Thursday 9 September, 1993:
It was the lack of new marks upon his body that was the most striking difference to Remus. Usually, waking up after a full moon meant cleaning the scratches he'd given himself while in his wolf-state. But this morning, there were no new scars he could see as he examined himself in his bedroom mirror.
Remus absentmindedly traced with a finger an old scar that ran down the left side of his abdomen as he stared at his reflection. Yes, that was the most visible point of difference after taking Wolfsbane. But not the most important. That was what he could remember.
The morning after every full moon, Remus would wake up with a new set of memories – those of the wolf. A monster, unconstrained by empathy, by human morality, and driven by a single purpose: escape wherever his human side had imprisoned it, and attack humans. And when the monster inevitably found it couldn't get out, its rage would turn inwards, as it tried to rip out the human alter-ego that had incarcerated it, denying its natural proclivity for violence. Of course, the self-inflicted wounds couldn't do anything to Remus during the full moon – he just had to deal with them when he woke up.
Things had been a little different from his Fifth Year until the first couple of years of the War. He'd had the companionship of his fellow Marauders during his transformations, and somehow, the monster became less... monstrous. However, for the last thirteen years, every time he woke after a full moon, he could clearly remember the fury of the monster, the hatred the wolf felt for Remus.
But not this morning. There was no anger to recall. No revulsion for his human side, no compulsion to attack. Just a sense of... calm. No trying to escape his office, no scratching and biting himself. He'd just curled up and waited for the sun to rise.
The Wolfsbane Potion had worked. Better than he could have ever dreamed.
Remus yawned. His eyelids felt heavy. Although he had not expended anywhere near the amount of energy he usually did as a wolf, he did feel incredibly tired. He staggered over to his bed and sat on the edge, holding his head between his hands. Now the initial wave of astonishment and euphoria that the Wolfsbane worked had passed, it occurred to him that he was feeling a little ill.
After a while, the sick feeling began to subside, and he reached for his wristwatch. It was almost half-past seven. 'Probably time to head to breakfast,' he thought.
'And,' he added to himself as he began to get dressed, 'probably time to swallow your pride, and say thank you to Severus Snape.'
Friday 17 September, 1993:
"So, although water can be Transfigured, food can't be because it's one of the three exceptions of Gamble's Law of–"
"Gamp's Law," Lena corrected Tiffany. "And it's one of the five exceptions. Also, it's not that it can't be Transfigured, it's that food can't be Conjured."
She, Maggie and Rolf were on their way to a Charms lesson, but had been joined by Tiffany and Eve, who were heading to their Transfiguration class, and had decided not to pass up the opportunity for a brief walk-and-talk tutoring session with Lena. Something that had actually become a frequent occurrence over the past two weeks – much to Maggie and Rolf's amusement.
It appeared that the two new First Year Slytherins were less interested in socialising with their classmates, and more into following Lena around like – as a chuckling Rolf had put it the previous night – a pair of ducklings. Occasionally, the pair would expand to a brood of four, as their two Ravenclaw friends, Erin and Rebecca, joined them.
It was taking Lena some getting used to, but in all honesty, it wasn't bothering her as much as she would have expected – although she had no intention of letting Maggie, Rolf or anyone else know that. Perhaps even just two years ago, the prospect of being constantly followed around by two First Years and putting up with their questions would have been unthinkable. But Lena was introspective enough to know that over the last two years, who she was had significantly changed.
"But why can you Conjure water, and not food?" persisted Tiffany.
"And how exactly does Conjuring even work?" added Eve. "How can anything just appear out of thin air?"
Lena glanced down at both girls. They were walking – almost jogging, in fact, to keep up with Lena's long stride – on either side of her, looking up at her eagerly. Maggie and Rolf were a few steps behind them, and although Lena couldn't see their faces, she was fairly certain they were smirking.
