25: The Aconite Maelstrom
Remus was almost certain that the walls of his classroom were not supposed to be moving, let alone in such a languid manner. And although he had never been a strict disciplinarian, he had plans to quite emphatically punish whomever it was who had decided to tilt the floor beneath his feet.
Watching the motion of the wall was making him queasy. But then again, right now watching sandpaper would probably make him queasy. All the same, perhaps if he looked somewhere else…
Blinking, Remus stared down at the swirling wood of his desk, fighting the turbulent nausea in his stomach, the shivers than ran like cold fingers through his bones and vibrant, dizzying maelstrom instead his head. Bloody aconite. Torrid did not even come close. Somewhere not so far away, fate was staring down and having a damned good laugh at his expense.
In a lifetime of sickness, of weariness, of almost constant ill health, he was not sure he had ever felt quite this bad. Even in the autumn term of his first stint at Hogwarts, when Snape had accidentally “ or so he claimed - mistaken the potency of the aconite dosage in his final goblet of potion, leaving him laid up for the entire weekend of his transformation and the controversial Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match; even then, he not felt this disorientated, this shaken. He was certain his precarious health of the week before had contributed to his current ill feeling. And to cap it off, he had been forced to awaken at some pretty obscene times of the night earlier in the week in order to take his doses at the now necessarily precise spacing, adding exhaustion to growing nausea and dizziness. That he was still standing was in itself an achievement.
Simple, straightforward pain he knew how to deal with. And tiredness was his way of life. But all this…
And it was only Wednesday. At this rate, he would be lucky to make Friday night alive.
“Ummm… Professor Lupin?”
The sound of a voice caused Remus to snap his head up “ at once, he bit his lip as his vision endeavoured to stop vibrating long enough for him to focus a coherent thought. Rows of pale, pulsating faces stared eerily back through the haze.
His class.
Bugger.
Lost for a moment in the odd kaleidoscope that was his mind at present, he had actually managed to forget they were there. To add to his confusion, Remus was fairly certain he had been teaching them something or other a few moments before. The details, however, rather embarrassingly eluded him.
Great. Just great.
Under normal circumstances, Remus would not have dreamed of trying to teach a class in this condition. But given that his current illness was entirely due to his own thoughtlessness, he did not dare go to Professor Dumbledore almost three full teaching days before his transformation and asked to be relieved, however god-awful a state he found himself in. He had made his bed and he would just have to lie in it.
Lie in bed. He wished.
“Professor?”
Class. Students. Right.
Miraculously, a name sprang through the tumult of his mind.
“Yes, Hermione?”
An earnest face surrounded by bushy brown hair swam into clarity. Her expression was a mixture of bemusement and concern.
“Professor Lupin,” she said cautiously. “Are you feeling all right?”
Leaning casually against his desk, Remus tried desperately to pretend it wasn’t the only thing propping him up. “Fine,” he lied pleasantly. “Why do you ask?”
Hermione’s eyebrows twitched “ there were several alarming giggles from further back in the room. Oh no, what have I done?
The Gryffindor prefect was exchanging glances with the messy haired bespectacled boy to her left. Harry. James’ son had dropped into Remus’ office earlier in the week, curious as to why he had not been present when he had dropped by to talk to him after the Quidditch match that weekend; not only had the Marauder’s Map given away his absence from the premises, Harry had also observed - from beneath the safe concealment of his invisibility cloak of course - a cursing Snape striding down the corridor and muttering foul comments about the irresponsibility of particular werewolves. Remus was certain he had made up some kind of story to cover himself without admitting his personal vendetta, but in his rather befuddled state, he really was at a loss to remember what.
But Harry was speaking. He should be paying attention.
“…were talking about curses and effective duelling technique, Professor,” the boy was staying, his tone uncertain. “But then you sort of just tailed off and started starring at the wall and then the desk. And you’ve been…well, swaying all lesson.”
Ah.
Remus managed to smile. “Well, I admit I have been a little under the weather today. But I’ll be fine, it’s nothing for you to worry about.” Determinedly, he drummed his hands against the table. “So… What was I saying?”
