The Slybats & Me:
a Slytherin Story.
by the Fox.
Authors's notes: many thanks to my dear Furious! I am happy you revised my story. Well, Deimos is NOT Draco Malfoy, but his brother... older, obviously. I know I shouldn't have used Neville, but I couldn't resist. This is a lot of years before Harry, so Snape is quite a unexperienced teacher, as you'll see in this chapter. And I'm sorry I had to raise to R, because strong words and mention of menstruation. So, enjoy Snape in on of the more embarrassing moments of his life as teacher...
Yours, the Fox.
YEAR TWO-Part One
Becoming SLYBATS
In the first year they met and made friends, but they didn't became the Slybats till Ulysses came, in second year, a
transfer student from Beuxbatons. When they arrived the second year, Sera was still mute, Deimos was still alone,
Phebe was still a little vain girl and Terry an insufferable hyper demon. I watched them with interest, Marcus already
making friends with Terry and keeping the little pixie out of trouble. But when I saw the new boy go on and sit in the
place reserved openly for Deimos Malfoy, I smelled trouble. No way that arrogant git Deimos was, because under all
he was still Lucius's son, would take well that French boy trying to take his place. When Deimos arrived, I remember
late that night because he had caught a cold in the trip and he has went to see Poppy, his pale blue eyes sparkled. I
was tempted to see how they would handle it: I forgot they just had thirteen years.
- Excuse me, that's my seat.- Deimos said with his arrogant stare. Ulysses peeked him from under his glasses, and said
with that smart-ass, nerve-itching French accent of him:
- Really? What's your name?-
- I'm Deimos Malfoy.- he said, with the same tone he would have said " I'm God"
- Well, it's not imprinted anywhere.- Ulysses said nonchalantly and went on eating. I suffocated my laugh, but then I
had to jump into my feet when Deimos took a firm hold in Ulysses's neck and shove him back in the chair, onto the
floor.
- Malfoy.- I said, but Ulysses yelled in mid-air:
- PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!-
Deimos deflected it and it fell over Terry and Phebe. The both fell like stones, and I hurried: a Petrificus is just
uneasy to catch, but when repelled it doubles the strength. As I have guessed, Phebe was handling it well, but Terry
was fighting it, terrorized of being restrained, and he barely could breath.
- YOU JERK!- howled Marcus and fell over Ulysses: they rolled in the floor, and Ulysses, being shorter and weighting
half than Marcus was object of a throughout punching. I carried Terry and Phebe myself to Poppy. Phebe just
needed a counterspell I made quickly, letting her resting a second, but Terry had fell into hysterics: was then when I
got to know about his imprisonment panic. When a year later, Filch decided it was good to lock the poor boy into a
cage-cell for an afternoon, he almost killed himself in hysterics, trying to get out and peeling his nails off. I remember
carrying him to Poppy that time, furious and horror-stricken, restraining myself to doesn't kill Filch! He looked like a
child in my arms, crying brokenly and openly in terror, clinging to my shoulder. It tore at my heart, and to protective,
fierce instincts I never knew I had. After that, I yelled and terrorized Filch so much he had never dared to touch one
of my children anymore.
I yelled thoroughly to Deimos and Ulysses that time: I remember having called then vain idiots, useless, vulgar and
arrogant asses. I pointed they had hurt Phebe and Terry, housemates, and a girl and a younger boy by sheer
stupidity, and finally claimed the right of them to sort their differences in private, out of my sight and without harm to
others.
I sent them out still yelling, and gave them the hardest detention I never gave to them. I thought they would spend it
sparring in the floor, but I should have had more faith: they made a cold amend, and even if they always had their
differences, as much as focus and thinking, they, years after made that an asset. They spent the detention making
boxes of candy to Terry, and excusing themselves to Phebe and Marcus. When I saw Ulysses next day sitting between
Phebe and Marcus, I couldn't believe my eyes, and then, smiled.
In the end of the table, Deimos, Phebe, and Sera. In front, Ulysses, Terry, and Marcus. They never altered their seats,
and still now I always see in my memories Sera's blond mane outlined by Phebe's raven black hair, and Terry's braid
from behind Marcus's wide shoulders. I remember their sets of eyes in me. I remember too much, I fear.
