It was the last class of the day and Marcy was having a very difficult time concentrating. The NEWT Potions class was generally her favorite, but today she couldn't seem to keep her head in her work at all.
"Professor?" A timid voice snapped her back to reality. Violet Nott was standing in front of her desk, twisting her hands nervously.
"Yes, Miss Nott?" Marcy said, realizing belatedly that this was the girl's third attempt to get her attention.
"Erm- my poison seems to be more than one poison mixed together."
Marcy smiled proudly- it had barely taken the girl ten minutes- and clapped her hands to get the attention of the class. "Class, as Miss Nott has pointed out, your poisons are, in fact, a blend of several poisons."
A confused murmur arose as several of the students flipped to the appropriate section in their textbooks. "According to Golpalott's Third Law…" she prompted
"The antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components," recited Angela Goldstein.
Marcy winced; she hated when textbook definitions were spouted at her, but the girl certainly had an impressive memory. "10 points to Ravenclaw," she said briskly. "Now who can tell me what that means?" She scanned the classroom for hands. "Mr. Laffol?"
"I think," he began his lazy, aristocratic drawl. "That what Mr. Golpalott is telling us is that the antidote to a blended poison is the antidotes of all of the poisons, only with an ingredient added."
"Excellent, 10 points to Slytherin." She tapped the board with her wand and quills came out, ready to take notes.
With a grin, Marcy perched on the edge of her desk, her favourite lecturing position. "In order to begin this process, one first has to identify the poisons that comprise the mixture. Fortunately, a spell has been developed to aid you in that process.
"The spell is known as Scarpin's Revelaspell, and the incantation is 'Specialis Revelio'. The spell separates the poisons back into the original ones that make up the mixture. They can then be bottled and analysed in order to proceed to the next step."
She paused, and then asked, "I assume that you have begun to cover nonverbal spells, is that correct?"
There was a ripple of nods.
"Excellent, because this spell is a nonverbal." Looks of dismay passed around the classroom.
"I will first teach it to you verbally, so that you can learn the wand motion and pronunciation, as this spell is not one that I would expect you to learn on your own. Once you have that down, you will proceed to attempt it nonverbally."
She hopped off the desk and stood in the middle of the room. "Wands out, please." She rolled up the heavy satin sleeves of her robes.
"The correct pronunciation of this spell is 'specia-LIS RE-velio', emphasis on the last syllable of the first word and the first syllable of the second word. Write this down."
There was a quick scratching of quills on parchment. "Now for the wand motion. I will tell you what to do, and then I will demonstrate as many times as necessary. You will begin with a controlled sweep from right to left on the word 'specialis' and then return to center and give a slight jab by the first syllable of 'revelio' and then finish the incantation."
Marcy demonstrated the technique slowly, enunciating the spell so that the students could see when the wand movements came in. Fortunately, they were all taking NEWT Charms as well, and learned rather quickly.
"Now, everyone please return to your sample. Each of you must have six vials ready before you try out the spell nonverbally. Once you have succeeded in separating the poisons from one another, place a Stasis Charm on each vial, label it, and place it on my desk. Begin."
Marcy sat down behind her desk and fingered the piece of parchment that she had kept on her person since receiving it. It was simple note, only three words, but those three words, coupled with the fact that tonight was a full moon, were making her unduly anxious.
She pulled the note out and studied the rough handwriting once more. "We'll be there."
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Dressing for dinner took Marcy longer than it usually did, as she had other things on her mind than fashion.
"No, no, NO!" her mirror scolded when she stepped out of the bathroom. "You cannot wear dragon-hide boots with white robes, and the silver jewelry does not go well at all. And you cannot wear hooded robes to dinner."
"I must," Marcy said firmly. "The hood and boots are non-negotiable, as is the silver."
The mirror sighed theatrically. "At least wear your black robes then," it said resignedly. "They won't clash as badly with the boots and they'll highlight the silver nicely. And your hair-"
"-Must be up," Marcy said quickly. "I cannot wear it down tonight."
"A French twist perhaps," the mirror suggested, warming to the outfit. "Go change into the black robes and then I'll see how I can work with this fashion disaster that you insist on."
She changed quickly into her warmest set of hooded black robes, lined on the inside with fox fur, and removed the polish from her nails. She went to stand in front of the mirror and obeyed its instructions automatically, even allowing it to choose her makeup.
"Now you're decent," the mirror said finally. "And soon you'll be late for dinner as well."
Marcy studied herself carefully before moving toward the door. A silver belt glimmered against her black robes, and silver rings flashed on most of her fingers. A silver medallion hung from her neck. Only the tips of greenish-grey dragon hide boots peeped out from under the long robe, and her hair had been twisted into a knot high on her head.
"Come Fleur," she called to the cat, who was curled up by the fireplace. She didn't usually bring Fleur out of her rooms, but tonight was an exception. She and Fleur were bonded very closely, not only through the witch-familiar bond but through and Olde Magic bond called the Name Bond. When a witch and her familiar share a name, the bond is far stronger than an ordinary one.
Marcy warded her study door carefully, as usual, before proceeding upstairs. Fleur padded at her heels, keeping watch over her Mistress with steady, topaz eyes. They entered the Great Hall just as the food arrived on the plates.
