Chapter Ten: Missing Teacher Syndrome

"Slimy arse!" Ron bellowed as they came up from the dungeons, his face blackened by soot and sweat. His friends were similarly dirtied. Long story short Neville Longbottom had caused yet another accident, melting yet another cauldron and it had been a very volatile mixture spilled. The 'slimy arse' in question was not Neville but Professor Snape who had made the Gryffindors, save Gwen for some reason, clean up the unstable concoction

Julie coughed up a puff of black smoke; absentmindedly Ben pounded on her back, trying to help her get whatever her lungs had up and out.

"And why did she get out of the work?" the belligerent Weasley continued, jerking his thumb at the one pristine person in their grouping, "Is she a Slytherin in disguise or something?"

"Maybe she reminds him of some woman he knew, he was a Hogwarts student when he was our age." Hermione shrugged, "Maybe his bird slipped away and he's trying to right a wrong or something." Harry continued her thought as they came into the entrance hall, "But whatever's going on it's not Gwen's fault, Snape's a slimy evil git. Now let's go eat lunch, I'm starved…"

They had made it to the Gryffindor table, had taken seats, and had filled their plates before a log rectangular package came in, being carried by three owls who were led by Hedwig. It was dropped off into the middle of the table, in front of Harry. The wrapping was plain brown postal wrapping paper, labeled, 'Harry Potter, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hogsmeade, Scotland'.

"Well open it up," Kevin commanded, "We haven't got all day."

The boy did so with tentative hands, ripping a swathe of paper away to reveal a brightly colored box and the letters 'LT' in a bright bold font

"Merlin's beard, Harry," Ron spoke with awe, "someone got you a Firebolt!"

The hall went quiet even though Harry was shaking his head and saying, "No, no way. No one I know would put out enough money, for me, for that."

"Open it up," Ron urged, "rip it open like a Christmas present…"

Harry suddenly backed up, pulling his wand out and pointing it at the box, ready to incinerate the package, "Guys, there's an escaped, barmy murderer after me. This's a trap isn't it? Something's gonna jump out and try to do me i—"

"It ain't a trap, idiot." Kevin snorted, "Just open it already."

"How do you know it isn't a trap?"

"'Cause I ordered it for you, you dumbass!"

"You bought it for me?"

"What? Are you deaf or something? I just said I did!"

"Kev, be nice; he's just surprised." Gwen piped up, "Harry, just open it okay?"

Harry nodded and put aside his wand; still slowly ripping the wrapping away bit by bit, driving everyone watching completely insane.

And then the box sat bare, the word 'FIREBOLT' emblazoned on it.

"Open it Harry!" several Gryffindor boys egged him on, pounding the table with their fists in an almost tribal rhythm.

He inhaled and gulped, opening the box and pulling out a gleaming, polished, streamline broom with not a twig out of place.

Thus Harry, followed by half of the male Gryffindors, his bodyguards, and Hermione, raced out to the front of the school and kicked off, breaking in the broom. Ben went Jet-ray and trailed after him, struggling to keep up.

"It has the tracking device right?" Gwen asked Kevin quietly.

"And the vitals' monitoring system and the grounding system." Kevin nodded, pulling out a small handheld system and showing her it.

"Alright Harry!" Ben shouted an hour later, "time to land!"

"Fine." He landed as told, back at his starting area.

It was Defense Against the Dark Arts after lunch and they lined up at the door, getting worried with each passing moment as Professor Lupin was always very punctual. And then the 'Slimy arse' showed up. With his overly large hooked nose and his overly greasy hair he glowered with what may have been glee.

"Open your books to page three hundred ninety five." He strutted through the room and caused the shutters to shut, plunging them into dim darkness.

"Werewolves?" Hermione asked, flabbergasted, having already opened the book to the page, "Sir, we're not supposed to study those until after Easter holidays."

"Five points from Gryffindor," he drawled, "for defiance."

"Sir," Neville spoke up, hand in the air, "Where is Professor Lupin? Is he alright?"