My love for Phoebe and sera came first. It was in a very silly situation, but it was too one of the most terrifying
seconds I've had in my teacher's days, and I still laugh at the memory. It was too the day I bumped my head on my
wall for two hours straight, embarrassed, furious, and laughing. I was an idiot.
It happened few days before Christmas break. I was taking the Potions partial test in a dungeon that was too cold,
maybe, for girls with that ridicule short skirts. I've never understood what is with those skirts: they should wear long
robes too to keep them warm, for what I know it could interfere a woman's fertility. But I disgress.
They were, of course, bent over their desks, filling the blank parchments with some inane rambling, in some cases,
and with truly brilliance in Demos or Ulysses' case. The both were, by the way, sat just behind Phoebe, who was sat
next to Sera, and Marcus and Terry were in the bottom line.
I passed them, and I remember to have noted Phoebe looked pale, and had her eyes shadowed by a bit of pain. My
memory remorse now myself, because I've thought she was ready to burst out crying because she hadn't studied
enough, silly spoiled brat she was. I called time off then, and when I took the parchments away, I remember Sera
looking at Phoebe worriedly. It was so strange to see any emotion at all in her face, that I stole a glance to Phoebe as
everyone was filling out to leave as fast as they could the cold stone classroom.
She stood, swayed, and suddenly looked at me with panic-stricken eyes. I looked at her, and I saw a splash of red in
her seat, her skirt dripping, her legs bathed in slimy liquid, a pool slowly forming where she was standing. My heart
leaped into my throat. The pool was so large!
She fainted, and it was Sera who did a mad grab for her, splashing herself, her student's high socks sponging the
blood as she kneeled with her, going white, widen eyed. Deimos and Ulysses stayed, mouths wide, and Marcus and
Terry stared, Terry covering his mouth not to shout: he hated the sight of blood violently. They stared to me then,
panic in their faces. Thankfully, most of the class as went out.
I remember running to their side, lifting Phoebe in my arms, feeling her skin clammy, cold. I remember shouting them
to bring Madam Pomfrey, and how Terry simply zoomed to the infirmary, panicked, Sera face pale and streaked-with-
red because she had took her bloodied hands to her mouth. I remember Ulysses skillfully clearing my path in the
hallway to the most discreet place near, my office, and Marcus arranging a couch and a chair as improvised stretcher
with a flick of his wand, but pulling and nesting cushions by hand., helping me to nest Phoebe there, pale a s ghost,
mumbling about pain and grabbing her midsection and lower abdomen with tears of agony.
I remember panic, as I've never met as her blood bathed my leather sofa, and she kept bleeding.
Deimos muttered a spell, and the fireplace roared into life, warmness bathing my already sweating back. I didn't care
about proprieties when I lifted her skirt, finding her underwear and thighs red with warm, thick blood, and I had the
sinking feeling she would die, bleeding in my arms. I hadn't a clue of what happened, but horrible visions cluttered
my mind: violation, abortion, and some horrible charms. Deimos and Ulysses looked away when I pulled her
underwear out the way and spread her legs widely, but Marcus and Sera helped me. Marcus was stroking her
forehead, tears in his face, and Sera with her face stone-cold again, trying ineffectively, pathetically, to clean
Phoebe's skin with a tiny handkerchief already soaked.
I felt my heart stop when I saw her little, virgin femininity ooze blood in rivers. I remember something nagging at the
ends of my mind, but I was too panicked, even if years after Deimos assured me I had been the very epitome of
calmness.
Phoebe opened her eyes, and looked at me, there, leaning over her, her legs totally opened, bare to me, vulnerable in
everyway, and I saw the call of help in her eyes, I saw her fear and her certainty that I could help her, save her, and I
felt…
… I haven't felt like that frequently: but looking at her trusting eyes, the way she was vulnerable, the tears she shed, I
felt impotent and desperate to help her. I touched her abdomen, calling a charm to stop the pain she was obviously in,
and then I heard:
- PROFFESSOR SNAPE? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?-
Never, ever, I was so happy to see that old hen. Madam Pomfrey shooed everyone of the room, except me, but I stood
in a corner and I heard her busying around my poor Phoebe, soothing and helping, saying things I didn't heard,
apparently helping her with some charms. She sent Terry for a cordial with a very rare name I never heard of, and
gave Phoebe a steamy cup. Then she covered the sleeping, bloody girl with a magical produced blanket, and called
for a magical stretcher.
