accused him of being the most hypocritical, cowardly, bigoted wizard to have ever lived. It was hard not to hear the Dursleys echoed in her voice, calling him ungrateful, lazy, scheming, sly and freakish. But he was used to being shouted at and verbally assaulted- he tried not to let the words touch him.

He waited until the tirade seemed to be winding down. When she finally fell silent, with her back to him, leaning against the windowsill for support and staring out across the Black Lake, he lay on his bed and stared up at the drapes.

"You've got it all wrong," he said, quietly.

She didn't even turn round. "How, Harry? Which part have I got wrong?"

"I do care. Remus is family and I'm doing my best not to let him down. But part of that is letting him make his own choices, when it's possible."

"But he doesn't make his own choices," Hermione said. "That's why you need to stick up for him. Merlin knows, he's not going to do it for himself. One word from Dumbledore or Mrs Tonks and he's all yes, sir and no, ma'am."

Harry had noticed this too and he still didn't know what to make of it. He could remember the level of antagonism between Andromeda and Remus during the summer and he couldn't fathom why that conflict would have morphed into a seemingly respectful distance. Andromeda didn't say much to the werewolf in Harry's presence but Remus himself was so deferential that it made Harry uncomfortable. He knew that Remus hated the whole slavery thing, so why would he act so much the part of a slave? What was going on between the pair?

"I don't understand that," Harry agreed, "but it's true. And I know that sometimes I'll need to step in. But this wasn't one of those times."

"Why not?" Hermione said, meeting his eyes with an accusatory glare.

"I don't want Remus to do it any more than you do, but you saw how insistent Dumbledore was."

"You should have tried to talk him out of it."

"I wasn't going to be able to change his mind by arguing with him in front of the entire Order. I can't look like I'm trying to undermine his authority- not if I want any of them to take me seriously."

"Lupin can't afford for you to throw him to the wolves for political advantage! That Fespwitch woman was obviously abusive and Professor Lupin had to live with her for years. And now Dumbledore wants to send him back to his abuser, who is highly capable of murdering him!"

Hearing it said aloud, bluntly and without mincing words, settled a cold pit of fear in Harry's stomach. But he would never let it come to that. Remus was his responsibility now and he couldn't let anything happen to him.

"I can't believe that you're going to let him!" she blurted out. "You are just as bad as Dumbledore is!"

She fell abruptly silent. Her hand flew to her mouth, as though she could stop the words that had already left it.

"Harry...I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"No, you obviously did mean it or you wouldn't have said it."

"I just meant...I was angry. I just...Why didn't you try to talk him out of it anyway? You care for Lupin, I know you do."

"You didn't say anything either!"

"He wouldn't have listened to me! But you could make sure that Remus couldn't do it."

"How? By ordering him not to, and taking away his free will? I didn't think you'd be one to approve of that. What if he decides he's willing to take the risk?"

She sank down onto Harry's bed and slumped over, defeated. She drew in a deep, steadying breath and then exhaled slowly. He watched in silence as she calmed herself down. Eventually, she straightened up slightly and squared her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I should have thought better of you. I always over-react."

"Well, at least you waited until you weren't around Remus this time."

She winced, remembering the frank conversation back during the summer when Remus had discovered her with that ridiculous pink hair. At least she had been able to mend her bridges with the werewolf and, in the end, he didn't seem to have held it against her. She wasn't about to put them both through that again.

Harry continued, "It makes him really uncomfortable when you kick up a fuss."

"I know. I've been trying to control myself." Her lips twitched upwards in a hint of smile. "Obviously I've not been doing very well."

"He knows how much you care, even if you go about showing it the wrong way."

Harry turned his gaze from the ceiling and looked over at Hermione, who was frowning down at him with waves of brown hair cascading over her shoulders. The lamps behind her cast her in a glow of soft light.

"I'll talk to Remus tomorrow morning and see if he's thought up a plan that's reasonably safe. If not, I'll go to Dumbledore. But this could be really important for the war effort, and for Professor Snape."

"It'll never be safe if that woman is involved."

Harry nodded. "We'll see what Remus says. He knows her better than we do. He'll have the choice, Hermione. If he doesn't want to do it, I'll put my foot down and I'll make sure that Dumbledore can't coerce him."

She nodded slightly and Harry managed not to sigh with relief. Falling out with his best friend was not something he wanted.

She drew her knees up to her chin and hugged her legs.

"Did you know? That he lived with a Death Eater?"

Harry shook his head. "I knew that it was a Dark family. Her husband's name was on Remus' papers but I didn't know who he was or that they were Death Eaters. I didn't really know anything about them."

"I can't imagine...they must have been awful."

"He's never talked about them."

