Chapter 11:
A/N: Hat tip to The Network and the incomparable Howard Beale.
Great Hall, Afternoon
Monica Swanson glanced at the Ravenclaw table, sent up a prayer of thanks, and focused on her colleague. "I tell you Severus, you're some kind of miracle worker."
"Hmmm?" Severus paused with a forkful of Cobb salad halfway to his mouth. "How's that?"
Monica nodded toward Finola Frost. "Look at her. She's still skinny, but not emaciated. There's color in her cheeks. And she's sitting up straight, having a conversation with one of my ravens." She gestured toward the slight, dark-skinned girl.
"Ah, yes. That's Miss—Wicklow, yes?" Severus chuckled. "One of the only Ravenclaws who doesn't fall all over herself to answer every question."
"Cora Wicklow. She's Muggle-born too, and smart as a whip," Monica confirmed.
"Not uncommon, among Ravens. I've found the majority to be know-it-alls."
Monica shook her head at Severus' biting assessment, but kept her patient smile intact. After all, the guy spent years working as a double agent. Teaching kids how to crush valerian root, stir shrinking solution three times counterclockwise, and the like had to be a real step down. Still…
"They're just kids, Severus, and believe it or not, most of them aren't here to get on your last nerve. They want to learn, and they're excited about magic. Sometimes they get carried away, that's all."
"And the result can be serious injury, even death."
Monica nibbled a croissant and probed her colleague with a look. "Sometimes I forget. You've seen that stuff up close and personal."
"Precisely. You get sloppy, you get hurt."
"Point taken. But Voldemort's gone for good this time. Our kids are safer than they've ever been…" She trailed off. "Well, we hope."
"Hope frightens me, and it should frighten you."
Monica put down her fork and gave in to the urge to cover Severus' hand with hers. Pleasant coolness zipped through her system, but she didn't lace her fingers into his palm. Remember who he is, Swanson. He's changing, but that doesn't mean much. It can't.
"The circumstances frighten me," she agreed now. "The Oculus Vermiculo is nothing to mess with, and I believe they'll get inside Hogwarts if Dumbledore's not a lot more careful than he has been. But hope never frightens me. Hope is our best chance. Hope says, 'Good will win.' Hope doesn't disappoint or fail."
Severus stared her down then. "Yes, it does. A rainbows-and-unicorns outlook fails every time."
"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the real stuff. Stuff that says even if today, or tomorrow, or the next seven years suck, we can keep going because we know who we are and where we belong in the world."
He quirked a brow. "Are you sure you aren't a Christian, too?" He nodded toward Finola.
Monica fluttered her fingers in a so-so gesture. "I never made it official if that's what you mean. I've spent some time in the Bible Belt, but the wizards I've been around maintain that Jesus and wizardry don't mix, which in the sense of Dark Arts and religious magic, they don't. I struggle with the idea of giving up one to embrace the other. But sure. I'd like to believe God loves me, would die for me. I'd like to think somebody's up there watching over me. Wouldn't you?"
"Me?" He laughed. "If anyone of any persuasion is watching me up there, I am in serious trouble. The only god I ever heard of was a vengeful, cosmic Auror who considered me no better than a demon. Even a second chance can't change who I am and where I'm going."
"Anybody can change where they're going," Monica insisted. "I don't know about the eternity side of it, but I think as long as you've got breath, you have infinite chances to choose right." She looked at her student, the one she'd soon welcome home. "You and I committed to take care of that little girl, and she believes a clean heart, Heaven, all that, is open for the asking. Maybe we should learn together."
"Perhaps we should. Is your house ready for her to return tomorrow?"
"Yup." Monica grimaced at the House point goblets. "You'll notice we're in a distant fourth. I tool fifty points each from every witch involved in the bullying. Thalia Harrington, Madison Primminger, and anyone who runs with them are under restraint spells, and there are heavy, permanent protection spells on Finola's property, room, and familiar. For instance, "Alohomora" now only works if said in her voice."