- How is she?- I asked, pale and shaken.
- She is fine.- she answered, nonchalantly, a twinkle in her eyes. The old hen never feared, never respected me: she
used to cure my frequent head colds and more frequents brawling battle scars, courtesy from Potter et al, when I was
a student.
- Fine? She was bleeding from her goddammed cunt!- I yelled, more scared I realized. Then, my own words struck me,
and Madam Pomfrey looked at me severely, one eyebrow raised.
- We call it *menstruation*, thank you very much.- she said indignantly.- The poor dear seems to have not been
warned beforehand. And she had a tricky first bleeding, poor one.-
I gaped. That seemed to amuse her.
- I've thought you would be more prepared, being the House Master of several young ladies…- she smirked.- Well, it
seems your good grades in medical magic, all those years ago had been a bit overestimated…-
She was menstruating. I almost fell down in embarrassment.
Dope.
Idiot.
*Jerk*.
Since then, I not only prepared and kept a permanent supply of Cinnamon Witches' Those Days Warming & Painless
Potion in my shelves, but instructed the older girl each year to give a speech and counseling to the new ones. And in
some memorable occasions I hadn't one in who to rely, I did it myself. And I've noted, after I've given some douses of
Cinnamon Witches's Potion to a girl in pain, she becomes very much better-behaved in my class.
Anyway, I remember cleaning the blood mess with my wand, and then leaning in my desk, embarrassed and almost
laughing, not only in sarcasm but in relief.
I smacked my head in the hard wood. Twice, at least.
Dope.
I was lucky to have straightened when Sera and Deimos entered charging into my room.
- Madam Pomfrey shooed you out?- I grunted, still feeling bitterly amused.
- Is she going to be fine?- Deimos blurted, his face blushed. Sera just lifted her expressive eyebrows in plea. They was
so worried, that I could have wind them up to make up for my lack of dignity, but that would have been too petty, even
for me.
- She has a girl sickness, Mr. Malfoy. She would be fine.- I said, as calmly as I could. Deimos blinked, and suddenly I
* saw * realization dawning in his face. He knew, of course, even if I wondered idly which would have been
Narcissa's exact words in her explanation of bird and bees to her son, or, well, being Lucius Malfoy's wife, her
explanation of the basilisk and the vultures.
Sera was blinking with no realization dawning, even as I saw her brain trying to comprehend.
Of course, I could bet Minerva, Frederick, or Mariah got, ever, two girls in the same year, which didn't have a clue
about menstruation. I wondered if it would be the right thing to send her to Madam Pomfrey for explanation, but my
pride was too hurt for it. So I decided to show the old hen I can be a good House Master, even of my stone-faced
Sera.
I should have known Sera hadn't a clue. She has been raised for that crazy aristocrat: no prizes to guessing the one
exchange about her femininity she has received has been the order to wear dresses. But I'll indulge in Andrew
Stanish-bashing in further chapters, even if everytime I think about the sick son of bitch, I have this urge to puke.
I managed her to sit down, and offered her a damp cloth to clean her still blood-streaked face.
I gathered my thoughts, and remembered all I could from a single class of Medical magic I maybe have slept through.
- Every woman bleeds in certain days of the month. It is natural.- I blurted out, and saw her eyes slowly register the
words.
Please, before to cringe, please remember I was only five years into teaching, and since my Death Eater days my
closest woman around has been McGonagall.
- I don't.- she said, her blue eyes confused.
- Children don't. They only start around this age.- I said.- Surely you will, soon.-
She nodded, and I couldn't help but wanted to laugh. This was getting quickly ridiculous.
- Phoebe will be fine, so.-
- Yes. Tell Madam Pomfrey I sent you, and help her.- I finally sighed, defeated. I knew I couldn't explain that in the
right way so suddenly, so I sent for a Human reproduction book the next day. Of course, my speech got better: but I
never will forget those eyes, confused and surprised, staring into mine. Her eyes and Phoebe's eyes stayed with me,
and I couldn't help but to develop an enormous fatherly, tender spot for them.
