The Misadventures of the Weasley Brothers
by
FireValkyrie
Chapter 35: Resonance
sSs
"Hey Live, how are you?" Vivian asked after class. She hadn't seen much of her friend in the past two days.
"Good. George is out of hospital now," she told her wearily.
"That's good. I heard you saved his life." Vivian smiled at her friend's blush and natural resistance to such a statement. "Pucey said so."
Live's eyebrows rose with interest, glad for a chance to sway the current topic. "Been talking to Pucey, eh?" Now it was Vivian's turn to blush. If she'd had time, Live would've pursued the subject, but for now she was satisfied with the red in Vivian's cheeks. "Listen, I've got to go see Snape about something, and then this meeting with Dumbledore, soooo…"
"Yeah," her friend said with contrite understanding, "I'll talk to you later, then." The two girls hugged before parting ways, and after shooting a too-nosy kid a particularly nasty sneer, Live was once again left with anxiety fluttering about in her stomach.
For one thing, she didn't know what Snape wanted, and was partially afraid it had something to do with her chance meeting with Mr. Malfoy a few days previous. And for another thing, she just didn't feel like dealing with her Head of House right now.
But in much the same manner she dealt with everything else in her life, Live decided to steel herself and face the music. She was at the dungeons quicker than she had anticipated, but she was ready for whatever lied within.
Live knocked on the door and peeked into the classroom. She saw Snape in the middle of berating a young Ravenclaw boy who had spite and disdain written all over his face. Snape turned his attention to Live, and the boy took advantage of this moment to fix the professor with a twisted face, his hands stuck in his ears waggling about right behind the potion master's back.
"I will be with you in a moment, Miss Hunter. You may wait outside."
"Yes, sir," she replied with distraction. She couldn't believe the gall of the kid behind her Head of House. His thumbs in his ears, tongue hanging out his mouth, nose scrunched up in silent taunt. She certainly didn't have the guts to try that, let alone the courage. No one was exactly certain the dour potions master didn't have eyes in the back of his head. She had to hand it to him though, that little Ravenclaw had some spunk.
Snape walked two steps and shut the door behind Live, but not before she heard "And I can see that you idiot child!"
She was smirking to herself, standing in the middle of the hall and facing the door with giggles, considering whether or not to listen in. Poor kid was gonna get it now...
"You seem in a good mood, half-breed, for one whose lover was nearly killed by a snake," an arrogant voice startled her. Live spun on her heel, eyes narrowed looking up at the self-pleased grin on Draco Malfoy's face.
"Fuck off ferret boy," she said with feeling, her heart beating fast, fingers twitching towards the wand concealed in her robes pocket, mind wondering if she'd need it.
"But maybe I should be thanking you," he said as if pondering the merit of such a statement, taking a step towards her.
She had her back against the door and wand pointed towards his throat in moments. His eyes were wide with surprise, body stiff with fright, but then a look of calm appeared over him, that damnable smirk haughty on his face.
"With Weasley out of the way, Gryffindor would have to forfeit the quidditch match coming up. That was your plan, wasn't it?" he asked, piercing eyes locked with her angry, frightened green ones as he took another step too close, her wand mere centimeters from his throat. He saw in her eyes that she was processing the thought, possibly wondering if it was just him, or a rumor being spread around about her.
Regardless of what she might be pondering, she wasn't going to take this treatment. "Go away from me right now, Malfoy, or I will put you in the hospital."
His left eye twitched. He could tell she meant every word, and he was well aware of her skills with a wand. He didn't move closer, but he didn't back away either. He raised his chin pompously.
"You wouldn't dare lay a hand on me." He had a condescending look on his face, arrogance reeking from the frown he held. He wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't lay a hand on him, given his personal experience. At least, not the kind he'd please to make her. Anyway, he fancied himself a good few inches taller than her and therefore her superior in this matter. Her behavior wouldn't be tolerated.
A sly grin came to his lips, and for the moment she held back on cursing his brains out his ass due to the fact that Snape might come out the classroom any minute.
She hoped he would, and deal with Malfoy himself.
"Or maybe I haven't given you the proper chance to know what real pureblood feels like."
She shuddered at his tone, looking away from his leering grin with disgust, skin crawling at his suggestion. She felt verbally violated, heat coming to her face from this indignity. He wouldn't be allowed to get away from this unscathed, that was for certain.
He smirked, pleased with himself in her reaction. She would be fun to tame. "You may be a half-blood, but you have some value that could be retained. You could still be my whore," he stated the proposal in a business-like manner. She stared at him, too shocked to speak. He leered at her salaciously. His tone was mean and nasty next, his demeanor as if he thought he was being gracious. "Of course, you'll have to make amends for what you did to my head last time I had you like this."
Her wand was digging deep into the flesh of his neck in seconds, the black palm wood pressing into his throat so that he wheezed with fear. Her eyes were murderous, memories both humiliating and shameful flashing through her mind. Malfoy had the decency to look scared, backing up until he no longer could, the wall opposite the hall to his back.
She was incapable of speech or human thought, instinct acting to protect herself. It took every ounce of her control to not murder him where he stood, all her focus on not jamming her wand into an artery. But she continually forced it deeper into his skin, the precursor to a bruise already forming, and he had nowhere else to back up into to escape it.
Creaking behind her made Live jump in fear and shock from her focus. Immediately turning towards the door, all the tension fled from her body.
A much-chastised Ravenclaw exited the room quickly looking quite glum, and Snape followed him out with a scowl, arms folded on his chest as he stood the beacon to his classroom. He looked at Live, noticed the unsheathed wand in her hand, and then his attention went to the boy behind her.
She turned her head with minor dread, wondering what Snape was looking at so intently, and saw Malfoy straightening up against the wall, rubbing at his neck with agitation most severe. Snape, however, didn't press the platinum-haired Slytherin for an explanation, nor make Live explain her wand. He didn't say a word to what he must have known she'd done, or was about to do, but merely ordered her in the classroom as he himself went back in.
Live cast one last glare at Malfoy before turning her back on him. The latter proved a mistake.
She stiffened, a moment later feeling his wand tip in her back. And then she realized she couldn't move. She was paralyzed on her feet.