She sighed. "Nothing does," she patiently explained to Eve. "Conjuring is the practice of assembling something from only elemental material. And water, compared to food, is relatively simplistic in its elemental structure. And you two just missed your turn to get to the Transfiguration classroom."
Tiffany and Eve hastily bid Lena goodbye – and Maggie and Rolf, as an afterthought – and ran back the way they had all come. Lena shook her head exasperatedly as Maggie and Rolf caught up to her on the stairs.
Rolf was grinning. "Have they asked if they can move into your dorm yet?"
Lena rolled her eyes as Maggie snorted and said, "Like hell that's happening. If they want to share a room with Lena, she can move in with them. Besides," she added, "I reckon they'd have to get in line behind Farley."
Her last remark made Lena frown in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Maggie sniffed indignantly as they reached the first-floor. "The girl's knocked on our door three times in the last two weeks. I mean, I know we've started actually interacting with our housemates outside of class now, but that's just ridiculous."
Lena shrugged. "Well, I did offer to help her with homework this year."
"Yeah, well, I think she's taken that offer up a little too enthusiastically."
Rolf laughed. "Careful, Maggie. You're beginning to sound jealous."
"I am not jealous of Farley!"
Lena ignored Maggie and Rolf as they bickered the entire way to Charms. As changes went, increased social interaction wasn't the most concerning.
No, what was actually concerning Lena was the physical change that was currently happening to her; namely, the continuing growth of the mark on her chest.
Although it had now been over two weeks since Dumbledore had taken a sample of Lena's blood for testing, he hadn't yet gotten back to her with the results. What she did know was that in those two weeks, the diameter of the blotch had grown by almost another inch, as had the surrounding black veins. And Lena was at a loss as to why. She hadn't had any more encounters with Dementors. And she certainly hadn't called upon the Orb's magic for anything. So what was going on?
There was only one other thing happening to Lena at present that was out of the ordinary: she felt like she was using more effort for wand-work than usual. Her wandless magic, however, was unaffected by whatever was causing that. But she hadn't told Dumbledore any of that yet. She didn't think there was any point until her blood test results came back.
To her relief, Maggie and Rolf ceased arguing by the time they reached the Charms classroom. The desks in the room were set out in pairs, so to avoid the awkwardness of deciding who would sit together, Lena pointedly placed her bag on the seat next to her. Maggie and Rolf took the hint, and sat at the pair of desks directly in front of Lena. The rest of the seats soon filled up, and Professor Flitwick began the class.
"Continuing our work on counter-charms," he began in his squeaky voice, "today we are going to be learning the Anti-Alohomora Charm."
'Good,' thought Lena. 'Something I can already do.' She had taught herself the anti-unlocking spell nearly two years ago.
After Flitwick took the class through the incantation and wand movement, he handed out a small, locked wooden box to each student.
"You will each attempt to place an Anti-Alohomora Charm on your box," he explained. "Once you think you have successfully completed that, you will swap boxes with another student, and will use the Alohomora Charm to try to unlock the box. If the box remains locked on the first attempt, cast it a few more times to test the strength of the Charm."
Lena pulled out her wand and pointed at the box, but frowned to herself. Even just holding the wand, she could feel a slight resistance coming from it. She gripped it tighter, frustrated. Just what the hell was causing it?
She took a deep breath, and non-verbally cast the spell. As soon as the magic had left her wand, she knew that although it had worked, it was far weaker than it should have been. Lena glared at her wand. 'Work, you stupid thing.'
Trying again, she cast the anti-unlocking spell with the level of force she would usually reserve for duelling. This time, the charm was of a more appropriate strength, but the amount of effort she had used for it was bothering Lena.
A couple of minutes later, Rolf was happy enough with his Anti-Alohomora Charm to swap boxes with Lena.
As Lena prepared to attempt to open the box, she could tell that Rolf was watching her nervously out of the corner of his eye. Clearly, he wasn't expecting his attempt at the counter-charm to withstand an attack from her. And Lena was very much hoping to prove that expectation correct.