Severus nodded. "Excellent. But what about the students who saw the bullying, yet did nothing?"
"I've got a House meeting scheduled for this evening. I'm gonna make it clear there is no such thing as an innocent bystander. I'm also going to clear up some misconceptions regarding Finola's disability and Muggle-born status."
"Add her faith," Severus advised. "I myself am still dealing with misconceptions on that score, but children won't have my restraint. I've heard rumors, even from other Slytherins, that Frost hates us all and is biding her time to take down Hogwarts and all it stands for."
"What a load of hippogriff hockey," Monica scoffed. "But I may let Finola answer questions about faith. It'll boost her confidence." She chuckled as she watched her colleague drain his water glass and crunch ice between his teeth. "Hey, that was your third glass. Are you okay?"
Severus reached for the water pitcher with one hand and rubbed the back of his neck with the other. "Blasted sore throat. It's been nagging me since morning class."
"Uh-oh. Okay, spill. Who was it, and what did you say?"
"That dunderheaded Billingsley from Hufflepuff. I merely told him to stop waving his wand around before he took someone's eye out."
Monica gave her colleague the "cut the bull" look her mom always gave her when she was hiding the whole truth. "And?"
"I—might have implied he is the stupidest Muggle-born I ever had the misfortune to teach, and—that if his brains were electricity, they couldn't power a penlight."
"Ouch. Seriously, Severus, you don't have to be Mr. Rogers or anything, but those kids can't learn if they know their teacher thinks they're scum."
"I didn't say scum."
"You don't have to. Come on, you were a kid once. What if a teacher or other adult had talked to you like that?"
"I'd have taken it and done better next time. I did, for years. I'm alive."
"And how many kids are you currently teaching out of your own brokenness? You're still bleeding, yet you continue to swallow glass."
Severus slammed his hand on the table. "What do you expect me to do, shower praise and candy for each correct answer? Tell my students it's acceptable to fail? Make a mockery of my subject and classroom?"
"No, because you'd suck at that," Monica challenged. "Just level with them. Make it clear you won't take crap, because crap leads to injury, death, and a whole lot of stuff you don't have time to handle. But at the same time say, 'I know Potions doesn't come easily to everybody. I'd rather you ask for my help than put yourself or your classmates in a bad spot.' And make it easy to ask, instead of acting like it's a crime not to know the answer."
He sighed. "If you're right—and I'm not saying for one moment you are—I wouldn't know where to start."
Monica nodded toward Finola again. "Then start off easy. Pretend every student is Finola. Somebody who wants to do well and messes up only because she can't help it. Who has proven herself respectful and willing to take criticism—if said the right way. Sort of like pretending your audience is in their underwear. Except, your audience is a bunch of hazel-eyed dynamos who, if pushed, will pull a wand and land you both in deep trouble."
"I'm never going to live that down, am I?"
Monica flashed him a wicked grin. "Nope. You got yourself Frosted, buddy."
"Is that what they're saying now?"
"You bet. There's a crazy story floating around Ravenclaw that Finola is related to Queen Elsa, and that her accidental magic manifests as ice powers."
Severus guffawed, nearly choking on his ice water. "I can just see her freezing the entire Black Lake."
"Can't you? That'd be a kick, if she had the confidence to do it. Speaking of, you're manning her DADA lesson today. Is she going to knock on my Tower door and tell me you made her cry?"
"No. Never again. But…" He shook his head. "Lupin's gone too easy on her in a way. He's stuck straight to the curriculum, so that she's used defensive spells only on say, a representation of a Dark creature, or Lupin himself. Those are safe targets, too safe. I thought for today, we'd put the wand away and go back to basics. Posture. Eye contact. The ability to use an authoritative voice to say, as you would put it, 'I'm not taking your crap.' The assurance that with faculty clearance, a good old Expelliarmus never hurt anybody."
Monica gave him a thumbs-up. "I like it. But how are you gonna get her to raise her voice, if you're the only one she's ever done it with and you can no longer use your—eh, colorful descriptors as incentive?"