He put a tight, wrenching grip on her shoulder, digging his fingers into her skin through the fabric of her robes and spoke in a whisper too close to her ear. It made her nauseous. "I'll wait for you to come to me, half-breed. And you're really going to have to make it up to me now. I won't be half as generous as you've experienced thus far," he promised. "And you will come to me. But I'll give you something to think on until then…"
Her eyes widened as much as they were allowed as his hand moved for the buttons at her top, going for her breasts. She couldn't scream, couldn't call out to her Head of House only footsteps away, but was frozen in helplessness, everything seeming to go slowly as she watched in abject horror. He was nearly at her shirt, and her body and magic rebelled against such shameful treatment. With a great force he was thrust away from her and slammed against the opposite wall. The door in front of her slammed against its wall as well from such forceful expulsion.
She was able to freely breath and move again, feeling slightly light-headed, a little sick. Ignoring this and not about to leave her back exposed to Malfoy for a second time, she quickly spun on her heel and shakily held her wand.
He was against the wall, looking at her with wide eyes. As her wand found it's direction pointing at him, a very illegal curse on the tip of her lips, he took his chance to jump up and speed from the hall, retreating from the scene.
"What in the name of Merlin was that?!" Snape demanded, striding out of the potions classroom with severe agitation and offense. Malfoy's footfalls were only just beginning to fade. She just gapped at Snape. "Well speak up, girl."
"I, uh, accidentally slammed the door…I-I'm sorry professor…" she muttered, looking down and by-stepping him to enter the classroom, face flushed with shame and hands shaky from distress.
Snape regarded the hallway with a general look of disdain and dissatisfaction, disappearing through the door and magicking it shut this time, warding it against intrusion. Live was sitting on the edge of a table wringing her hands, but he made to stride right past her and into his study without a look.
"My office, Miss Hunter," his voice reached her through the classroom. She hopped off the desk, more than a little uneasy, and obediently entered his office. She was quite worried of what he might've seen. She didn't think she could take the stress of another lecture from him on things she'd rather put from her mind.
Snape was behind his large desk, a small familiar bottle of sorts in his hand. "I believe this belongs to you, Miss Hunter?"
She looked at him blankly, then comprehension dawned on her face. It was her anti-apparating potion. It had been from her mind the past few days what with George being in hospital. She had no doubt how Snape came about it, nor the fact that Dumbledore was behind this little set-up. Now she had a chance to speak to her Head of House about her potion and its uses, though she wasn't exactly in her rightest of minds to do it. She'd have to thank Dumbledore next chance she got.
Bloody meddling well-meaning man.
"…thank you, sir," she said quietly, eyes low as she took the bottle from his proffered hand. She wasn't ready to have a little chat with him. Not only was the man intimidating on his own, but she still felt betrayal towards him and his retaining of the information of a certain prophecy that was screwing up her life. As her Head of House he should have told her and saved her a lot of grief and headache. Though it would probably be a cold day in hell before he set about to feeding students information they truly desired, it would have been nice to at least know he'd been rooting for her team.
"I take it from your current behavior towards me, Miss Hunter," he began with silky cold precision that immediately set her senses on high alert, "That you are more than aware of the prophecy concerning yourself and Mr. Weasley."
She felt the blood drain from her face. How? How did he--? Oh, wait, the other teachers and their bloody gossiping.
Tonks you nark, she thought.
"Yes, sir," she admitted, wondering if Tonks had let it slip that she'd gained such information from eavesdropping. Bloody witch.
"And it is also my assumption, being the intelligent little witch that you are, that you must also be aware of my reasons for not wanting you to be informed," he continued in that same voice, eyeing her speculatively.
She wasn't sure if she had just been insulted or complimented by the intelligence part. He was right, though, in the supposition that she had figured he hadn't wanted her informed because he didn't want her fulfilling any prophecy on accident. She'd gathered as much from listening in days and days ago.
She knew also that he owed her no explanation for his actions (as he was certain to think he owed no one anything) and that he was being very respectful towards her right now, at least, as respectful as he could tolerate towards any student. She respected him as such for explaining himself (if that was what one could term this little chat).
Bloody Dumbledore.
"Yes sir, that did cross my mind," she admitted guiltily. He was silent a beat too long, so she spoke out of discomfort, playing with the bottle in her hands. She had to ask him about the matter weighing most heavily in her subconscious. "But that prophecy…I mean, it doesn't have to be referring to me at all, does it?"
He had his elbows on his desk, his slender fingers entwined in one another at chin level. He gave her a thinking frown. "The Headmaster believes so, Miss Hunter," he replied, looking at her with contemplation. She felt anxious under his gaze, her frustration with that general consensus more than apparent on her face. He addressed that immediately. "Do not let your emotions get the better of you…and be careful with that bottle!" he warned.
She looked up and followed his eye-line to the bottle in her hands. The contents inside were bubbling, though the glass was temperate to the touch. The boiling bubbles stopped a moment later.
"Urrmmm…" she murmured aloud, as if it explained the bottle, though she had no clue why it was behaving like that.
"What is contained within that bottle, Miss Hunter?" he requested, though his tone implied that he demanded to know. She knew at that moment that Dumbledore hadn't explained the nature of it to his potion's master, leaving it up to the man's curiosity as well as Live's own communication skills to discuss her little development.
Bloody clever old wizard.
She took a breath to clear her head. "It's a potion I've been working on for some time, sir." He gave her a look that seemed to wonder if she were actually dimwitted enough to state the obvious, or if she'd been hanging around Gryffindors too much lately. She frowned and decided to skip the introduction and blast him with disbelief…she hoped. "It's an anti-apparating potion, sir. Spritzed on the right thing and it is unable to apparate with a person." It was a minor change in his expression that conveyed he appeared impressed. Or maybe it was agitation. One could never tell with Snape. "I've already had two successful field tests," she informed him.
He rose from his desk to come around to her. She held the bottle out for him to inspect, and inspect he did, with quite a look of disdain. Ah, here came the criticisms. "Have you recorded these tests and their results in the proper manner of documentation?"
She chewed on her lips, sudden frown on her face. "Well…no…not ye-"
"And I wonder if you still possess the items which you have conducted your experiments on, and if they have been stored in the proper way to reduce the risk of contamination and proper observation for side-effects?"
"Well George stills wears his-- I mean, well the potion's ingredients aren't harmful or as unstable as some of our daily-use variety…Just a bit more rare…" She felt color rushing to her cheeks under his speculative gaze. He seemed unsurprised with her mutterings. She tried to defend herself against the look he was giving her. "Sir, I have an ironclad memory when it comes to my potions and experiments, and the ingredients are hardly dangerous or harmful to the health. It's just a matter of putting the things on paper--"
"Clearly, Miss Hunter, you do not take potions as seriously as I assumed you did."