'Alohomora,' she silently incanted.
The box remained locked, to Lena's chagrin and Rolf's delight.
Lena pursed her lips. Rolf was by no means a bad wizard, but this was his first time trying the anti-unlocking charm. Ordinarily, she would have been able to push aside his effort without batting an eyelid. But apparently today, she had to apply an extreme amount of pressure to even the smallest of things. And it was incredibly aggravating.
Rolf's smile disappeared as Lena raised her wand again.
Suddenly, the classroom door was flung open with tremendous force, causing all heads to snap towards it.
Standing in the doorway, to everyone's astonishment, was Dumbledore.
"Headmaster!" squeaked Flitwick, even more high-pitched than usual. Lena could understand his shock. She'd never heard of Dumbledore personally interrupting a class before – certainly not in such a dramatic manner.
"I apologise for the interruption, Professor Flitwick," said Dumbledore, his calm voice at odds with his forceful entrance. "But I need to speak to Miss Lestrange." His piercing eyes found Lena – as did the eyes of everyone else in the classroom – and despite his measured tone and expression, she could tell he was deeply troubled. "It is a matter of some urgency."
"Oh, of course," said Flitwick, watching Lena apprehensively as she pocketed her wand and stood up.
"Do I bring my bag, sir," she asked the Headmaster politely, "or will I be returning to class afterwards?"
"This might take quite a bit of time," replied Dumbledore, "so bring all your belongings with you."
Lena picked up her bag and, ignoring the inquiring looks of everyone, followed Dumbledore out the room, shutting the door behind her.
"Do you have the–" she began to ask Dumbledore, but he cut her off.
"Let us wait until we are at my office to begin this discussion," he said firmly.
Lena nodded, but a nausea began to settle over her. 'The test results are bad, then.'
They walked to the Headmaster's office in silence, anxiety growing within Lena every step they took. Finally, they reached their destination, and Lena took the same seat she had that morning two weeks ago.
From within his robe pocket, Dumbledore pulled out a scroll of parchment and began to unroll it.
"I apologise for taking you away from your class," he said, "but I only just arrived back from receiving these blood test results, and it was paramount that I spoke to you at the earliest opportunity." He flattened the parchment out on his desk.
"So you have some answers, then?" Lena resisted the urge to try to read the parchment upside down, instead focusing on Dumbledore's sombre face.
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "My acquaintances at the International Healers' Organisation were able to provide us with some, yes."
"And it's not good news," said Lena quietly.
"No," replied Dumbledore. "It is not." He leant forward on his elbows. "Lena, over the past two weeks, has the mark continued to grow?"
"Yes, it's expanded about an inch in every direction."
Dumbledore was unsurprised by this. "According to the healers I spoke with, that is because ever since your encounter with the Dementor on the Hogwarts Express, the Orb's magic has retained dominancy over your own."
Lena blanched. "You mean they're no longer combined?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "No. What I mean is that unlike the last six years, during which your own magic had enveloped the Orb's, these past couple of weeks, the reverse has happened."
Lena closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "I think I'm going to need a bit more explanation."
"For the last six years, the Orb's magic has resided within you," said Dumbledore patiently, "unused, and encased by your own magic. Then you came into close proximity with a Dementor, and your own magic, in order to protect you, allowed the Orb's to emerge. But once out of reach of the Dementor, your own magic did not immediately reclaim its dominance."
"Because I hadn't even realised I'd used it," said Lena, nodding. "So, what – I have to do the same thing I did after I'd attacked Travers? And that'll get it back under control again?"
"I am afraid not," said Dumbledore gravely. "You see, Lena, back then the Orb's magic was a foreign matter that had been introduced to your body and soul. There was less of it, compared to your own magic. So when you combined the two, your own was naturally going to be–" he broke off, tapping a finger on the desk thoughtfully.