"That is a conundrum. Perhaps there's a Bible verse she can use?"
"Nothing that I know of. King David gets pretty mad at his enemies in the Psalms, but he outright asks God for their deaths. Finola won't do it. If anything, I think she uses Scripture as an excuse not to claim ground. I hear from Lucy Pevensie they're working on it, but in the meantime…" She chuckled. "I've got an idea. You ever see The Network?"
DADA Classroom
"You can put your wand away. You just need yourself today."
"Okay." Finola obeyed. "Are we just doing a sort of quiz? Which defensive spell for which situation, that kind of thing?"
Snape smiled. "No, because you'd get an O. I'm not going nearly that easy on you. No book work today, but we're going back to basics. First, get out from behind that desk. I want you front and center, and stand straight. I realize your condition affects that, but give me the best posture you have."
Finola crossed to the center of the room, imagining her uniform as dress blues and channeling the posture of a heroine she was reading about, who disguised herself to fight for the Union in the Civil War. "How's this?"
"Good. Now, I'm going to use my wand to play some audio from one of our previous classes. While I'm doing so, I expect you to make eye contact with me and keep it, no matter what you hear. Shall we?"
Finola nodded and locked her eyes on her professor's. He waved his wand, and the playback began. But the moment Snape raised his voice, Finola felt herself cringe.
"Stop." Snape spoke an incantation to turn off the audio. "You broke contact. Five points from Ravenclaw. Now, watch me." He turned the audio on again. "This is you. This is what I, and others, see." He hunched his shoulders as if trying to draw as far inward as possible, eyes glued to the floor. He twisted his hands, hovering them over a nearby desk as if looking for anything to grab like a lifeline. Finola wasn't sure whether to laugh or groan.
"I don't look like that, do I?"
"Yes, you do. And it looks helpless. It says, 'I'm a victim.' And I know that's the last thing you want." He took a breath. "Frost, you are smart enough to understand, aren't you, that when a teacher scolds or yells at a class, it's not directed at you?"
"Of course. I honestly don't know why I do that."
"Hmmm. Tell me something." Snape gave her his tell-the-truth-or-I'll-find-out look. "Not counting your experiences at Hogwarts, have you been verbally abused? Has anyone ever hit you, more than just a smack on the bottom, or been physical in any way?"
"Not my family," Finola rushed to say. "Never them. But…" Fear clutched at her throat and chest. "I—do I have to say names?"
Snape massaged his forehead. "If it helps you tell the truth, no. Not now. Who? That teacher you mentioned, from Muggle school?"
"Yeah. She—said things. She yelled, but not at the whole class like you do. Not because people were doing things that were dumb and dangerous. It was just me, because I was there, I guess. Because I was—me. She didn't want me in her class."
Snape's eyes flashed fire, but when he turned them on Finola, they were calm and serious, probing. "Well, Frost, I can assure you of one thing. Every professor in this school—every single one—wants you here. So do the majority of the students, although most have been completely ignorant in how to express that. Hogwarts is safe, as are you. But to feel safe, you must embrace that truth, and it begins now. Let's try that eye contact exercise again. Remember, dropping contact is minus five points."
Finola made it through the second try without dropping eye contact, but it took all her restraint and energy. When Snape finally turned off the audio, she indulged in a deep exhale.
"Keep breathing," Snape coached. "We are far from finished here. I have forty-five minutes and I intend to use them. Let's move on. Professor Swanson has graciously provided me with audio from Harrington, Primminger, et. al. Without dropping eye contact or cringing, I want you to listen. Then ask yourself, 'Is this acceptable? Do I deserve to be talked to or about this way? Does anyone? Would I put up with this if one of my friends or classmates were the target?'"
Snape might as well have asked her to perform Avada Kedavara on a kitten. The only thing that kept Finola's pose confident was her teacher's presence, and the knowledge that he expected her to mess up. The audio filled the DADA classroom like noxious gas.
"You're not equal to anyone."
"You're here because of pity."
"Retarded mudblood."