They made me feel not only needed but also pivotal.
And that night, I covered my eyes in shame and laughed at one of the silliest performances of my life.
Dope.
Ulysses and Deimos became friends through an accident, curvy road. They were day and night, sun and moon, and it
took a long while for them to stop yelling each other to start to fully appreciate what they could give to each other.
They were antithesis, and I think it were Sera and Phoebe who gave example to them, making the best of their
differences. Deimos and Ulysses were rivals well into that second year, and I remember it was in the end of winter
when they realized their mistakes, and how I remember it.
They were carried into my office by the ear for a furious Fiona Sprout: they had ended an argument throwing each
other pottered plants. She took points, but lent the detention to me, and I fell into them hard, absolutely done with
their fighting. They didn't always fight, but sometimes their brawls got out of hand, and I was tired of having to
always pry one of the other's neck. They had made several ineffective truces, in behalf of Phoebe, who was equally
smitten with both, and of Terry, who liked the both a lot: but it was enough a caustic remark of Ulysses, a smart-assed
comment of Deimos, and the brawl was served.
Deimos was brilliant, vocal, charismatic, leader and kind. Bright blonde hair, soft tanned cheeks, the smile of a
prince: my Deimos, angel. Ulysses was quiet, smart, too intelligent, too caustic, always aloof, insular. Raven black
blue hair, pale skin, glasses over cold blue eyes, my Ulysses, his profile of evil vampire. And they, each one with the
other's fist imprinted in the face, were sitting at my office, not looking each other.
I sighed, and then smiled privately. Oh yes, that was just it.
I know the method have been a bit extreme, but I had enough. So I showed them a very rare purple night-lily, gave
them a tiny branch, and ordered them to go into the Forbidden Forest alone to get me a fresh plant.
In the way they paled, I almost broke my resolve and laughed in their faces.
And as soon as they went to collect their cloaks to go, I took a long sip of my best Invisibility Potion and hurried
behind them. Of course, I wasn't to let them just be eat, not matter how annoying they were. In the other hand, maybe
I would have let Potter...
a Slytherin Story.
by the Fox.
Authors's notes: many thanks to my dear Furious! I am happy you revised my story. Well, Deimos is NOT Draco Malfoy, but his brother... older, obviously. I know I shouldn't have used Neville, but I couldn't resist. This is a lot of years before Harry, so Snape is quite a unexperienced teacher, as you'll see in this chapter. And I'm sorry I had to raise to R, because strong words and mention of menstruation. So, enjoy Snape in on of the more embarrassing moments of his life as teacher...
Yours, the Fox.
YEAR TWO-Part One
Becoming SLYBATS
In the first year they met and made friends, but they didn't became the Slybats till Ulysses came, in second year, a
transfer student from Beuxbatons. When they arrived the second year, Sera was still mute, Deimos was still alone,
Phebe was still a little vain girl and Terry an insufferable hyper demon. I watched them with interest, Marcus already
making friends with Terry and keeping the little pixie out of trouble. But when I saw the new boy go on and sit in the
place reserved openly for Deimos Malfoy, I smelled trouble. No way that arrogant git Deimos was, because under all
he was still Lucius's son, would take well that French boy trying to take his place. When Deimos arrived, I remember
late that night because he had caught a cold in the trip and he has went to see Poppy, his pale blue eyes sparkled. I
was tempted to see how they would handle it: I forgot they just had thirteen years.
- Excuse me, that's my seat.- Deimos said with his arrogant stare. Ulysses peeked him from under his glasses, and said
with that smart-ass, nerve-itching French accent of him:
- Really? What's your name?-
- I'm Deimos Malfoy.- he said, with the same tone he would have said " I'm God"
- Well, it's not imprinted anywhere.- Ulysses said nonchalantly and went on eating. I suffocated my laugh, but then I
had to jump into my feet when Deimos took a firm hold in Ulysses's neck and shove him back in the chair, onto the
floor.
- Malfoy.- I said, but Ulysses yelled in mid-air:
- PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!-
Deimos deflected it and it fell over Terry and Phebe. The both fell like stones, and I hurried: a Petrificus is just
uneasy to catch, but when repelled it doubles the strength. As I have guessed, Phebe was handling it well, but Terry
was fighting it, terrorized of being restrained, and he barely could breath.