"But I-"
"Any fourth year knows the proper manner of which to conduct and record experimental potion making," he continued in smooth tones that made her feel ashamed. "You yourself are surely aware of the laws and restrictions against underage experimentations, not to mention the risks which go with it."
She met his eyes with a frown. "I'm already of the majority, sir. I'm as old as any seventh year and twice as serious about potions. And I'm well aware of the laws regarding potion making," she told him defiantly with chin high, basically admitting that she knew that she required certain permits where certain procedures were involved, and that she was willfully breaking wizarding law. He scowled right back at her, unsure of what to do about this. She lowered her eyes, still frowning. "I just thought you might have some insight or something on it…"
That little sentence surprised him. The fact that she openly admitted she wanted his help even though he'd basically insulted her abilities showed him that maybe she was the student he'd hoped she'd turn out to be. Even hanging around that Gryffindor rabble, she might still have hope in the world of potions.
"I thought it could help against You-Know-Who," she added after a moment, muttering about the potion dolefully. A little gasp of shock escaped her throat as he curtly took the bottle from her hands, walking over to one of the cabinets he usually kept locked. She felt heartbroken. Was he confiscating her potion? She'd have words with Dumbledore about this.
She leaned to try to see what he was doing, but see she could not. She was only able to hear the slight clink of glass against glass, a liquid noise.
He turned back to her after locking his cabinet back up, and he handed her the bottle, which was now about half-empty.
"I've taken a sample of your potion, Miss Hunter, which I will examine at my leisure to ensure that it is safe against most risks." She tried to contain her smile. He gave her a disgusted look. "Since it is of the unprecedented variety, I will allow you to keep that original in your possession for the time being. And it would do for you to put your findings somewhere other than your mind in the mean-time. As I told you before, keep your emotions in check at all times."
She slightly frowned, but allowed her moment of confusion to pass. "I have two versions of the potion, sir. One is thicker, like more cream-like, but I don't have it with me. Anyways, I already have a few things about it written down here and there, but papers can be stolen, and potions duplicated. My mind," she tapped her head with her finger, "can't. I wish to keep that much safe."
He was watching her with uncertainty. She had much to learn about protecting herself. She should be aware that minds, like locks, can be picked. "You think you can guard your mind against unwanted intruders?" he asked with cynical doubt, voice cold.
A look of befuddlement passed through her eyes, unsure of what he was referring to. "Well I-"
Greenish light momentarily filled the room, followed by the voice of the Headmaster. "Severus?"
They both turned towards his fireplace to see the disembodied head of Dumbledore looking quizzically at them with a twinkling in that flaming eye. He looked quite pleased with himself, and Live was quite sure the flesh and bone Dumbledore looked much more cocky in person. Live snorted.
"Yes, Headmaster?" Snape inquired of the flaming head.
"I was just wondering if I could see Miss Hunter in my office when you are through with your visit?" he asked pleasantly. His words made Live picture herself and Snape discussing the weather amid tea and biscuits. She could've smacked Dumbledore, he thought he was so clever. Dammit.
"We are quite through here," Snape informed, turning to Live with a dismissing look. She hefted her bag on her shoulder and made to leave.
"You can send her through the floo, Severus, if it's not too much trouble?" Dumbledore asked kindly.
And after that me and Snape can briefly discuss fluffy kittens and daffodils, she thought to herself. She rolled her eyes. Dumbledore was one of the most powerful, kindly old wizards she'd ever met, but damned if he wasn't wickedly manipulative at the same time. That power came with the wisdom of age, she figured.
"Yes, Headmaster," Snape allowed, and the flaming head of Dumbledore disappeared from the grate. Snape cast his cold gaze on Live, who felt horribly inconveniencing on her Head of House. "Do you know how to use the floo-network, Miss Hunter?"
"Yes," she told him. He looked satisfied enough with her answer, and moved aside so she could go through.
Whether it was Fate, the improper placement of fireplace-architecture, or her own clumsiness, Live stumbled when she arrived at the Headmaster's fireplace.
"SHITE!" Live cursed as she hit her head coming out of the floo. Her hand immediately went to her mouth to cover it in shock of what she'd said, looking about the Headmaster's office to see the damage her sailor-mouth might've had. Several portraits looked offended, murmuring amongst themselves, and one red-faced wizard portrait with a stein in hand was chuckling to himself. Oh how she loathed traveling by floo.
Live snorted blithely and found George sitting in a chair, looking nervous, surprised, and horridly amused by her little outburst. He gave her a silent wave over and a warm smile, motioning her towards the chair next to him.
"I didn't know you were here," she murmured, moving towards the proffered chair.
She felt a bit relieved, but it didn't last for long. She didn't know George was going to be here, and for whatever discussion she'd expected to have with Dumbledore, she'd assumed it would be her alone. What did that old man have planned?
"Just a bit of a chat, my dear," a kindly voice addressed her from behind. She squeaked slightly in surprise, and was confounded to hear the Headmaster, as well as some smarmy portraits, chuckling as he walked past her, no doubt amused that he had startled her. "Please, have a seat," he offered as he moved to his own chair. "Care for a bit of tea?" Live looked at him in a way that brought an amused gleam to the old man's eye. "No, I don't suppose you do." He looked to George who, with a look in Live's direction, graciously declined. It earned another smile from Dumbledore
Live looked at George speculatively, sitting in the chair next to him and putting her bag on the floor. She played with her half-empty potion bottle safe in her lap, and looked to George for some sign of assurance. He extended his arm towards her, and she took his hand. He gave it a reassuring squeeze and let her go.
"Excuse me, sir, but what is this about?" she asked Dumbledore with curiosity. He took a sip from his own teacup and brought it to rest on its saucer.
George leaned forward in his chair, hands on his knees as he regarded the old wizard quizzically. "We're not in trouble, are we, sir?" It made Dumbledore smile, and he shook his head lightly.
"No, not in trouble, my boy," he told George, who looked greatly relieved, if not slightly confused. Live wondered what he had to look so relieved about, but he just grinned at her impishly. "There are several matters I'd like to address over tea, but first things first. How is your arm, Mr. Weasley?"
George grinned and rolled up his robe-sleeve. "Just fine," he said as he turned and flexed his heavily-bandaged arm in proof. Live grimaced at the site. She knew what it looked like beneath the bandages, and how chewed up and discolored the flesh was.
