DISCLAIMER:

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books,

Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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It was a mark of the status the House of Malfoy that when a Malfoy was displeased and wished to express it publicly he did not send something as trite or common as a howler; he sent a house elf with a bottled spell.

Draco was lounging in the Slytherin common room arrogantly pretending he had not heard that the Ministry had arrived at Hogwarts, still denying any involvement in the unfortunate transformations and hoping like mad his father would not get wind of it – any of it, for his father's temper was as terrifying as it was lethal.

Little hope of that, he realised when he heard the shuffle of feet and the sudden emptying of the room about him. He waited for four long breaths before he suppressed the tremble in his limbs, swallowed hard and checked over his shoulder.

Always sit to a corner, his father had told him… No one can creep up on you from behind if you have your back to the corner. Why was it now he remembered that?

"Nudge is sorry Master Draco." He did not recognise the House elf, but it wore one of the Malfoy household's towels as a loincloth. Draco felt his fingers claw in the fabric of the chair as his gaze drifted to what the creature held in its hand.

The House elf hid its face behind a hand, holding out the small black bottle with the other. "It's from the Master." Nudge explained as he quickly uncorked the bottle, dropped it and scurried back into the shadows. "I's is sorry."

The bottle rolled on the floor. Once, twice, it rocked back and forth before stilled with a chilling snap!

Nothing happened. Draco blinked. His father had sent him a dud?  The spell was bad? He almost laughed hysterically, but years of being a Malfoy and Slytherin stopped that impulse. Instead a sly grin spread across his face and froze just as suddenly as it began.

The bottle jumped, clattered and with a burp and gulch large drifts of blue-black smoke issued from the unstoppered mouth. They floated into the air and with it the sound of a voice…. A deadly quiet and angry voice, "Draco…" Lucius Malfoy's voice filled the room.

The tone of his father's voice was enough to make Draco sink into the seat and childishly hope it swallowed him up. The air was filled with a humming sound that grew into an irksome buzz as the smoke swirled and coalesced. "I thought I always told you…" His father's casual note made him cringe. "'Clumsy curses inflict visits with nurses'? We will discuss this later Draco. You know what you must do. But if you don't my little winged assistants are here to guide you."

The smoke had cleared to form into two oversized green hornets that hovered in the air. Draco could see their mandibles snapping and eyes glowing with malice as they glared down at him. For one benign moment they hung in the air, before they looked at each other, nodded and without any other signal dive-bombed down straight at him.

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Severus Snape lay in the summer sun thinking of nothing particular. Thoughts of food sleep and sex with that tantalising female danced before his primitive forebrain. The end of his tail twitched as he considered his frustration. He needed to mate; but the female was trapped within that square of solid air that thwarted his every effort! 

It was that human who stopped him. He glared at the sea of white whose sharp astringent smell tickled his fork tongue. She was to blame.

He watched the woman put the female adder on a workbench on the other side of the room as she tried to tempt her with bits of dead mice.

Snape hissed quietly to himself. He tempted the female. He and he alone, he could smell her and knew he was oozing the same pheromones in response. Swirling his tail angrily on the windowsill he flicked his tongue. These humans were strange creatures. Did they not feel? No, they must not. He decided. They stood about, smelling of peculiar and making noises that made cows sound melodious. How could they not know the urge to join was essential? Didn't they feel it too, the drag of the seasons the pull of the lust and the satisfaction of mating? This was no game your life was forfeit if you did not succeed, a natural dictate that he obeyed without question. Do you breath? Do you eat? Do you mate? It was normal and expected. To do anything else was wrong or worse - fatal.

Yet some part of him resisted, a man's voice whispered cold words of self-loathing that he did not understand. He ignored the voice; the words were no longer making sense, as they were hollow sounds with no scent. Soon he hoped the voice's echo would fade completely and never nibble at his consciousness again.

The sunlight felt good on his skin and he shifted, closing his eyes. Severus Snape was a snake, the man within him bleeding away into dreams of mice, green scales and warm hissing grass.

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Sam sat in Dumbledore's office quietly relating the exact same story he had told Harry and Ron to the Head Master. To his absolute amazement (given the media hype Dumbledore received post Voldemort,) the old fool was falling for it hook, line and sinker.

Dumbledore was meant to be brighter than this? He puzzled.  He was almost a God! The black haired boy watched the old wizard fumble in his pocket for a sweetie. He almost shook his head in disgust as the old man extracted one, opened the wrapper and popped it into his mouth.

Good grief! No one could have gotten it this wrong? This Grandad looks as if he's about to fall asleep in his soup! Yet… He conceded. Gryffindors can be thick sometimes, and he allowed himself a wry inner smile before silently congratulating himself. Excellent! My scheme's working.

"I see, Mr Filch." Albus sucked on the sweet, his rheumy eyes looking over the rim of his glasses at the young man. "If I am to understand this correctly you are from the future, you used your mother's old time turner to get here and you are a student of Hogwarts." He waved a liver spotted hand. "A Ravenclaw by your colours?"


"Yes." Sam nodded and for the first time felt slightly unnerved. There was something in the way Dumbledore said 'Ravenclaw'. "Yes, Ravenclaw through and through. I asked to be placed there and the Sorting hat was happy to oblige." He fought down the urge to touch his face.

"Yes, of course." Dumbledore wheezed, sat down behind his desk where he steepled his hands before him and continued to suck his lolly.

For a protracted period the pair sat in silence. Dumbledore gazed over Sam's head deep in contemplation, his tired gaze travelling over the portraits of the past Head Masters of Hogwarts who gazed back at him in deep consideration. Finally when Sam thought the old man had lost his train of thought, Dumbledore spoke.

"Ah yes. Tell me young man, I'm an old, I'm not as quick on my feet as I used to be and today has been a long unpleasant day. But something troubles me…" He smiled. Sam felt the unease return and with it the floor vibrating under the soles of his feet. "What part of your flimsy tissue of lies should I believe –" With the next wheezed breath Dumbledore's voice grew large and electric, his hands and face and eyes glowing with power. His voice returned full force, strong and great. The boy felt the pressure of it pushing him down and into the cushions of his seat.  "Or - simply sneeze at?

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tbc