- YOU JERK!- howled Marcus and fell over Ulysses: they rolled in the floor, and Ulysses, being shorter and weighting
half than Marcus was object of a throughout punching. I carried Terry and Phebe myself to Poppy. Phebe just
needed a counterspell I made quickly, letting her resting a second, but Terry had fell into hysterics: was then when I
got to know about his imprisonment panic. When a year later, Filch decided it was good to lock the poor boy into a
cage-cell for an afternoon, he almost killed himself in hysterics, trying to get out and peeling his nails off. I remember
carrying him to Poppy that time, furious and horror-stricken, restraining myself to doesn't kill Filch! He looked like a
child in my arms, crying brokenly and openly in terror, clinging to my shoulder. It tore at my heart, and to protective,
fierce instincts I never knew I had. After that, I yelled and terrorized Filch so much he had never dared to touch one
of my children anymore.
I yelled thoroughly to Deimos and Ulysses that time: I remember having called then vain idiots, useless, vulgar and
arrogant asses. I pointed they had hurt Phebe and Terry, housemates, and a girl and a younger boy by sheer
stupidity, and finally claimed the right of them to sort their differences in private, out of my sight and without harm to
others.
I sent them out still yelling, and gave them the hardest detention I never gave to them. I thought they would spend it
sparring in the floor, but I should have had more faith: they made a cold amend, and even if they always had their
differences, as much as focus and thinking, they, years after made that an asset. They spent the detention making
boxes of candy to Terry, and excusing themselves to Phebe and Marcus. When I saw Ulysses next day sitting between
Phebe and Marcus, I couldn't believe my eyes, and then, smiled.
In the end of the table, Deimos, Phebe, and Sera. In front, Ulysses, Terry, and Marcus. They never altered their seats,
and still now I always see in my memories Sera's blond mane outlined by Phebe's raven black hair, and Terry's braid
from behind Marcus's wide shoulders. I remember their sets of eyes in me. I remember too much, I fear.
My love for Phoebe and sera came first. It was in a very silly situation, but it was too one of the most terrifying
seconds I've had in my teacher's days, and I still laugh at the memory. It was too the day I bumped my head on my
wall for two hours straight, embarrassed, furious, and laughing. I was an idiot.
It happened few days before Christmas break. I was taking the Potions partial test in a dungeon that was too cold,
maybe, for girls with that ridicule short skirts. I've never understood what is with those skirts: they should wear long
robes too to keep them warm, for what I know it could interfere a woman's fertility. But I disgress.
They were, of course, bent over their desks, filling the blank parchments with some inane rambling, in some cases,
and with truly brilliance in Demos or Ulysses' case. The both were, by the way, sat just behind Phoebe, who was sat
next to Sera, and Marcus and Terry were in the bottom line.
I passed them, and I remember to have noted Phoebe looked pale, and had her eyes shadowed by a bit of pain. My
memory remorse now myself, because I've thought she was ready to burst out crying because she hadn't studied
enough, silly spoiled brat she was. I called time off then, and when I took the parchments away, I remember Sera
looking at Phoebe worriedly. It was so strange to see any emotion at all in her face, that I stole a glance to Phoebe as
everyone was filling out to leave as fast as they could the cold stone classroom.
She stood, swayed, and suddenly looked at me with panic-stricken eyes. I looked at her, and I saw a splash of red in
her seat, her skirt dripping, her legs bathed in slimy liquid, a pool slowly forming where she was standing. My heart
leaped into my throat. The pool was so large!
She fainted, and it was Sera who did a mad grab for her, splashing herself, her student's high socks sponging the
blood as she kneeled with her, going white, widen eyed. Deimos and Ulysses stayed, mouths wide, and Marcus and
Terry stared, Terry covering his mouth not to shout: he hated the sight of blood violently. They stared to me then,
panic in their faces. Thankfully, most of the class as went out.