"George, easy on that arm," Live said in concern.
He grinned and rolled the sleeve back over it. "Still a little sore, but it'll be fine in time for the match," he informed Dumbledore.
Live had a fretting look on her face, and Dumbledore focused his attention on her worry. "My dear?"
Live looked up, startled from her thoughts. "Oh, I'm sorry, yes?" she said apologetically, lost in concerned thought.
Dumbledore smiled in having relieved her from her frowning reverie, and turned back to George. "It is still not clear who was behind that attack on your person, dear boy. Pieces of your bat, as well as what was left of the snake, were examined, and we found that the bat was intended to harm whomever touched it. But because it was your bat, Mr. Weasley, it is safe to assume that someone was trying to harm you personally. Until we have further information, I'm going to have to ask you to stay close at hand and any future quidditch practices you have to be supervised by a professor at length."
"Tonks would love to do that," Live volunteered her vindictively, hoping to get the little professor back for all the narking she'd been doing lately. Dumbledore regarded Live with a thoughtful smile.
"But sir," George questioned, minorly confused, "Live touched that bat too. She was handling it long before I came in contact with it." She looked at him, alarmed that he'd suddenly drawn attention to her, as well as what it sounded like he just accused her of. "If my bat would've hurt anyone, how come it didn't harm her?"
"Thanks a lot George…" Live muttered. It earned her a grin from her dearest love, and she raised her lip in half-hearted snarl, then rolled her eyes. She slowly drew her gaze to meet that of Dumbledore's, and was troubled finding him looking her over speculatively. "I didn't do anything to that bat," she affirmed defensively. He regarded her with a smile.
"Relax, my dear. You are not on trial here." He smiled warmly, but she was still quite unnerved. Did everyone think she had sabotaged George? "You have my word, I do not believe you would harm Mr. Weasley."
Thanks for the vote of confidence, she thought glumly.
"But how is it that she's not hurt? And anyways, who would want to hurt me? I'm so lovable," George declared with a gesture, trying to lighten the mood.
Live snorted, not sure whether she wanted to laugh or strangle him.
"Well, the reason you were harmed and Miss Hunter was not," he looked pointedly at Live, "is owing to the recent shift in magics the both of you have experienced. Live's magical faculties protected her."
Live's brow furrowed. "My shift in magics?" she inquired.
He nodded. "You're a multiforme, my dear. That is one of the rarest magical affinities one may possess, and there are not many in the world. Normally, multiformes such as yourself do not last very long in this world. Until recently, we did not have a thought as to why, but considering what we know from your interaction with that wraith, and the reason it had come for you, we now know why there are not many wizards or witches with a multiple-variety magic-type still living in our world."
Live's eyes were wide. "Will it come back??"
Dumbledore shook his head. "I do not think so. Wraiths are creatures of a darker plain, but they are still bound by the rules of creation. Each wraith has a purpose and only one purpose. Since the wraith which was called forth to gather you has been disposed of, I believe you will not have any further trouble from such creatures."
Live let out a relieved sigh.
"Sir, my magic changed too, but it still got me," George spoke, still puzzling about it.
Dumbledore chuckled. "You're a duoforme, my boy. While your magic too has changed, it hasn't changed you half as much as Miss Hunter here. And duoformes are not in terrible lack of supply. For your bat to attack you was luck of the draw."
Live frowned in thoughtful alarm. "Just how much have I changed?!"
Dumbledore tried to look consoling, knowing he was alarming, if not confusing, both of them with such information. "While you are still the same person, my dear, your magic is recently of a deeper kind. I suspect that you have been a multiforme since the attack of that wraith, and if so, your magic will be tied to you now at a more base level. Reactionary magic, it is sometimes called. Most witches or wizards experience this in the form of wandless, uncontrollable moments of magic, usually in childhood. It is our wands which help us to channel and direct that uncontrollable energy which you will now be in hearty supply of. If it hasn't begun to happen already, it shall soon."
She frowned, thinking heavily, her mind racing about with her thoughts. "What about George?"
George had an eyebrow raised, looking at the old wizard expectantly. "His magic is stronger, more mutable, but not at near the level of transformation as yours. Sorry, my boy," he said with a chuckle as George looked quite put off.
"And what about the person that bewitched my bat?" George asked, the both of them firing question after question. Dumbledore didn't seem to mind at all.
He looked at him kindly. "For now, caution."
Live was fretting terribly. She sat up straight in her chair, the realization dawning on her. "Wait, Lucius Malfoy was here that day! He was here in the castle!"
"What was he doing here?" George asked, a bothered frown on his face as he sat up straight in his own chair looking Live over.
"I…I sorta insulted him right before everything with George happened…" she admitted to Dumbledore, not looking at either man. George had a thinking smirk on his face, and she felt Dumbledore's eyes on her as well. She didn't meet his eyes for the discomfort her admission brought with it. Although her insulting had been well-earned, she had acted disgracefully to a school governor- one whom had some sway over Hogwarts.
"Well it did take the form of a snake," George pointed out, his mind considering the very-real possibility that Lucius Malfoy had been responsible. Live's ears pricked up at his agreement.
"And he does have that snake cane," she pointed out, not at all having trouble incriminating him. This screamed a Malfoy. Dumbledore gave her a standing expression. "As a matter of fact, our team was practicing at that time! He could have been down there watching Draco!"
George suddenly had a realization. "Hey! Draco Malfoy was on the pitch that day! And this practically screams that a Slytherin did it!" George pointed out as he gestured to his arm. Live suddenly blanched in thought.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Before you get carried away, Professor Snape has already informed me that Mr. Malfoy is not responsible for the attack on Mr. Weasley, nor is it being planned to do you any ill will," he said looking at George. He was referring, of course, to Voldemort and His devices against them.
"…any out of the ordinary, anyways," George grumbled.
Live gave him a look with worry. "But Draco was there. He had tons of opportunity to--"
"The Slytherin quidditch team has already been questioned on the matter, Miss Hunter," Dumbledore said in impeding her wild thoughts. "Draco was nowhere near the Gryffindor changing rooms. Mr. Pucey personally attested to that."
Live frowned, looking down in thought. Pucey had saved George. He wouldn't turn right back around and lie for Malfoy, would he? She didn't think he would. Pucey was many things, but he was not a liar.