“Curses.” Hermione supplied with the barest hint of respectful impatience. “You were telling us why the conventional duelling curses such as expelliarmus and impedimenta aren’t always the wisest to use in an actual duel.”
Something stirred in Remus’ mind. Yes. He knew this.
“That’s right.” He scrambled to catch his elusive thread. “Though these curses are amongst the most common used in duelling, both professional and genuine, both have a major flaw in a scenario where speed may be of the essence. Can anyone tell me why?”
Hands shot disconcertingly into the air. Unable to distinguish much in the way of facial features, Remus took a guess at one hand he was certain would be waving.
“Hermione?”
The girl beamed at once. When more than her own hand was raised these days, she was rarely called on. “Because both spells take so long to say that they leave the dueller open to a faster attack?”
“Exactly.” Remus struggled to focus on his train of thought. “A shorter spell gets faster results and can disorientate an enemy long enough to allow time for a longer, more effective spell to be cast. With an agile enemy, the extra exposure of a more verbose spell can leave the dueller vulnerab… leave the duel…”
The room gave an ominous lurch. Even the pale blur of faces began to fade as the dancing of the walls intensified. Silver sparkles taunted the edges of his vision.
Remus bit down hard as he gritted his teeth and fought. No. I am not going to faint in class. I am not going to give Severus Snape the satisfaction.
“Professor Lupin? Professor Lupin!” Harry’s alarmed cry seemed to be coming from very far away. The rushing storm of colour that had swamped his eyes seemed to tilt. A moment later, something jarred painfully against his shoulder. Sparkles of silver and black overwhelmed his eyes…
And then voices. Distant, faraway, but gradually more distinct.
“…someone getting Madam Pomfrey?”
“Ernie and Justin went, I think. And Dean went for McGonagall…”
“Do you think he’s okay?”
“…was creepy. He just dropped…”
“Should we get Dumbledore too?”
“…tell he wasn’t well. He looked even worse than usual…”
“Maybe it’s a… a you know…werewolf thing…”
“I don’t like this…”
“...it is nearly full moon…”
“He looks awful…”
“…what’s the matter with him?”
“Maybe he’s not better from that feral attack yet…”
“...isn’t he coming round yet?”
“Poor Professor Lupin…”
Feeling followed sound in a sudden rush. Someone was gingerly tapping his face. The hardness of wooden floorboards pressed against his back. The tangle of voices, the dull roar of chatter of a shocked class, evened out and clarified. Abruptly, the tempest in his mind eased to a stiff breeze.
Realisation dawned. He’d fainted. In the middle of a lesson.
Oh no…
He groaned. There was a notable hush.
“Professor Lupin?” The voice belonged to Hermione. He suspected the hand tapping his face was also hers. Blinking against heavy eyelids, he managed to open his eyes.
A ring of faces gazed back down at him. He began to wish he’d kept his eyes shut.
A pair of glasses gleamed against the slant of autumnal light weaving its way into the classroom. Harry bent closer, his green eyes filled with concern.
“Are you all right, Professor?” he asked carefully. “You just blacked out for a moment.”
Remus took a deep breath as he struggled to find the strength to speak, to rise, to pull himself upright and get on with the lesson before Poppy and Minerva arrived to deepen his embarrassment. He was rather alarmed to find it wasn’t there.
Never again. I am never again taking Wolfsbane doses so close together. I’d sooner go back to using the Shrieking Shack.
The ring of faces gazing down at him had increased in number. All were exchanging glances of severe concern at his apparent inability to speak and reassure them.
At least it was this class I fainted in. A Slytherin class would probably have been far too busy falling about with laughter to care if I was hurt.
“Oh for goodness sake! Give the poor man some room!”
The faces abruptly scattered. The familiar form of Poppy Pomfrey filled his sight, bending low as she inspected her prone patient with a professional eye. And in the distance, beyond the reach of his eye, the distinctive Scottish drawl of Minerva McGonagall abruptly silenced the buzz of voices.