Lena waited for him to continue.
"Imagine," said the Headmaster at last, "that your own magic is a cup of water."
She quirked an eyebrow, but only said, "All right."
"Now, imagine that the Orb's magic–" he paused. "Are you familiar with the Muggle substance 'food colouring'?"
Lena nodded.
"Well, then imagine that the Orb's magic is a spoonful of red food colouring. So, after the incident with Lenora Travers, you put that food colouring in the water. But you didn't mix it in. So the red colour was in the water, but you didn't have a cup of red water yet. However, when the Dementor appeared–"
"I mixed it, and the whole cup of water became red," finished Lena. "And now I can't reverse it." She sighed. "And water isn't supposed to be red."
"Indeed. Which brings me to the most important part of these blood test results. Lena, since the Hogwarts Express, every time you have used your magic, you have also been using the Orb's. That is why your mark is growing – due to your frequent use of it, the residue that has remained contained in your heart for the last six years is gradually spreading throughout the rest of your body."
A thought occurred to Lena. "It also explains why I've been having difficulty with my wand." She quickly told him what she'd been experiencing the past couple of weeks. "But now I know why," she finished. "The wand is supposed to work in tandem with my own magic. Now that it's been contaminated with the Orb's, it's having difficultly recognising it."
"I would agree with that conclusion," replied Dumbledore, but Lena could tell she was still missing something.
She folded her arms. "What haven't you told me yet?" she asked.
Dumbledore leant back in his chair, but his eyes didn't leave Lena's. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke. "I will put this simply as I can, so forgive me for my indelicacy." He clasped his hands in his lap, and glanced down at them, before looking back up at Lena. "The Orb's magic, when no longer connected to the actual Orb, is poisonous to the body. The poison in your body has been dormant for this long, because you have not used the magic. But now you are, and it is spreading. The growth of the mark is a physical indication of this. And once those black veins cover the length of your whole body, once they reach your head – reach your brain – then you will die."
There was a long silence as Lena considered this. Finally, she asked softly, "And when will that be?"
Dumbledore tilted his head to the side. "Well, that rather depends on you."
"How so?"
"If you keep using magic at the rate you are, then you probably have a few months at most. However, if you stopped, then you could have–"
"Stopped?" Lena's whole body went rigid, and her throat became extremely dry. "What do you mean, 'stopped'?"
"If you stopped using magic."
A noise filled Lena's ears, like a high-pitched ringing, blocking everything else out. Her vision went white. And she couldn't breathe.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds, and dug her nails into her palms until she could feel them beginning to tear through the skin. The pain was enough to make her take a breath in, and the ringing in her ears faded out, and she became aware that Dumbledore was saying something.
She opened her eyes, her vision restored. "Sorry, I missed that. What were you saying?"
Concern was written all over the old wizard's face. "I said that if you stopped, you could have another ten years left, maybe even more."
Lena swallowed. "But only if I didn't use magic again."
"Yes."
She rested a hand on her stomach, genuinely worried that she was going to throw up. Effectively, she would be a Squib – but even worse, because she would be one by choice.
She stood up and began to pace around the office, trying her best to remain composed, as she was aware of Dumbledore's eyes closely following her around the room.
Coming to a sudden stop, she faced the Headmaster. "I can't do that," she told him.
"Then you will die much sooner than later," said Dumbledore bluntly.
Something inside Lena snapped. "But what is the point," she snarled at Dumbledore, clenching her fists, "in living without magic?"
"I believe you will find that there are millions of people who manage it." Dumbledore's voice was quiet, but there was a slight warning in his tone.
But Lena paid it no heed. "BUT THEY ARE NOT WITCHES!" she shouted, gesticulating wildly. "I AM A WITCH! IF I CAN'T USE MAGIC, THEN I AM NOTHING!" The sick feeling in her stomach made her double-over. She covered her mouth with a hand, and after a few seconds, the wave of nausea passed.