"Which brings me to the main reason for having you both here," Dumbledore continued through George's agitated mutterings. It brought Live's focus out of her lap and back to the discussion. "It has been brought to my attention that you've both become more than aware of the prophecy which was made earlier this summer by Professor Trelawney."
Live looked at George with a sort of 'I-told-you-so' expression. He hadn't much believed all the craziness surrounding this prophecy business even though she'd told him what she knew not much over a day ago. Now they would get information straight from the horse's mouth.
"I must also explain my reasons for keeping the both of you in the dark until now," he explained, continuing. Live chewed her lips, feeling quite guilty for all her prying, though she was now reaping the benefits of her snooping. George himself looked contemplative, full attention on the old wizard before them. "For this, you need to understand the nature of prophecies, and I will try to explain it as clearly as I can.
"To begin, you must appreciate the fact that prophecies serve many purposes. One is the widely-thought foresight which some prophecies widely anticipate. Another is an inherent warning they deliver. Prophecies are, in essence, warnings of things to come," he told them as clearly as he could. Live was nervously tapping her fingers against the glass bottle in her hands, glancing at George. He was paying rapt attention, leaning forward in his seat.
"The actions people take which run parallel with certain events is what a prophecy consists of. Most prophecies are vague, while others are unabashedly direct, and all fall into a scale from unimportant to imperative. There are countless antiquated, unfulfilled prophecies in the Department of Mysteries even as we speak. Some are as minor as what one might have for breakfast, or that a person will be late for their train. In essence, some prophecies are harmless, and many a time a witch or wizard has decided a prophecy about a chicken pie is actually foretelling the end of the world. Herein lies the problem within prophecies: Point of View, my children."
Live was frowning. "…oh bollocks…" she muttered, still feeling lost to the whole mess.
"So how do you correctly interpret a prophecy?" George inquired, an analytical frown on his face.
"With great luck, some might say," Dumbledore said, a kind smile on his face. George half-smirked. "You see, my boy, that's the problem. Some prophecies are incredibly effortless to understand-"
"Like, dinner will be served at four means dinner will be served at four," George offered with a grin. "Not that the world is gonna flood or something."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, exactly. And another problem is timeframe. Some prophecies foresee events that will take place in a week, a year, or even ten years time. And even then they can take years to reach their fulfillment. For instance, the prophecy that Lord Voldemort was so interested in overhearing years ago is what is responsible for the ongoing battle he persists in having with dear Harry. But it is because he acted upon the warning of that prophecy which is responsible for everything up until now. This is one of the reasons myself and the other professors did not want you two to outrightly know."
Live got up from her chair, startling George, and fiddled with the bottle in her hand as she paced. She could no longer sit still. "Sir, what if you can't help but set things into motion?" she asked nervously, too bewildered to bother if her change of place was seemingly rude or not.
Dumbledore smiled kindly. "That is what we refer to as self-fulfilling prophecy, my dear." Live snorted. She knew all about that. "Also why Professor Snape did not want you to know especially, Miss Hunter, and why Professor McGonagall hinted at it to Mr. Weasley. She thought he might be the trigger to fulfilling the prophecy, so she implied converse action without informing him directly. I didn't want any chances to be taken otherwise."
George nodded, and had the decency to flush red straight to his hair, remembering the 'no hanky-panky' warning McGonagall had given him. Live felt her own cheeks going red, but ignored it best she could, realizing what the old wizard had just implied.
She licked her lips, becoming impatient and worried. "But what if you couldn't help it? What if one set it in motion unknowingly? And without any prior knowledge whatsoever?" Live asked with important elaboration, gesturing wildly. "Being responsible without knowing it?"
Dumbledore smiled, folding his hands in his lap. He regarded her quite astutely, gauging her explanations for the current problem and how she felt so guilty, hoping that he might somehow forgive her for something she had no control over. If she'd never become a multiforme… He wished he could soothe her mind. "Some might say it was simply meant to happen, my dear. A true prophetic vision of Fate."
The realization that she was possibly completely powerless in this struck a major nerve. A quick intake of alarmed breath and a shriek of surprise came from her as the bottle in her hands exploded, the glass tinkling as it shattered. She shrunk back from it instinctively in fear that she'd be cut, and opened her eyes a moment later to survey the damage. She looked at George, who had jumped immediately to her side and was surveying the damage with stunned wonder, his hands clasping her shoulders with awe. She gazed at her hands, clean, unharmed. But it was the remnants of her potions bottle that had her slack-jawed in bewilderment, gaping along with George.
Floating midair in sparkling fragments were the pieces of glass, suspended in time and still spinning from the initial explosion. Various-size droplets of potion were undulating in place, everything contained within a sort of spherical area. An involuntary shiver of disturbance at such a sight went up Live's back, and the whole mess succumbed to the force of gravity and splattered to Dumbledore's rug with a clinking, liquid noise.
George looked from Live, to Dumbledore, and to Live again, uncertain. Live was gazing at Dumbledore as she chewed her lips, and looked at the rug with guilt. No doubt it was ruined. She looked at him with guilty confusion as he sat as nonchalantly as ever in his chair.
"Your magic has been taken to an instinctual level, and it shall become more unstable as time presents itself, reacting to your instinct and emotive states as opposed to your will." She opened her mouth, but lost all words. She was flummoxed. "I will help you in gaining some control over things, but until then I must beseech you to take care with your magic and emotions."
The only thing she could manage was a frowning nod of agreement, her mind flying to earlier outside the potions classroom. She was shocked with this, some part of her relieved.
George squeezed her shoulder gently. "How did you do that?" he asked curiously.
"It's her self-preservatory instincts kicking in," Dumbledore elaborated, trying to help them understand. George looked up with puzzlement and curiosity. Live just stared at the mess on the carpet. She wondered if she should clean it up. "Please Miss Hunter, don't worry about the mess. It's of no consequence," Dumbledore offered. Live smiled half-heartedly and re-took her seat. George decided to stand behind her, interested in what the old man had to say.
"Self preservation?" Live said in looking up, eyeing the Headmaster as she tried to take this in.
He nodded, pleased she was following. "I'm afraid that little is known of multiformes except for the rarity, as I've said, and that the made ones live quite short lives, excepting what we now know. And there hasn't been a born multiforme in the wizarding world since Merlin. In your case," he gestured fluidly, "your forms were brought on by death and revivifying, and an experience with a wraith. Death is a very serious modifier when it comes to a witch or wizard's magic. You've had two literal brushes with death, neither fatal."