“Right! All of you pack up your things and head to the library. You will find yourself some books on whichever topics are relevant to the lesson Professor Lupin was giving and you will make notes and study. Anyone who does not will receive detention. I will be checking names with Madam Pince.” There was a pause. “Well? What are you waiting for?”
“Please, Professor.” Remus had enough of his faculties to recognise the voice of Neville Longbottom. “It’s just “ is Professor Lupin okay?”
When Minerva spoke again, her voice had lost a touch of its briskness. “He’s been a little unwell this week, Longbottom, that’s all. It’s nothing serious. He’ll be fine in a few days, I’m sure. Now run along, all of you. Madam Pomfrey knows what she’s doing.”
This time a reluctant shuffling followed her words, as books were swiped from tables, bags slung onto backs and footsteps rattled the floorboards as a muttering mass of teenagers hurried from the room. A moment later there was nothing but quietude.
Stern footsteps rattled the silence away, approaching with some haste “ a moment later, Minerva’s face had joined Poppy’s.
“Remus?” she said sharply. “Can you hear me?”
Forcing himself to concentrate, Remus finally regained nominal control of his powers of speech. “Yes,” he gasped, breathing hard. “I’m just having trouble…”
“Staying conscious? Moving? Not throwing up?” Poppy was regarding him sternly. “I’m not surprised. Albus told me that you were running close to the limit with your Wolfsbane this week. I would have offered you some potions to relieve the symptoms if I’d known you were feeling this bad, but being the foolish optimist I am, I assumed if you felt particularly unwell, you’d have had the sense to come and tell me. I should have known better though. I know you’ve been keeping odd hours to fit your doses in and I saw you picking at your breakfast like a bird this morning. Honestly! Hardly any food, hardly any sleep and on the limit of your body’s aconite tolerance, and you expect to waltz in here and teach a class as though nothing is the matter! For such a nice young man, you really are quite unbelievably stubborn.”
The heaviness that weighed down his limbs was receding at last; with a groan, Remus managed to push himself up onto his elbows to return the stares of the two formidable women who had known him since childhood with sheepish apology.
“Sorry,” he murmured weakly. “I’m sorry. I thought I could cope…”
Poppy humphed loudly, rummaging in her bag as Minerva regarded him with a mixture of irritation and relief over her spectacles.
“I’m sure you did,” she said dryly. “But one of these days, Remus, you’re going to realise that you don’t have to cope with everything by yourself.”
Stretching awkwardly and too tired to protest, Remus allowed Minerva to help him sit upright. Closing his eyes with a sigh, he leant back against his desk, rubbing a weary hand across his forehead.
“Remus.” A soft poke in the shoulder roused him. He opened his eyes to find a small vial, resting in the fingers of Poppy Pomfrey, was outstretched towards him.
“Drink it,” the Matron told him, her tone a little kinder. “It should relieve the worst of the dizziness. And when we get to the Hospital Wing, I’ll give you something for the nausea. It won’t take your symptoms away, only skim the edge off, but at least you should be able to manage until Friday without fainting again.”
Remus focussed in instantly on two words. “Hospital Wing?”
Poppy’s expression hardened once more. “Yes Remus, the Hospital Wing. Don’t worry, I don’t plan you keep you until Friday but I’d be negligent to say the least if I didn’t take a patient who had fainted in the middle of a class and check them over thoroughly, no matter if they are a professor or a pupil. And when I let you out, you’ll go straight to your chambers and rest. I’ll instruct the house-elves to bring you your meals there. I don’t expect to see you roaming about again until after the weekend, understand?”
Remus made a half-hearted effort to rise that was immediately thwarted. “But my classes…”
“Will be covered,” Minerva interrupted firmly. “I’ll speak to Albus…”
“No!” Both Poppy and Minerva looked startled at the sudden interruption. “I mean I’ll do it myself. I’ll speak to Albus. This is my own fault and I’d rather deal with it myself.”
Minerva gave him an exasperated look. “Remus, what was I just saying?”