"Cripple."
"Snape was right; you're a filthy liar."
"No!" A scream interrupted the audio. It took Finola a minute to realize the scream was hers. But once it ripped out, she kept going. "This is my school, darn it! I belong here and I'm sick of…sick of…" She locked her arms over her body, shivering so hard her teeth clacked.
"I can't," she admitted. "Professor Snape, you can take Ravenclaw down to zero and into the negatives if you like. I can't stand up to that."
"Funny," Snape said with a sardonic look. "You just did. Now…" He opened a window. "Come over here. We have one more thing to do today."
Finola followed and took a gulp of autumn air. "Thanks, I needed that."
"I'm sure you did, but right now, focus on what just happened. How were you feeling? What happens inside you when you hear those things?"
"How was I feeling?" Finola echoed. "How can you ask that? Helpless, dirty, scared, objectified…and angry. Angry that I can't do anything to stop it. Angry that I know those things aren't true, but they feel true."
"Good answer. I want you to push the anger to the forefront and focus on it. Allow it in. Push past all the Bible verses, all the excuses you've given yourself about your tormentors being hurting souls, all the fear that standing up for yourself will land you with the punishment. Just let yourself get angry." Snape gently turned her from the window so they faced each other. "Close your eyes. Breathe. Focus."
Finola closed her eyes, but without vision, she wobbled. Snape steadied her with a hand against the small of her back. Meanwhile, Finola sorted through her memories. The first day in Potions. The day Snape made Brenna cry. The night in the common room when Thalia Harrington confronted her. The morning she woke up in the hospital wing, knowing who put her there. A hard, cold lump settled in her chest. Her entire body stiffened, and her pulse raced.
"I think I've got it," she whispered.
"I think you do, too." Snape's voice sounded a million miles away. "All right, open your eyes." He turned her toward the window again. "I want you to give voice to it. Make it permanent. Stick your head out that window and yell, 'I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!'"
Finola nodded. "I'm…wait. I can't say that."
"Yes, you can," Snape contradicted. "You want to. You need to. If your God wants to blame someone, let him blame me. Go on."
"I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore."
"No, no. You're quoting me. Give me vim. Do it again."
"I'm as mad as…hell, and I'm not…going to take this anymore!"
"Good grief, Frost. Is there a baby on the Quidditch pitch? Are you trying not to wake it?"
Finola inhaled. "Fine. I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!"
"That sounds like someone who'd take it," Snape scolded. "Go on! If you disrupt something or someone, who cares. They need to hear it; they're overdue! I want you to walk out of here needing Madame Pomfrey's lozenges, blast it!"
Finola gripped the sill, closed her eyes again, and drew up the worst memory she had. Oh God, help…no. Not anymore.
"I'm mad as HELL, and I'm NOT going to take this anymore!"
Snape clapped once, hard. "Finally, we're getting somewhere. Do you have anything else to say?"
"Oh, you bet I do. I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore! I am a person—a smart, focused, valuable person, and you bunch of harpies are just jealous! I earned my place here and you're done ruining it! I'd like to see one of you, just one, put up with my life and not go crying to your mamas! You don't want me sitting in your class and learning with you? Eating your food? Walking down your halls and sleeping in your dorm? Well, that's too blasted bad! I'm mad as hell, and I'm not taking this anymore!"
The classroom door burst open. Finola turned just in time to see four professors, plus a gaggle of students, crowd the space. Professor McGonagall took the lead.
"Miss Frost! What on earth…Professor Snape? What in the name of Merlin is going on in here? Professor Longbottom heard the commotion all the way to the greenhouses and rushed up here, thinking someone was being tortured."
Snape shook his head. "No torture, Minerva. Just your basic Defense lesson."
Lupin fiddled with his cardigan sleeve. "I don't remember that in the curriculum."
"Well, perhaps it should be. Students who can't defend themselves stand no chance against external or internal enemies. Now, if you'll all excuse us?"