Breathing heavily, she straightened, meeting Dumbledore's gaze. He was watching her with an unreadable expression.
"I am nothing," repeated Lena hoarsely, "if I don't have magic."
Dumbledore pursed his lips, then said, "You truly cannot think of another reason for living?"
Lena snorted derisively. "What, like love?" she asked mockingly.
A look briefly flickered across Dumbledore's face, but Lena was quick enough to catch it: distrust. And she knew why – her response had sounded uncannily like Lord Voldemort.
Lena sighed. "Sorry," she said quietly. "This is just... it's a lot to take in. Can I just have another minute to think this all through?"
Dumbledore nodded, but there was a coldness to his expression that hadn't been there before.
Lena turned around, facing a cabinet in the office that was full of various magical instruments and artefacts. Keeping her gaze fixed on it, she tried to arrange her thoughts.
Two weeks ago, when Dumbledore had first suggested that the Orb's magic was killing her, Lena had accepted it. But she had done so with the belief that she would have the opportunity to research and experiment for a way to cure herself. An opportunity to save herself. Now, not only was he telling her she couldn't do that, but that she couldn't use magic at all. And in this moment, that was an even more terrifying prospect than death.
Turning back around to Dumbledore, Lena took a deep breath in and out, then asked, as calmly as she could, "There's definitely no cure?"
Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles. "Not quite. In fact, there is one way that I am fairly certain would prevent this cause of death."
Lena's eyes widened. "There is?" she breathed, hardly daring to believe it. She also couldn't help thinking, 'And you didn't think to mention this earlier?'
Dumbledore nodded, but his expression remained solemn. "Yes. You see, the Orb's magic would not be poisonous to you if you were still in possession of Hecate's Orb."
Her heart skipped a beat. To hold the Orb in her hands once again. To feel that power surging through her veins. To only be restrained in what she could accomplish by the limits of her imagination...
"No," said Lena firmly. "Absolutely not."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Even if it means saving your own life?"
Lena shook her head. "My life isn't worth that price."
The headmaster gazed at her curiously. "I see," he murmured.
"So that's it?" questioned Lena, slumping back into her chair. "No other possible cure? Not even some kind of treatment?"
"Not at this present moment," admitted Dumbledore. "But there is now a group of wizards and witches at the International Healers' Organisation for whom that has become their priority. And they are some of the greatest minds in the world." His expression became unusually stern. "But even they will most likely need more than a few months to come up with something. So if you don't want their efforts to go to waste–"
"No more magic," muttered Lena. She knew that it should make her feel better to know there were highly competent wizards and witches on the case. However, the idea of her life being left in the hands of others made her stomach twist even more. Being helpless, letting others solve her problems for her – it was just completely against her nature.
"Exactly," affirmed Dumbledore.
Lena sighed in frustration, rubbing her temples. "But sir, I–" she hesitated, before asking, "May I speak freely?"
Dumbledore waved a hand. "Go ahead."
She took in a deep breath. "If I can't use magic, just what exactly am I supposed to be doing at a fucking magic school?"
There was a pause before Dumbledore responded, "That is a valid concern. You are currently taking Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, correct?"
Lena nodded. "Yeah, so five of them don't really require using wand-work. And Professor Lupin and I have come to... an understanding regarding Defence. But Transfiguration and Charms..." she shrugged. "How am I supposed to do them?"
Dumbledore stroked his beard, apparently carefully considering her quandary. Finally, he said, "I shall speak to Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, and tell them I have decided to directly intervene in your education in those subjects, and take you for private lessons."
"I suppose that sounds plausible," conceded Lena. "And what will I actually be doing then?"
The corners of Dumbledore's lips turned up in a dry smile. "Why, private lessons with me, of course."
Lena straightened up in her seat. "Sorry?" she said, not quite understanding.
Dumbledore chuckled. "Lessons not of a practical nature," he clarified. "But there is certainly plenty of work in the theoretical side of magic we can explore."