Severus Snape was not in a good mood. For one thing, he hated eating the Great Hall, but Dumbledore insisted he do it nearly every day. For another, Marcy hadn't arrived yet, which made him the subject of Charity Burbage's chatty attention. Severus did not enjoy the attention of any witches, and certainly not those old enough to be his mother.
Severus twisted the delicate stem of his wineglass with unnecessary force, causing deep red wine to spill over the side. It was cleaned up easily enough, but the fact that probably half of his students had seen his blunder did not improve his mood at all.
Professor Burbage was talking about something entirely uninteresting, and Dumbledore's discussion of Muggle movies wasn't helping either. Flitwick was eagerly giving his opinions, and even Minerva was listening with a half-smile on her face.
"Severus, m'boy," Dumbledore beamed at him, turning away from his conversation with Flitwick. A groan rose up in Severus' throat- could the night get any worse?
"We were just wondering if you had happened to notice Marcy on her way up- she was due several minutes ago."
"No," Severus replied shortly.
"Avoiding her, are we?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling.
It took every bit of Severus' self-control not to smash his wineglass over the Headmaster's head. "We live at opposite ends of the Dungeon, Headmaster," he said through gritted teeth. "And I am not a stalker."
Dumbledore merely chuckled- irritating old man! And turned his attention to the table. "I believe the food is about to arrive."
Arrive it did, and along with it, the object that Severus chose to vent his frustrations on- Marcy. She swept her way over to her chair and sat down. A silvery bundle of fur leaped onto her lap.
"Are we trying to irritate Mr. Filch?" Snape asked nastily. "Because bringing in a strange cat is a good way to do that."
Marcy was puzzled by the open animosity- she and Severus had developed an almost cordial relationship over the past few weeks. "Fleur is my familiar," she said quietly. "And she and Mr. Filch are already acquainted."
"Can't survive a meal without her, suddenly," he jibed. "Maybe the seventh year class is becoming a bit much for us to handle?"
Marcy ignored him and poured herself a glass of wine. She didn't take any food on her plate, however.
"Food's not good enough either, I see." Severus knew he was being unfair, but he had to let it out on somebody. "Or is it our anorexia cropping up again?"
Marcy turned an icy glare on him. "I don't appreciate the remarks about my appearance," she said, glancing at the clock. Time for her to leave. "And as I don't intend to be your chew-toy tonight, I will finish my dinner alone."
She got up and left, secretly grateful to have an excuse to leave. She did not go back to her rooms, however. Instead, she proceeded toward the main entrance, pulling her hood up as soon as she left the building.
She walked briskly toward the Apparition Point, tying a gossamer black scarf over the lower part of her face as she did so, and pulling the hood forward until it threw her face completely into shadow. When she reached it, she hesitated, and then turned on her heel.
"The Creag."
She landed smoothly on the rocky outcropping, checking her watch. She was right on time. As if on cue, several figures shimmered into view and made their way toward her. Fenrir Greyback was at their head.
"Silver," he said abruptly, motioning toward her rings. "Why the silver?"
"I can't put myself at risk," she explained. "But if it makes you feel better, I will swear a Wizard's Oath not to harm you."
"Or any of the others."
She nodded, and pulled out her wand. "I swear on my magic," she said slowly and clearly. "Not to harm any of the men who are here in front of me tonight. I swear on my magic." A blue light emanated from the tip of her wand and encircled her body three times, before melting into her.
Greyback nodded. "Now how do you intend to get us children tonight?"
"I am a respected person," she said calmly. "And I have invited several children to my house. When they arrive, my doorknob will act as a Portkey to bring them directly here. Their parents will be told that they met with a tragic accident on the way here, and they will not remember arriving at my home."
"And next full moon?"
"I have a plan," she said. "Now I will leave you gentleman to your transformations, and I will bring the children when they are complete."
She climbed several paces up the hill and waited. The moon would be rising at any moment, sending the werewolves into their transformation. Sure enough, the moon began to float into view, large and round and yellow.
Greyback transformed first, and fastest, although it didn't take any of them long. Within five minutes there were six fully transformed werewolves , howling the moon and at each other.
Marcy walked carefully down the slope, palms out. She threw back her hood so that the wolves could see her eyes and began to chant, a chant not unlike that of the Soul-Binding charm. The wolves calmed immediately, and fastened their wide yellow eyes on hers.
Now was the key part- don't stop chanting and don't lose eye contact. Slowly, a soft silvery light began to emanate from her outstretched palms. It surrounded the werewolves, and slowly, it subdued them. In turn, each werewolf lay down, eyes still open.
Still maintaining eye contact, Marcy touched each werewolf on the head, sending light straight into their eyes. The eyes closed, and the wolves slept.
When each one had been touched Marcy stopped the chant, her body shaking from the exertion.
"You will sleep now," she intoned softly. "In the morning, you will remember each tearing apart a child, and devouring it completely. You will Apparate back to your homes, and then return here at the next full moon. You will not remember the sleep."
She repeated the instructions three times, and then conjured up piles of children's bones. Blood stained the rocky ground. Marcy apparated back to Hogwarts.