"Severus," McGonagall gasped. "This is highly irregular, it's disruptive, it's…"
"It's life, Minerva. And in case it's escaped your notice, life has the capacity to make you as mad as hell." Snape crossed the room, gave the entire crowd a stare-down, and firmly closed the door.
"Now Miss Frost, where were we?"
"Um…" Finola cleared an aching throat. "I think we were at the part where the whole school bursts in and we get busted. I can't believe that just happened. How could I…"
"Frost, if you apologize, you'll end up serving a month of detention."
"No, no—it's, uh…that was…I don't know what that was. But Professor? What am I going to do—later? I can't just scream at Thalia until she disappears, not that I want to."
Snape nodded and gestured for Finola to sit at a desk. She nearly collapsed into the chair, and Snape transfigured a textbook into a glass. "Augamenti." He aimed the tip of his wand at the glass until it was filled to the brim. "All right. Drink, slowly. Listen."
"You're asking me how to bring the emotion of the last few minutes under control," Snape said while Finola concentrated on not gulping the entire glass. "Controlling emotion is actually quite like potions. As you know, one mistake ruins the entire cauldron's worth."
Finola traced her finger across the rim of the glass. "Why do I get the idea I've made a lot of mistakes?"
"Because you have. Thus far, you've been tamping all your ingredients down to the point they're ineffective. You didn't ask for help because to do so was weakness. You hide your intelligence in class because others have said you aren't worthy to claim it. Instead of true, balanced mercy, you use a sugarcoated version that tells the world you're fine with being stepped on. And though you'd deny it even under Veritaserum, you have a potent dose of anger in that cauldron."
"Yes, sir. I realize now I do."
"Hmmm. And every time someone like Thalia Harrington bullies you, all those tightly controlled ingredients get stirred far too fast, under too much heat. Here's a basic Potions question, Frost. What happens when you put tightly packed ingredients under a lot of pressure in a short amount of time?"
Finola bit her lip. "Your cauldron explodes."
"Indeed. So, in order to let the anger and heat come back under control, you must let the other ingredients breathe. In other words, if Harrington asks, yet again, what witch you are to think you can take her Gifted spot, don't argue with her. Stop trying to convince her you're equals, or she should be nice to you, or any of that. Shut the conversation down."
Finola thought this over. "You mean, say something like, 'I'm not here to take anything except what I've earned,' or, 'I'm not the witch who's going to steal your spot. I'm the one who's going to win it.'"
"Precisely. You can also say something like, 'Believe what you want to believe.' This puts the burden back on the aggressor and makes her look like the fool, while also giving you an out. Notice that you didn't have to yell, curse, or use your wand. Basically, what you're doing is reminding yourself you are innocent, worthy, and the bigger person."
Finola nodded. "I hope it works."
"I think you stand a good chance. And remember, Frost, the prefects and professors are here to help. It is never sinful to speak up when you're in danger. And as you'll find in our next lesson, no one ever died from being disarmed."
"Yeah, but did they ever die of embarrassment? Because I'd stake my Potions grade on the fact that Billingsley or somebody has smartphone footage of me screaming myself silly back there."
Snape groaned and pushed himself upward. "And that," he announced, "is where I get in some practice controlling my anger around silly technology. Run along—I believe Professor Longbottom is expecting you. And do try not to frighten the plants."
Castle Grounds, After Classes
"If I hadn't heard it from your own lips Finola, I'd swear you were lying." Lily hooked her arm through her friend's elbow. "I can't believe Snape was actually helpful."
"I can't believe she raised her voice above a library tone," Anya said. "We're certainly going to miss you around Slytherin House. Elinor will be crushed that she doesn't get to teach you a few good hexes."
"Who needs Elinor when I know a bunch of them?" Brenna asked. "Look Fin, that keep-it-cool double agent stuff might work for a while, but seriously, just say the word. Give me a name, and whoever it is, they end up with a roaring case of cystic acne."
"How about we discuss this later?" Finola asked. "I'm dying to know how Operation Arctic Tern Phase One is going. Lily, did you find the—uh, the thing?"