It was a bittersweet feeling for Lena. Working one-on-one with one of the greatest minds in Wizarding history was a genuinely exciting prospect. But the price of it...
She pulled her wand out of her pocket, and gazed at it forlornly. "No practical magic whatsoever," she said glumly. She looked at Dumbledore hopelessly. "Not even one tiny spell?"
"Not one," said Dumbledore seriously. Then a thought appeared to strike him. "Well, I suppose there are a couple of spells that use only the purest, lightest magic, so if you were to cast them, it would only be your magic enacting them, and not the Orb's."
"So casting them wouldn't make the mark grow?" It was like a small ray of light had appeared behind a thick cloud. "Which spells?" asked Lena eagerly.
"I would have to do a little more investigating," admitted Dumbledore. "But I am fairly certain about one particular charm..."
There were several large piles of essays on Remus' desk, waiting to be marked. But as it was a Friday night, Remus didn't feel too guilty about leaving them untouched. Instead, he was taking the opportunity to read something for his own pleasure.
He had forgotten the delights of having an extensive library at his disposal. It had been quite a few years since he'd been able to afford any new books to add to his own well-worn collection, and that meant he hadn't really kept up-to-date on any Wizarding academic breakthroughs – or at least, as much as he would have liked. So over the last couple of weeks, he had been doing his best to remedy that ignorance. His selection tonight was a fascinating tome called A Brief History on Time by a witch named Stephanie Hawkins, an expert on the subject of time travel.
Completely engrossed in his reading, a knock on his office door made Remus jump in his seat, startled. He frowned, looking at the clock. A quarter past nine. It was a little late for a student to be making a visit to his office. But he had briefly popped into the staffroom after dinner, so surely if any of his fellow teachers had wanted a word with him, they would have done so then.
He placed a bookmark in his book and closed it, calling out, "Come in!"
The door opened, and Remus blinked in his surprise when he saw who his guest was.
"Sorry to disturb you, sir," said Lena Lestrange. "But I was wondering if I might speak to you about something?"
"Of course," said Remus, hoping he was hiding his surprise. He gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk. "Please, take a seat."
Lestrange flashed him a small smile, closed the door behind her, and quickly took her seat. Her attention appeared to be immediately drawn to A Brief History on Time. She indicated to it. "Fascinating read, isn't it?" she said.
Remus smiled. "Yes, very interesting," he agreed. "Now, what is it you would like to discuss?"
Although it had been two weeks since his first Defence lesson with Lestrange, she had been yet to approach him with a topic that she wanted to learn more about. Instead, she had been using his classes mostly for her own private study. Occasionally, however, her housemates – but never the Ravenclaws – would approach her for assistance if they hadn't quite gotten a spell right, or weren't sure about some of their written work, and she would acquiesce. Remus closely monitored these interactions, but didn't intervene. It was such a rare thing to see Slytherin students asking for help that he had no intention of discouraging it. Lestrange obviously had earned the respect and trust of her housemates. And although of all his Slytherin students, his Seventh Years were the least openly hostile to him, he didn't think they were comfortable enough yet to ask him for extra help.
But perhaps now she had decided on what it was she wanted to improve on, or learn. And Remus was intrigued to know what it was.
"I've thought about your offer," began Lestrange, "and I've come to a decision as to what I would like you to teach me."
"Well, if it's in my capabilities–"
"It is," said Lestrange quickly. "I know it is, because I've already seen you do it."
Remus raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
Lestrange nodded. "Yes. Professor, I would like to learn how to cast a Patronus."
Well, Remus certainly hadn't been expecting that. "The Patronus Charm?"
"Yes."
Remus scratched behind his ear, feeling a little confused. "I don't know if you're aware," he said carefully, "but the Patronus Charm is actually on the Seventh Year curriculum. We'll probably be doing it in class a few weeks before the Easter break."