They both mused on this for a moment. Harry was thinking of his own reluctance to talk about the Dursleys and how ashamed and weak they had made him feel. He knew that Remus struggled with self-confidence and he supposed that that had been drummed into the werewolf in childhood as well.

She half-whispered, "If she tortures Muggles for fun, what do you think she does to werewolves?"

"Werewolves are useful," Harry said. "And valuable. I'm sure she wouldn't have..."

But he wasn't sure. From what he had read in the Ministry's manual, the raising of werewolf cubs used borderline torture as a conditioning technique on a regular basis. He had hoped that Remus had been lucky enough not to live through such harsh treatment but that hope had evaporated upon hearing the werewolf's reluctant confession at the Order meeting.

He wasn't about to tell Hermione anything that he had read about werewolf childhoods though. He might not have her intelligence but he was smart enough to know that some things were better kept to himself.

"I wonder why they sent him to Hogwarts," she mused. "It doesn't seem like something Death Eaters would do."

Harry set his jaw resolutely, "I'm not going to ask him and you shouldn't either."

"Why not?"

"I don't want him to feel forced to talk about it. We don't know how much of the past is painful memories for him. And we have no right to ask stuff like that."

"You're right. Our questions could hurt him," Hermione realised. "But still. I wonder what the story is."

With a few days of discussion and planning under their belts and Harry's grudging consent, Remus and Kreacher apparated over to Knockturn Alley. The diminutive house-elf led the way beneath the shadows of shop awnings and over crooked cobblestones and drains clogged with filth, as they wound their way down the gloomy shopping alley. Their destination lay at the very end, nestled in the corner beside a vampire bar and the high wall between the wizarding district and Muggle London. The door was narrow and cobwebs caught in their clothes as they brushed through.

The apothecary was barely lit but Remus could still pick out the yellowed parchment signs on the shelves around him. The scents of ingredients assaulted him from all sides, ranging from the brilliantly fragrant to stomach-churningly vile. Some he recognised from Slughorn's class, some from Severus' long-ago tutoring sessions, but the majority smelled strange and exotic.

He could smell Kreacher's joy, as the elf pawed through a basket of dried berries, already following the script they had planned out. The twisted little soul had been ecstatic at the chance to lie blatantly to a wizard and serve their master while doing so.

"It's the right thing," Kreacher hissed, failing to be quiet.

The sound was too loud in the empty shop and it would have made Remus jump if he hadn't been expecting it. Remus elbowed him, channelling his inner child. Though he had rarely behaved so foolishly, even when he was a child. "No, it's not. Those are elderberries, not bilberries."

"Master's list describes it," Kreacher argued. "Remus thinks that just because he can brew Master's potions he knows better than poor old Kreacher."

"I do know better," Remus replied, voice rising in exasperation.

The house elf was waving the shopping list about, though how he could read it in the apothecary's gloomy interior was a mystery. Remus could barely decipher Harry's handwriting in broad daylight. Kreacher's voice rose, piercingly shrill, exactly to plan.

"Kreacher just wants to serve Master but Remus-"

The elf cut off abruptly as a floorboard creaked behind them. A throat was cleared and they both turned slowly to find the apothecary's owner standing with a stern expression on his whiskered face. Remus felt like laughing with sheer giddiness, but he made sure the man saw only skittishness.

"Are you two supposed to be in here?" he asked, fixing them both with disapproving stares.

Kreacher's ears flattened against the side of his head. Remus could smell the man's irritation but he didn't seem to be particularly angry. A fair mix of curiosity and amusement was present as well, which boded well for their purpose. Exactly as they had planned.

"Our master sent us for potions ingredients, sir," Remus supplied quickly, "but we don't know what everything on the list is."

The man snorted, "No, I'd imagine you wouldn't. Give it here."

He inspected the parchment, holding it between two fingers as bloated and fat as sausages. His brow wrinkled, and he adjusted his wire-framed glasses slightly.

"Your master has terrible penmanship. Would one of you care to translate?"

Remus pushed Kreacher out of the way as they both stepped forwards. The house-elf trod on his toes, hard and vicious. The werewolf simply ignored him- he was used to worse pain.

"That's cod liver oil, and that's dried newt tails. Then powdered doxy wings, icelandic moss and a vial of hippogriff tears."

He squinted at a smear of ink and bit his lip. If he turned his head slightly to the left...

"Whettlestone," he read off.

"It says whalebone," Kreacher argued, poking Remus in the kneecap with sharp fingertips.

"No, it doesn't!" Remus snapped, finally losing the rag. "Why would it say whalebone? What possible potion would he want whalebone for?"

"Kreacher doesn't know but Kreacher can read Master's handwriting better than smelly, disobedient Remus can. Kreacher saw how Remus treated the old master. Remus is a disgrace to Master-"

"Shut up!" the werewolf hissed, sounding almost panicked. "I am not."

"Are so!"