I remember running to their side, lifting Phoebe in my arms, feeling her skin clammy, cold. I remember shouting them
to bring Madam Pomfrey, and how Terry simply zoomed to the infirmary, panicked, Sera face pale and streaked-with-
red because she had took her bloodied hands to her mouth. I remember Ulysses skillfully clearing my path in the
hallway to the most discreet place near, my office, and Marcus arranging a couch and a chair as improvised stretcher
with a flick of his wand, but pulling and nesting cushions by hand., helping me to nest Phoebe there, pale a s ghost,
mumbling about pain and grabbing her midsection and lower abdomen with tears of agony.
I remember panic, as I've never met as her blood bathed my leather sofa, and she kept bleeding.
Deimos muttered a spell, and the fireplace roared into life, warmness bathing my already sweating back. I didn't care
about proprieties when I lifted her skirt, finding her underwear and thighs red with warm, thick blood, and I had the
sinking feeling she would die, bleeding in my arms. I hadn't a clue of what happened, but horrible visions cluttered
my mind: violation, abortion, and some horrible charms. Deimos and Ulysses looked away when I pulled her
underwear out the way and spread her legs widely, but Marcus and Sera helped me. Marcus was stroking her
forehead, tears in his face, and Sera with her face stone-cold again, trying ineffectively, pathetically, to clean
Phoebe's skin with a tiny handkerchief already soaked.
I felt my heart stop when I saw her little, virgin femininity ooze blood in rivers. I remember something nagging at the
ends of my mind, but I was too panicked, even if years after Deimos assured me I had been the very epitome of
calmness.
Phoebe opened her eyes, and looked at me, there, leaning over her, her legs totally opened, bare to me, vulnerable in
everyway, and I saw the call of help in her eyes, I saw her fear and her certainty that I could help her, save her, and I
felt…
… I haven't felt like that frequently: but looking at her trusting eyes, the way she was vulnerable, the tears she shed, I
felt impotent and desperate to help her. I touched her abdomen, calling a charm to stop the pain she was obviously in,
and then I heard:
- PROFFESSOR SNAPE? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?-
Never, ever, I was so happy to see that old hen. Madam Pomfrey shooed everyone of the room, except me, but I stood
in a corner and I heard her busying around my poor Phoebe, soothing and helping, saying things I didn't heard,
apparently helping her with some charms. She sent Terry for a cordial with a very rare name I never heard of, and
gave Phoebe a steamy cup. Then she covered the sleeping, bloody girl with a magical produced blanket, and called
for a magical stretcher.
- How is she?- I asked, pale and shaken.
- She is fine.- she answered, nonchalantly, a twinkle in her eyes. The old hen never feared, never respected me: she
used to cure my frequent head colds and more frequents brawling battle scars, courtesy from Potter et al, when I was
a student.
- Fine? She was bleeding from her goddammed cunt!- I yelled, more scared I realized. Then, my own words struck me,
and Madam Pomfrey looked at me severely, one eyebrow raised.
- We call it *menstruation*, thank you very much.- she said indignantly.- The poor dear seems to have not been
warned beforehand. And she had a tricky first bleeding, poor one.-
I gaped. That seemed to amuse her.
- I've thought you would be more prepared, being the House Master of several young ladies…- she smirked.- Well, it
seems your good grades in medical magic, all those years ago had been a bit overestimated…-
She was menstruating. I almost fell down in embarrassment.
Dope.
Idiot.
*Jerk*.
Since then, I not only prepared and kept a permanent supply of Cinnamon Witches' Those Days Warming & Painless
Potion in my shelves, but instructed the older girl each year to give a speech and counseling to the new ones. And in
some memorable occasions I hadn't one in who to rely, I did it myself. And I've noted, after I've given some douses of
Cinnamon Witches's Potion to a girl in pain, she becomes very much better-behaved in my class.
Anyway, I remember cleaning the blood mess with my wand, and then leaning in my desk, embarrassed and almost
laughing, not only in sarcasm but in relief.
I smacked my head in the hard wood. Twice, at least.
Dope.
I was lucky to have straightened when Sera and Deimos entered charging into my room.
- Madam Pomfrey shooed you out?- I grunted, still feeling bitterly amused.
- Is she going to be fine?- Deimos blurted, his face blushed. Sera just lifted her expressive eyebrows in plea. They was
so worried, that I could have wind them up to make up for my lack of dignity, but that would have been too petty, even
for me.