At his almost pleading look however, the Deputy Headmistress gave way. “Oh, very well. But you better had request the rest of the week off, or I shall speak to Albus myself whatever looks you shoot at me.” She glanced across at Poppy. “Can you manage now? Only I left my seventh years under the nominal control of the Head Girl and probably ought to get back before they transfigure my classroom beyond recognition.”
Poppy nodded. “We’ll be fine.”
Rising from her crouch behind the desk with a stiff exclamation, Minerva half-started to move around the desk, but abruptly her expression darkened as her eyes fixed on the entrance.
“Who’s there?” she exclaimed sharply. “Show yourselves this instant!”
A moment later her features tightened with irritation. “Oh for goodness sake! Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, I distinctly recall telling you to go to the library on pain of detention. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have all three of you polishing silverware this evening.”
Harry’s voice drifted in from the corridor beyond. “But we were just worried…”
“About Professor Lupin?” Minerva interrupted sharply. “As was the rest of the class. Did you or did you not hear me tell Mr Longbottom that he was fine?”
“But…” This time the voice was Hermione’s. “He couldn’t speak…”
“I can now.” Ignoring Poppy’s glare of disapproval, Remus wrapped his hand around the edge of his desk and pulled himself unsteadily upright. Three pairs of eyes gazed at him with a mixture of confusion and concern from the doorway. Leaning forward against the desk, he smiled.
“Really, I’m fine,” he informed them softly. “I took a little too much Wolfsbane potion last night, that’s all “ the overdose of aconite is playing havoc with my system. It’s my own fault though, so I felt I ought to at least try and keep teaching.” His smile became rueful. “Not the best idea I’ve ever had, it seems. Once the full moon passes I’ll be all right though. But you probably won’t be seeing me again for the rest of the week.”
“Probably?” The stern gaze of Minerva McGonagall pinned him at once. “Definitely.”
Remus nodded a weary consent. “Point taken. Definitely no more teaching this week. I’d appreciate it if you could pass on to the rest of the class that I’m all right though. I’ll be back on Monday.”
Ron, Harry and Hermione exchanged a flurry of glances. Harry stepped forward, his green eyes filled with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay, professor?”
Remus opted for honesty. “Not really. But I’m as okay as I’m going to get until next week. Madam Pomfrey is taking me to the Hospital Wing for a few potions and then I’ll be retiring to my rooms to rest. I appreciate the concern, but I can look after myself.”
Remus chose to ignore the snorts from both Poppy and Minerva at this statement; he smiled resolutely through their scepticism. The three Gryffindors sighed and nodded reluctantly.
“Okay Professor,” Harry conceded. “See you next week then.”
“We hope you feel better soon,” Hermione added.
“Yeah, or we may end up having Snape substituting again!” Ron added with feeling, casting a glare at Hermione when she poked him in the ribs.
Remus couldn’t help but grin. “And so my place in your lives emerges. I am your buffer against extra lessons with Severus Snape.”
Ron grinned back sheepishly as Harry and Hermione laughed.
Their professor laughed too. “Go on, off to the library. See if you can find Duelling in the Real World by Danae Trebond. She was School Duelling Champion three years running when I was at Hogwarts and she taught James, Sirius and me that trick about short spells. It’s a useful book for this subject.”
Hermione’s eyes lit up at the recommendation of relevant reading material. Grabbing the two boys by the back of the robes, she nodded gratefully to Remus and hurried them away.
Minerva was smiling too. “Recommend a book. A sure fire way to move Hermione Granger in the direction of the library.”
“Never fails.” With a stretch, Remus pushed himself back to fully vertical, trying to ignore the aconite maelstrom swirling in his mind. He staggered slightly as Poppy caught his arm.
“As for you,” she declared sternly. “It’s time to go to the Hospital Wing.”
Tired, nauseous and dizzy, Remus did not bother to disagree. Instead, he obediently allowed himself to be guided around the desk and away into the corridor.
At least the Hospital wing had beds.
A/N: Enjoy the restfulness of this chapter “ it’s your last quiet one for a while…. ;)