"My red magic type," Live supplemented.
"Yes," the wise old wizard said with a pleased nod. "And as the old adage goes, 'what does not kill me makes me stronger'." He was pleased to see the light of understanding in her eyes, and he continued on for benefit of both. "With each succession of forme, the user's magic undergoes a slight change, and each change is unique unto a person. Your magic protected you against that beater's bat which injured Mr. Weasley here; it was your magic acting in the interest of self-preservation, not allowing such harmful magic to take form. I even suspect, though we shall never test it, that cursed items would not affect you at all."
A disbelieving huff left her lips, a sardonic smirk on her face. "So what, I'm at invincibility level now?"
"You are quite vulnerable to many things still," he replied quite seriously. "Certain creatures, magic, potions…Your magic is tied to your instincts and emotions both. It is unique unto yourself. I believe you must be in the extremes for it to be properly provoked. And no multiforme has ever before triumphed over the faculties of a wraith, my dear. It is my theory that because your magic was changed in the advent of death, it will serve its purpose in trying to keep you alive at all costs, even if it means draining you to the point of exhaustion. This is why I must advise you act in supreme caution with your moods."
Her eyes were faraway as she thought about this, wondering how to triumph over her mood swings which had become a source of legend. George looked to Dumbledore quite seriously. "But she's technically more powerful, right? Her magic protects her," he asked. He had cause for concern after what had happened with Malfoy. If she had let him have his way, she'd be living it up in Gryffindor Tower right now.
"In a sense. But with increased power comes danger."
Live looked up from her reverie at that, and Dumbledore caught her eye. "You will be more dangerous, Miss Hunter. If someone amply surprises you, it could end in disaster. For the both of you."
"Oh god…" she muttered to herself, looking at her hands, palms open on her knees. "I'm a bloody time bomb," she said with surrendered acceptance as she closed her hands to fists.
"It's alright, you'll just have to be careful," George said from above her chair. She looked behind her with the semblance of a side-smile.
"I will assist you in matters, to be sure," Dumbledore affirmed. "We don't want your magic to materialize in a way that would be harmful."
Live's head was spinning with errant thoughts. It made sense now, what little she knew of the prophecy. Destruction will come in a snake skin and pure-blood…That single line haunted her mind. She was becoming dangerous. Her magic was on the verge of being subject to emotion, and she already had crazy mood swings. She now understood how any child she might someday have could be dangerous…a destructor…She was on the verge of being the destructor herself.
"We want to hear the prophecy," George said determinedly. His tone had an edge to it.
Live looked up at him sharply, eyes wide with shock at his suddenness. His jaw was set stolidly, watching the wizard behind the desk. She looked back at Dumbledore to find him smiling resolutely.
"I thought you'd never ask, my boy," he said kindly, getting up from his chair.
Live released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, and looked back behind her at George. He was grinning down at her impishly, and she rolled her eyes at him, but put her hand over his which rested on the back of the chair.
She got up, side-stepping the mess her dearly-departed potion had made, while watching Dumbledore open a sort of cabinet he had closed. She thought afterward that it was quite lucky indeed that Snape had taken that half-bottle sample from her.
"Are either of you familiar with a pensieve?" Dumbledore asked.
"I've only read about them," Live offered. George just sort of nodded his head and grunted.
"Then this should be an interesting experience for the both of you. I want you to keep in mind that nothing in the pensieve can ever harm you or cause you physical injury." Live frowned, hearing much louder the words he wasn't saying.
"Please," he gestured them towards him to a swirling stone basin he had in front of him setting carefully upon a pedestal. They approached it with cautious curiosity, silvery light coming in whisps like fog or water from the peculiar bowl. There were runes and symbols upon the basin that seemed familiar to Live, but she couldn't read them. She thought it was quite pretty.
"Do we just, dive in, or what?" she asked with a bemused air.
"Not quite," Dumbledore told her. "If you'll both approach the basin and just lean in a bit, I've summoned the appropriate memory."
"Like this?" Live asked, peeking into the basin as a warm, colorful scene rose before her eyes. She had her hands on the pedestal, looking in curiously as the silvery strands formed and reformed before her eyes. Her whole body went limp, leaning against the pedestal as her head lolled forward on her neck, the light gone from her eyes as she stared blankly into the basin.
"Is she alright?" George asked, leaning forward to examine her face, waving his hand in front of her eyes. He looked to Dumbledore for an answer.
The old man merely smiled. "If you'll care to join her, I'll be with you in a moment."
George furrowed his brow with uncertainty, looking at Live, and then back to the basin. He squinted deep into the silvery substance glowing with color, not sure if his eyes were deceiving him or not. He suddenly felt like he was being cast into a cold, deep whirlwind, and he found himself thrust into the colorful scene he had seen moments before.
"George!" Live exclaimed with relief. He felt her arms pulling him up off the floor where he'd landed.
"Where are we?" he asked. He looked around, a big grin on his face. "Talk about trippy…is this really what a memory is like? Dad always said it was like being in a waking dream."
"I dunno," Live remarked. She surveyed the room. Large, but not overtly. Several halls led from it, no doubt to other larger rooms where the party continued. She could hear the haunting music wafting through the way. "Oh, there's Dumbledore. Sir?" she raised her voice to get the Headmaster's attention, but he didn't acknowledge her. "Professor?"
"I don't think that's him him," George offered.
"Memory Dumbledore?" Live pondered. "Oh, and there's Tonks." The witch in question had a large grin on her face and a drink in her hand. It made Live smirk. "She looks like she's having a good time."
"Reminds me of someone I know," George teased with a grin. Live elbowed him playfully, surveying the room. Minister Fudge was there, not looking too pleased, and a few professors she recognized from the school mingled with the other guests while a group of rather agitated-looking goblins seemed to conspire together in the midst.
"Trelawney seems to be having an awfully good time," George noted, the Divination professor hanging about the refreshment table, a smile on her face as she tried to engage a man in conversation.
"…but the inner eye can see the truth!" she insisted sloppily as her conversation mate moved away from her in what he must have thought was an inconspicuous manner. He nearly fell over, and Live jumped out of the way so he wouldn't fall into her. He passed right through George, who gave a nervous laugh and an uttered "cool".
Live turned back to see Trelawney all alone. She felt awkward that they should be allowed to see one of their teachers in such a state. Surely Dumbledore didn't intend for them to see her like this, and she felt it was improper for her to observe. She looked away, hearing Trelawney's sloppy voice declare a great misfortune she saw in the dregs of her wine glass.