"Am not!"

"Are so!"

"Enough!" the human shouted. "For Merlin's sake, I thought elves and wolves were meant to get on. This is ridiculous. You're behaving like children."

Both creatures jumped at the yell and the werewolf took a startled step backwards. He had not expected the sudden rise in volume and his ears throbbed. But it seemed that everything was going well. He just had to hope that the rest of their prepared script would manipulate the human into the desired decision.

"Kreacher and Remus are friends," the house elf said, sounding as though the words had been pulled out of him.

"We're sorry, sir," Remus added, similarly reluctant. "That was unacceptable of us."

"If I was anyone else, I'd be hexing you both for the disrespect you've just shown me."

The shopkeeper watched with satisfaction as they both paled.

"I must admit, I've never seen you lot acting naturally before. So this is the real personality beneath all the decorum that's been beaten into you over the years, eh?"

The apothecary almost regretted the offhand comment when he saw the werewolf flinch. Strangely, the house elf seemed unaffected but perhaps their master played favourites. That could be the root of their constant bickering. He'd heard that the training of werewolves was cruel to the point of complete brutality whereas house elves embraced their enslavement from childhood. He dismissed the thought easily, unconcerned about the insignificant creatures. He had a sale to complete.

The required ingredients were easily found on his shelves and he placed them on the counter-top while the creatures watched, silent. He consulted the largely illegible list for order quantities and parcelled the items separately in layers of brown paper. For some potions, the ingredients had to be kept strictly segregated before use.

"That will be seven galleons and six knuts." He could see clearly the werewolf's shock at the expense but knew that wolves rarely handled even small change, and never had much concept of the worth of money. Potions supplies weren't cheap. "I take it that the elf holds the purse strings here?"

Sure enough, the little house elf stepped up to the counter and pulled a moneybag out from under his crisp pillowcase. Unlike some customers, it seemed to know that he didn't tolerate hagglers. It counted out the coins carefully, watched with shrewd eyes as he counted out and returned his change, and scrutinised the receipt with an obvious degree of mistrust.

He watched them head for the door, reluctant to let them out of his sight- more out of habit than any concern that they might steal from him. Some of his clientele thought little of engaging in shop-lifting but he knew that the creatures would not. Yet still he watched them, inexplicably fascinated by the pair. The strangeness of their interactions intrigued him. Was this normal for slaves? Why did the house-elf seem to be the one valued more by their master, when everyone knew that werewolves were worth ten times as much? They had once sold at auction for fortunes before such practises were banned.

Before stepping out into the bustling alley, the pair paused to distribute their packages more evenly. He could still hear their mutterings, drifting back on the draught from the open door.

"Kreacher told Remus this was the best place. Master will be pleased with Kreacher," he heard the elf say snidely. "Not like stupid Remus that no one wants to hire. Kreacher isn't an uppity werewolf that no one wants."

"Shut up," the wolf murmured.

"Remus isn't allowed to tell Kreacher to shut up. Kreacher will tell the master about Remus' disrespect and Remus will be punished."

The elf sounded positively gleeful about the prospect of landing his fellow slave in trouble. Later, the apothecary could not have said why he did it. Perhaps it was the hurt evident on the creature's face or the way it bowed its head ashamedly. Maybe it was just his lingering curiosity.

"Wolf?" he called out.

The creature turned sharply, suddenly wary. It's eyes glinted yellow in the half-light.

"I'm looking for a boy to help around the place. To clean and chop ingredients and sometimes serve customers if it gets busy. Would you be interested?"

For a moment, the werewolf simply gaped, and then a cautious smile spread across its gaunt face. The eyes softened, wrinkling round the edges.

"I would love to, sir."

"And your master will agree to it?"

The wolf nodded emphatically. "Definitely. I'll do a good job, I promise. I'm a hard worker. I won't let you down!"

He tried to hold a stern expression in the face of its enthusiasm. "See that you don't."

Remus waited until they reached the mouth of Knockturn Alley and then he started laughing. At his elbow, he heard Kreacher's muffled sniggering.

"That was almost too easy! Why didn't I think of that before?"

"Humans are thick as troll snot," Kreacher agreed.

A passing wizard glared at the house elf but, catching sight of a nearby hag, didn't stop to make an issue of the comment.

Remus grinned, "Did you see the look of pity on his face? We played him like a fiddle!"

"I'd love to, sir. Yes, sir. I'll be a good boy, sir," Kreacher squeaked, wheezing now with laughter. "Merlin and Morgana, Remus is brilliant. Kreacher didn't know!"

"Just because I don't usually need to, doesn't mean that I can't put up a front with the best of them," Remus said.

"Kreacher knows now. Kreacher hasn't had such fun since old Mistress Black let him slip potions in Fudge's tea."

"Oh, you have to tell me this story."