Lily shook her head, French braid swinging. "Not yet. I've searched all the secret passages and haunts I know of, but nothing. I've even searched the greenhouses during private Herbology lessons, when Professor Longbottom wasn't looking. Maybe we should drop some hints to Professor Lupin. He's a former Marauder. Maybe he'll slip up and give us a clue."
"Too bad we can't go into Hogsmeade until third year," Brenna said. "Then we could go to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and ask the twins about the map. They used it a lot. They might know where it got to."
"I could brew some Polyjuice so we look like third years," Anya suggested. "Snape says I'm more than ready to learn something like that. And besides, brewing potions keeps me from thinking of…" She trailed off. Finola squeezed her shoulder.
"Thinking of what?" Lily asked.
"N-nothing, I'm just…homesick. I can search the Slytherin common room for the map if you like. It would be a perfect hiding place, considering how cunning the Marauders were."
"We'll all search our common rooms," Finola agreed. "We don't have a month to wait for the polyjuice to be ready, but we may have to use it as a last resort. Anya, could you get your hands on a ready-made supply, maybe from one of the older kids?"
"I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, I did find out a little something about Snape." Anya gestured to a secluded copse of trees.
"What did you find?" Brenna whispered when they were all seated with their heads together. "Secret documents? Correspondence with Azkaban prisoners?"
Anya laughed. "You've watched too many Muggle movies. All right, so this morning, I had a private Potions lesson, and Snape kept looking at the clock. He never does that, not when he's working with an advanced student. Well, we got our cauldrons brewing, and he said, 'Glazkov, I'll return momentarily. I'm out of dittany. Use this time to study.' And he left."
"But you didn't," Finola guessed.
"No. I snooped. I went into the Potions storage room. The dittany supply was low, but not that low. I didn't know what I was looking for, until I saw it." She took out her wand and spoke the photographic evidence spell. The picture that came up was of the vial.
"Whoa," Brenna exclaimed. "What's he doing teaching if he's got that thing? It's probably worth more than he makes in two terms."
"I know, and that's not all. I know where the vial comes from. It was Papa's, and Grandpapa's before that. It's a Glazkov heirloom. Papa's a Potions master. He must've given it to Snape to keep it safe from You-Know-Who," Anya predicted. She summed up her family history but, Finola noticed, left out any mention of the curse. Finola had to bite her tongue hard to keep from urging her to spill. Instead, she shook her head.
"But why is a regular old Potions teacher carrying wolfsbane for a colleague around in a Glazkov family heirloom? Well, okay, Snape's not a regular old teacher, but you get it. And why the heck would he trust me with it that night the Umbra attacked us? Me, the handicapped kid who wins the Potions booby prize? Ow!" she exclaimed when Brenna shot off a spell that shocked her like static electricity.
"You think you're mad as hell?" Brenna snapped. "I make hell look like a skating rink. If you don't get words like that out of your head, I'm gonna…I'm gonna transfigure every book and Kindle file you own into gobbledygook."
"Okay, I promise, I'll work on it. Gosh, you're worse than Snape—which, again, what the heck is he doing…"
"Shhhh!" Lily cautioned. She gestured for the others to tiptoe to the edge of the copse, and pointed. "The blackbird is flying as we speak."
Indeed, Professor Snape was striding across the grounds, expression blank, in all his obsidian-cloaked glory, toward the Whomping Willow. By unspoken agreement, the Gifted witches gave him a head start. Anya raised her wand and cast a quieting spell.
Whomping Willow Hideout
"Lupin?" Severus banged on the door and called again when he received no answer.
"It's open. Come on in," Nymphadora called back.
Severus pushed open the door and bent in deference to the ridiculously low ceiling. As he feared, Nymphadora Tonks Lupin sat on the lumpy facsimile of a sofa, not much more than a bunch of pillows and old blankets, next to her snoring husband.