"Five points from Gryffindor for talking out of turn; Professor," the word dripped loathing and sarcasm, "Lupin has taken ill and as such will not be teaching classes for a few days…now…" he started a projector of slides, of various artistic and photographic depictions of were-creatures, "The word 'Werewolf' is comprised of two parts first the Anglo-Saxon word 'Were' meaning 'Man' and the English word 'wolf', 'man' and 'wolf' 'Man-wolf' 'were-wolf'. Stories, cases, of persons who transform into beasts have permeated cultures, both wizarding and muggle, since the dawn of Man himself. Of course Muggles have and had have incorrect theories on this tragic," again the word dripped sarcasm and loathing, "condition. For example, the Hellenistic Greeks," the projection showed a vase with the painting of a werewolf devouring a mortal, "believed that persons with orange or red hair were predisposed to lycanthropy, a belief that is completely at odds with both Magical Biology and muggle biology—"

Most students were busily taking notes, dreading the essay clearly to be assigned.

"Due next Monday," he finally assigned, "three rolls on werewolves, with special emphasis on recognizing and defeating one." The bell rang, "Class dismissed."

Later that night six of the seven, Ron was in bed already, were scattered around the common room, books open and quills to papers (or in Kevin's case Ship as a laptop).

"Hey Ben," Julie suddenly broke the silence that had engulfed them, "can you go wolf so I can sketch you?"

"You'll scratch behind my ears?" he asked.

"I'll scratch behind your ears and throw in a tummy rub," she promised with a smile.

He grinned and stood up, walking away from the grouping and into the open space of the room. He searched through the Ultramatrix's database, finally finding the 'Yendalooshi' listing and activating it. In a flash of green light a seven foot tall grey werewolf with glowing green eyes stood in the common room where the young man had been.

Thus began one of the oddest things Hogwarts had probably ever seen. Julie set down her books, approached the werewolf, and began to rub it's tummy like it was a dog.

"Werewolves and werewolfism are alien in origin," Gwen explained to a shocked Harry and Hermione, "but the more removed from the alien source the werewolf is the more unstable, feral, and bloodthirsty the werewolf is."

"And he—?"

"Gets it directly from the source, the DNA databases of Prima which is a planet that is a streaming DNA databank with the Ultramatrix being like a computer, a way to get into the database of DNA and use it but not the source of it…does that make sense?"

"Yes," both nodded.

"Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy? You are! Yes you are!" Julie was now kneeling on the floor, Ben's werewolf head in her lap so she could rub his ears. He was clearly enjoying it, with his tail wagging and one of his hind legs, his wolf legs, going wild against the floor. *THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP…*

"Isn't that demeaning for him though?" Hermione asked, "She's treating him like a dog…"

"No," Julie replied, "because I know, understand that no matter what form he's in that at his core he's a human and always will be. He's always Ben Tennyson of Earth. I don't try to train his more animalistic forms but me doing things like scratching his ears or rubbing his stomach is okay in a way because I have his permission and I know he gets enjoyment from it…look at him…" Now the werewolf seemed half asleep, the tip of his tongue out of his mouth at the side.

"Gwen, can you pass me my sketching kit please?"

"Sure thing," the redheaded girl dug into her friend's bag and pulled out the requested item, floating it over to it's owner. Julie grabbed it from mid-air, opening it and pulling out the sketch pad and a soft leaded sketching pencil. Carefully, she started to draw his head, paying attention to his face and eyes in order to show his humanity.

He whined but stayed still. "Shouldn't he time out soon?"

"He won't Hermione," Julie replied calmly, "he's got it in Master Mode, unlimited time changed."

"!" the sound reverberated throughout Gryffindor House, causing all but Julie and Ben to charge up the boys' staircase and into the third year dorm. Crookshanks leapt from Harry's bed and into Hermione's arms as an infuriated Ron stalked up to her, roaring, "That monster ate Scabbers!"

"Crookshanks would never eat Scabbers!" Hermione defended her pet.

Ron shook his bed-sheet at her, "Look here! Do you see the blood! That monster murdered my rat!"

"Scabbers probably just bit himself, he's covered in fleas."

"Keep that cat out of here!"

"Fine!"

And Hermione, with Crookshanks, stormed out followed by everyone but Ron.

It was time to pack up for bed and so they broke into their sleeping arrangements, bidding each other goodnight.