Live instead focused her attention on the other people in the room. A young woman was flirting ostensibly with a man across the room while the woman next to her, most likely her mother, gave her a chastising prod in the ribs. Two men in fine business robes exchanged handshakes and feigned laughs while casting suspicious glances towards the group of goblins minding themselves. There was a brown-haired woman with agitated, pursed lips who took her husband's arm out of duty as he escorted her towards the door to sit while he sought his coat. She fixed her shawl upon her bare shoulders with ire. Minister Fudge seemed annoyed as well, but rather with the goblins than anything else, messing with his lime green bowler hat as the man mussed past him, straightening his sloppily-tied bow-tie. A woman in a slinky green dress bumped into Tonks, causing the Metamorphmagus to spill whatever had been in her drink all over her bright red t-shirt.
"Egh," Live reacted, looking at the shirt in vexation. That stain would never come out.
George snorted in amusement. "Why do you think Dumbledore's letting us see all this?" he asked, turning to Live.
She faced him with a shrug. "I have no idea. I know poor professor Trelawney has a drinking problem, and Tonks is a bloody mess…What kind of party was this?"
"Political."
They both turned to see Dumbledore standing behind them. Live's look of alarm turned to a sheepish smile; George looked peeved.
"One of those gold-exchanging parties, then," George stated, his tone annoyed and flat.
Dumbledore inclined his head with a conciliatory nod. "Corruption is widespread where wills are weak and pockets light."
"All these people are taking bribes?" Live asked with affront.
"Taking, and making. Sad to say, this is one of the smaller venues of persuasive parties that often take place, with government knowledge." Live snorted in disgust, and Dumbledore smiled. "Glad you feel that way, my dear. Several guests are ministry officials, most from older families. They influence certain bills and laws depending on how much gold their pockets are lined with by the end of the night."
"And your influence makes them think twice about that," Live remarked. She then looked self-chastised for being so bold. Dumbledore chuckled.
"Dad says it's gotten really bad. No one works the way they're supposed to anymore," George informed with insult.
"Your father would be most right in that assumption," Dumbledore wholeheartedly agreed with a smile. "It is men like your father that instill hope for the Ministry to one day reach its true potential." George looked pleased.
Live watched more closely, and this time she saw the exchanging of small purses, handshakes that were too hearty…the goblins' obvious agitation and watchful, sharp eyes. No wonder. Only the drunks seemed to be having any semblance of a good time. Granted, it seemed like the party was at some sort of an end. One of the goblins put a long-nailed hand over his face in blatant perturbation as Trelawney went down, unable to stand in her drunkenness.
Live hissed in empathy, and slowly turned towards Dumbledore to see if he'd caught that she'd seen. He actually drew attention to the matter.
"Poor Sibyll," he remarked sympathetically as Tonks helped the booze-filled professor to her feet. Live felt awkward. She didn't know what to say. She didn't feel it was her place to remark upon it.
"C'mon now, Sib, time to go home…" Tonks said with very carefully formed words, trying not to slur. She helped pull the professor to her feet. McGonagall suddenly joined at the other side to take her other arm. Memory Dumbledore looked very sad; his expression matched the current one on the real Dumbledore's face.
Memory Dumbledore approached Minister Fudge, who shook his hand while the other declared his good-byes. The agitated man with the mussed up bow-tie brushed past the Minister brusquely, but Fudge merely rolled his eyes. Dumbledore bade him farewell, apologizing for not staying, and falling in-tow with the three professors in front of him.
Trelawney suddenly went quite rigid between the two professors, her voice taking on an eerie, ethereal tone.
"The path will be secured with the union of the Like-and-Like. The one of rarity reborn through water and darkness is the flame for malevolence. Evil in blatant disguise will plot the union with the mirror-image…Multiple forms the one will take, but in the sands rise the truth. When the false seed is planted in virgin soil, the veiled will seek desperate vengeance upon the feigned mother to secure his place. The birth of her child will assure the fate of the father. Destruction will come in a snake skin and pure-blood."
She sneezed and hiccupped and relaxed in her compatriot's arms. Tonks' face was pale; McGonagall's serious.
"Had a bit too much, eh, Sib?" Tonks informed loudly, patting the professor on the head as one would humor a child. Trelawney merely hiccupped and went into rambling about the position of Mars. Tonks smiled nervously at the guests who were paying them any mind as the both of them urged Trelawney onwards towards the door. Dumbledore smiled at the guests as he nodded goodnight.
"Time to go," the real Dumbledore told them, touching both students' shoulders. The memory faded and dissolved in front of them as they were whirled upwards. They suddenly found themselves back in Dumbledore's office, looking over the stone basin.
"…whoa," Live uttered, swaying a minute.
"…that was weird…" George said, straightening. He turned to find Dumbledore already at his desk. He looked resigned to himself, if not a bit weary. No doubt he found the prophecy troublesome as well.
Live was muttering something to herself, and George turned to her. "What?"
She shook her head. "It's everything I was afraid of."
"Bollocks," George denied. He looked to Dumbledore. "What did that all mean, professor?"
"At the present, Mr. Weasley, your guess is as good as mine. Though I trust you now see why I believe the prophecy to be directly related to you and Miss Hunter?" George furrowed his brow with a nod. Dumbledore continued with instruction. "This memory will be yours to keep for a small time, but unlike the original, it will fade over time. Perhaps you can better understand it than this old man." He smiled nicely, though he was as troubled by it as they were.
"Well George is obviously the mirror-image…" Live spoke up dismally.
"As I also currently believe, and being of a Like-and-Like status of twin, it would make perfect sense," Dumbledore remarked with speculation. "Though George's role is not as assured as yours. Being that you were reborn through means of water, being revivified during the summer, as well as changed once again through the wraith, it is my sincerest belief that you are the rarity the prophecy speaks of. It goes beyond mere coincidence when speaking of the ways to which you came to be a rarity in our world."
"…and I'm the evil in disguise…" she muttered.
"No you're not," George affirmed, crossing his arms defiantly. "And you haven't been plotting anything, as far as my knowledge goes."
"She said 'evil in blatant disguise', George." He regarded her blankly. "My name backwards…If that's not wickedly obvious…" He rolled his eyes, putting it off to a fluke of coincidence. "And I did sort of plot the whole situation we're in." She was referring, of course, to the legal marriage, consequence of the panty-raiding and panty-questing. "We were plotting that for hours. You know, when me and the other girls had to, uh, get our property back." There was no way she was going to mention her panties in front of Dumbledore. She'd kiss Voldemort square on the lips before doing that.