- She has a girl sickness, Mr. Malfoy. She would be fine.- I said, as calmly as I could. Deimos blinked, and suddenly I
* saw * realization dawning in his face. He knew, of course, even if I wondered idly which would have been
Narcissa's exact words in her explanation of bird and bees to her son, or, well, being Lucius Malfoy's wife, her
explanation of the basilisk and the vultures.
Sera was blinking with no realization dawning, even as I saw her brain trying to comprehend.
Of course, I could bet Minerva, Frederick, or Mariah got, ever, two girls in the same year, which didn't have a clue
about menstruation. I wondered if it would be the right thing to send her to Madam Pomfrey for explanation, but my
pride was too hurt for it. So I decided to show the old hen I can be a good House Master, even of my stone-faced
Sera.
I should have known Sera hadn't a clue. She has been raised for that crazy aristocrat: no prizes to guessing the one
exchange about her femininity she has received has been the order to wear dresses. But I'll indulge in Andrew
Stanish-bashing in further chapters, even if everytime I think about the sick son of bitch, I have this urge to puke.
I managed her to sit down, and offered her a damp cloth to clean her still blood-streaked face.
I gathered my thoughts, and remembered all I could from a single class of Medical magic I maybe have slept through.
- Every woman bleeds in certain days of the month. It is natural.- I blurted out, and saw her eyes slowly register the
words.
Please, before to cringe, please remember I was only five years into teaching, and since my Death Eater days my
closest woman around has been McGonagall.
- I don't.- she said, her blue eyes confused.
- Children don't. They only start around this age.- I said.- Surely you will, soon.-
She nodded, and I couldn't help but wanted to laugh. This was getting quickly ridiculous.
- Phoebe will be fine, so.-
- Yes. Tell Madam Pomfrey I sent you, and help her.- I finally sighed, defeated. I knew I couldn't explain that in the
right way so suddenly, so I sent for a Human reproduction book the next day. Of course, my speech got better: but I
never will forget those eyes, confused and surprised, staring into mine. Her eyes and Phoebe's eyes stayed with me,
and I couldn't help but to develop an enormous fatherly, tender spot for them.
They made me feel not only needed but also pivotal.
And that night, I covered my eyes in shame and laughed at one of the silliest performances of my life.
Dope.
Ulysses and Deimos became friends through an accident, curvy road. They were day and night, sun and moon, and it
took a long while for them to stop yelling each other to start to fully appreciate what they could give to each other.
They were antithesis, and I think it were Sera and Phoebe who gave example to them, making the best of their
differences. Deimos and Ulysses were rivals well into that second year, and I remember it was in the end of winter
when they realized their mistakes, and how I remember it.
They were carried into my office by the ear for a furious Fiona Sprout: they had ended an argument throwing each
other pottered plants. She took points, but lent the detention to me, and I fell into them hard, absolutely done with
their fighting. They didn't always fight, but sometimes their brawls got out of hand, and I was tired of having to
always pry one of the other's neck. They had made several ineffective truces, in behalf of Phoebe, who was equally
smitten with both, and of Terry, who liked the both a lot: but it was enough a caustic remark of Ulysses, a smart-assed
comment of Deimos, and the brawl was served.
Deimos was brilliant, vocal, charismatic, leader and kind. Bright blonde hair, soft tanned cheeks, the smile of a
prince: my Deimos, angel. Ulysses was quiet, smart, too intelligent, too caustic, always aloof, insular. Raven black
blue hair, pale skin, glasses over cold blue eyes, my Ulysses, his profile of evil vampire. And they, each one with the
other's fist imprinted in the face, were sitting at my office, not looking each other.
I sighed, and then smiled privately. Oh yes, that was just it.
I know the method have been a bit extreme, but I had enough. So I showed them a very rare purple night-lily, gave
them a tiny branch, and ordered them to go into the Forbidden Forest alone to get me a fresh plant.
In the way they paled, I almost broke my resolve and laughed in their faces.
And as soon as they went to collect their cloaks to go, I took a long sip of my best Invisibility Potion and hurried
behind them. Of course, I wasn't to let them just be eat, not matter how annoying they were. In the other hand, maybe
I would have let Potter...