"Tonks, how many times have I told you, I wish you wouldn't…"
"Unca Sevi!" The excited exclamation preceded little blue-haired Teddy Lupin, running into the room like a hurricane and knocking directly into Severus' knees. He had to laugh. As much as he told himself children Teddy's age were trouble—they were loud, always a mess, and couldn't so much as use the loo on their own—Teddy Lupin and other kids of his acquaintance had healed his heart some after the war. The fact that any child, let alone a nemesis' boy, would treat him with any affection was a miracle of, well, Christ-like magnitude.
He scooped Teddy into his arms. "Ah! You're becoming quite the handful. It'd be easier to lift a solid gold cauldron. What has my favorite little future Slytherin been up to today?"
The little tyke shook his head so hard it was a blue blur. "Not Sly-rin, Unca Sevi. I'm gonna be Gryff-a-dor like Daddy. Rawr!" He imitated a lion, sinking grasping little fingers into Severus' neck.
"Heaven forbid," Severus muttered, prying his fingers loose. "Can you use that big roar to wake Daddy for me? I have a delivery, and then I have to go back to school."
"No need. Daddy's awake," Lupin groaned. "Honestly, Severus, his eyes are turning green."
"Well, if you ask me, you're both shameless," Tonks scolded. "It'd serve you both right if he got Hufflepuff—if the house system is even in place within eight or nine years." She reached for Teddy. "Come to Mama, little man. Why don't you go and draw us all a picture?"
"'Kay. I'll draw the Gif-witches."
"The who?" Severus' chest locked.
"He means Gifted witches," Lupin said with a slight groan. "I can't keep a curious child from seeing the Daily Prophet."
"You might try harder," Severus groused. "And how many times must I tell you? Tonks and Teddy aren't safe up here, daylight or otherwise, especially now."
Tonks had the grace to blush, but accepted Severus' challenge. "Remus is gone more than home these days. I'm not going to tell my kid no when he wants to go see Daddy. And I thought Dumbledore strengthened the wards since the Umbra attack?"
"He did, but it's a temporary patch until the Christmas holidays. In the meantime…" Severus took the phial of wolfsbane from his pocket. "I thought you were going to work up protection spells for this thing? Monica can't do it; she has enough on her plate."
"Monica now, is she?" Lupin waggled his brows. "Monica, not 'that flighty milksop Swanson' or 'Swanson, the rainbows-and-unicorns…'"
"Shut up. She and I have enough trouble, worrying one or both of us will blow our cover. And you, Wolf, are not helping."
"I know Severus, and I apologize. The last several moons have been particularly…"
Severus swore, low enough that Teddy wouldn't overhear and insist he put a Knut in the Bad Word Jar. At this rate, the kid could probably buy himself a Firebolt.
"If we don't protect this thing, and the elements in it, with all the magic we've got," he hissed, "the Oculus Vermiculo will swoop down like the vultures they are and use it for their own diabolical means. Do I have to remind you what that would end in? Forced blood purification? The attempt to turn you, Lupin, into a hairy, fanged automaton? Not to mention, Teddy could get snatched."
He gentled his tone when the Lupins went pale. "I'm trying to believe we'll be fine. With Glazkov and Corrigan's prowess in Herbology and Potions, we could replicate what we need, or at least isolate the virus. Kettleburn's already working on advanced transfiguration; perhaps Minerva can teach her versions of changeling gifts that could help us all. And the way the Frost girl battles the Dark Arts…"
"Yeah, Remus said he heard that battling firsthand," Tonks deadpanned. "But do you truly think they can do it, Severus? Keep Hogwarts' light going and keep the Oculus Vermiculo from using those elements as deadly medicine?"
"They are the warrior maidens of the prophecy," Lupin spoke up. "Except perhaps Finola. Trelawney's grandmother did say there was a red herring…"
"Trelawney and all her kin are blasted frauds," Severus barked. "This isn't about prophecy. It's about protecting the people I couldn't last time. The ones I didn't bother to save. Lupin, if you're with me, you'll take your potion, and next full moon, you'll show up and claim it yourself—in a transfigured vessel."