"I know, but I'd like to learn it now."
"I don't quite understand," said Remus, staring at Lestrange, puzzled. "Why not wait to learn it with the rest of your class? Why the sudden urge to learn it now?"
Lestrange looked at him with a blank expression for a few seconds, then leant back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Well, I don't know if you've noticed," she said lightly, "but there's currently an army of Dementors surrounding Hogwarts."
It was a valid point, but Remus had a feeling that Lestrange was holding something back. And he had a sneaking suspicion that she was entirely feigning her nonchalant demeanour. Nonetheless, he would play along with her for the moment.
He cocked his head. "Are you concerned about them for any particular reason?"
"I'm concerned about the fact that without the Patronus Charm, I'm effectively defenceless against them," replied Lestrange, her voice flat.
"Do you expect to be getting on the wrong side of them any time soon?" he asked wryly.
"I wasn't planning on it, no."
"Then why are you concerned about being able to repel them?"
The look Lestrange gave him was distinctly unimpressed. "Do you honestly trust the Dementors, Professor?"
"Trust them?"
"You're a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," she said. "Dementors are one of the Darkest species of creatures. Do you really think they became the guards of Azkaban because they have the best intentions of the Wizarding community at heart?"
"I don't like Dementors," admitted Remus. "And I think being able to cast a Patronus is a valuable skill. But neither have the Dementors given us a reason to believe they will attack without provocation. So I'm not sure I quite understand the urgency behind your desire to learn the Patronus Charm."
Lestrange stared at him for a few seconds, as if she was considering something. Then she uncrossed her arms and straightened in her chair. "One of the reasons Professor Dumbledore selected me for the position of Head Girl," she said carefully, clasping her hands in her lap, "is that he believes my magical ability is sufficiently high enough to protect students from potential harm that may befall them. Now, a student may have no malicious intent, but it is possible one could unintentionally cross a Dementor. And if I am in a position where I could intervene in such a misunderstanding, it is imperative that I am able to perform a Patronus Charm, so I can protect that student."
Remus rubbed his chin. There was something about the very controlled way she had said it, and was now looking at him, that seemed... off. Like she was hiding something.
"I appreciate that is something concerning you," he finally responded. "But I'm also getting a sense that you're not being entirely honest with me."
Lestrange narrowed her eyes. "No, I'm not," she said bluntly. "But nei–"
She abruptly stopped, and bit her lip.
Remus frowned. "But what?"
Clearly, Lestrange was fighting back the urge to say something. She looked down at her lap for a few seconds. When she looked back up, her expression was smooth once again.
"But neither am I being dishonest," she said.
Remus knew at once that this wasn't what she'd originally intended to say, but he didn't push it any further.
"I am not going to give you every reason I have for wanting to learn the Patronus Charm," continued Lestrange. "But the ones I have given you are valid, I can promise you that."
"I respect that," replied Remus patiently, "but I still believe that you can wait to learn with the rest of your class."
Lestrange visibly tensed, and Remus could see that she was struggling to maintain her neutral expression. He wondered if she was unaccustomed to meeting so much resistance from someone.
"Professor Lupin," said Lestrange after a long pause, "in my past six years as a student at Hogwarts, on how many occasions do you think I have approached one of my teachers for help?"
It didn't take long for Remus to come to an answer. "None."
"Exactly," said Lestrange. "On no occasion have I ever asked a teacher for help." She paused, looking Remus directly in the eye. "Until tonight."
A strange feeling came over Remus, and he wasn't quite sure what it was. Flattered? Nervous?
"So, tell me, sir," Lestrange went on, "why do you think I am here now, asking to learn how to cast a Patronus?"
Remus intently gazed at the girl sitting opposite to him. "Because you need to," he finally answered. He looked down at his desk, and chewed his lip thoughtfully. Then he looked back up at Lestrange. She was watching him closely.
"All right," he said. "First lesson is tomorrow night."