George huffed, unsatisfied with her reasons and disbelieving of her conclusions. He leaned against a cabinet, looking annoyed and pensive. She looked at Dumbledore dolefully. "I don't feel evil."
"I do not sense any amount of evil in you, my child," Dumbledore reassured her with sincerity. "And though it is a possibility we cannot rule out, I would think it would not be as obvious as all that, nor as simple as the spelling of your name."
She was already resigned to her 'evilness', but George snorted in agreement with Dumbledore. "But what about this children thing? Father? Mother? What's that on about?"
Live didn't know why she flushed. She kept busy looking very interested in her hands.
"It could be an analogy," Dumbledore considered. "The prophecy speaks heavily of forms, and the familial unit of mother, father, and child could be referring to a bigger picture. Such as in reference of the Holy Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, if you are familiar. Three entities but in essence one form."
"So if it speaks about multiple forms…That's referring to me in some way, isn't it?" Live enquired, wishing away the heat in her cheeks.
"Being that you are a multiforme, I considered that deeply, but I am still not decided." He looked deeply troubled, and sighed. "The prophecy Sibyll foretold tells much in allegories, which unto themselves can be unclear. You, my dear, are no doubt the flame for malevolence, which is your tell-tale moth. It would explain the attack on Mr. Weasley's house during the days of summer, and the general attraction wickedness has for you." She looked alarmed, and he wished to ease her nerves. "I do not know why darker creatures are attracted towards you my dear. It could be that you have already passed through the realm of death once, and conversely had it pass through you."
Live shrugged. She had no idea what to make of any of it. And the clarity she thought would come with hearing the prophecy word for word? She was more confused now than ever.
George looked thoughtful. "Okay, so many forms the one will take. Live's gone through several magic-types already this year. She could be this 'one' it talks about."
"That is very plausible," Dumbledore said with a nod.
Live had a thinking frown on her face. Yes, she had taken many forms through magic-types…and she was an unregistered animagus…Up until now she had taken her shape-shifting for granted…Was it referring to her? Damn her and her illegal goings-on.
"Though 'sands' refer to The Sands of Time, and the magic-form changed the both of you. What has been done cannot be undone, with the exception, of course, if you were somehow able to gain a third magic-type, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore finished. "There is nothing more to be revealed on your part, Miss Hunter," he addressed Live. "No further truth to be found, as you are unchangeable in such a way."
She looked at him with a mix of worry and relief. At least he didn't believe it was referring to her.
"What about the literal sense of it?" George asked, a light flush coming to his cheeks.
Dumbledore smiled with amusement. He knew what George was asking about, but the young man was too diffident to ask directly.
"There is the matter of your children…"
Live let out a little shocked noise, turning sharply to look at Dumbledore. Her cheeks were crimson. Dumbledore only smiled.
"The prophecy warns against your union," he continued, un-phased by their mutual silence and horridly flushed faces. "You are absolutely involved Miss Hunter, and through careful deliberation, we have decided that Mr. Weasley is the closest choice to your better half, and with your union to the Like-and-Like, he being the mirror's own image--"
Dear God…Live thought with horror. She put a hand over her face to somehow shield herself from the mortification she was feeling. She didn't dare look at George. The last thing she ever needed was a sex-talk from Dumbledore…yet again.
"--and a pure-blood, you should be wary." Live knew he was speaking in the 'you' plural, that they should both show caution in their 'attentiveness' to one another…she was ready to die. She and George hadn't even gone through this discussion, not even beat about the proverbial bush with the subject. "The path will be secured with the union of the Like-and-Like. Destruction will come in a snake skin and pure-blood. The two of you together would qualify as the variables in that piece. And should the two of you decide to become--"
"Ah!" Live let out an involuntary shriek of distress as the subject took it's turn to 'intimacy', and she clasped both hands over her mouth as both men regarded her with odd but understanding looks.
"As I was saying," he continued, unable to suppress the amusement in his voice, regardless of how it was quite a serious matter, "The prophecy hints that your first-born child brought into the world would bring about and thus secure destruction. Until we are better informed as to what type of destruction this entails, I must advise against giving in to temptation and acting against impulse for your safety and for the safety of others."
Live was as close to having an apoplectic fit as she'd ever been, breathing deep and trying not to let her emotions get the better of her.
"And just how long do you think this prophecy will apply to us?" George asked in quiet tones with perhaps too-interested curiosity, his face red with awkwardness.
Live buried her face in her hands in mortification. Why oh why was he saying this to Dumbledore?? Now the Hogwarts staff would think they were both pervy hormonal teenagers who couldn't wait…bloody hell…the way they all gossiped.
Dumbledore chuckled even as he surveyed Live's loss of face. Ah, to be so young again.
"It is implied that this prophecy will come to fruition with the birth of a child, and that in itself has a certain time limit. But for now with our uncertainty-," he began to put a time-counter on Live's reproductive future. It was the last straw for her poor nerves.
"You know what?! It's MY womb!" she exclaimed adamantly.
George's eyes were wide in shocked surprise at her outburst, and Dumbledore's smile was fixed firmly in place. He would remember this poor girl the rest of his days, to be sure.
"Exercise control, judgment, and caution," Dumbledore told them both concisely. Live was breathing heavily, refusing to look at George, and instead was interested in staring down the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, who was smirking and chuckling from his frame. "I'm afraid that is the only advise I can offer to you, my dear. Otherwise, we're quite done here." He pulled out a fine peacock-feather quill and wrote something on a small sheet of parchment. "Would you mind taking this to Professor Snape, please? I hate to bother, but I believe he should be made aware of your potion accident, being he has the only remaining bit of it."
He held out the note to Live, and she blinked momentarily before taking it as Dumbledore offered her the floo to use. She knew it was his way of letting her off with dignity, as well as he must have something he wanted to discuss with George...no doubt about pulling in the reigns on his 'wild' hormones.
I don't care, fine, have whatever talks of abstinence and control with "horny-perv-boy" George all you want… She rolled her eyes at her own sarcastic, mocking thoughts as she stepped into the fireplace. If Tonks so much as mentions one word about this…Just let me hide under the bed rest of term…
With a muttering of Professor Snape's office, she graciously left in a blaze of green flames.
sSs