Title: Fairen Fall (3/?)
Author: Mithara
Summary: The Professors have a 'pleasant' gathering between classes. This is from Dumbledore's point of view.
Author's Note: AU Fic, see part 1 for explanation. This one has been sitting on the back burner for a *long* time, so don't be surprised if this sounds different in tone from the first two chapters. More will follow.
Disclaimer: None of these characters, save Ryn, are mine. I am making no money and will whine if sued, and you won't get much, so don't.
~*~*~*~*~
All was going well. No one had noticed the house elves painting all of the windows with a viscous, grey-green fluid that seemed almost to disappear as soon as the brush was removed. The arrangements had been made with a blood bank in Bristol, who apparently thought they were doing their part to keep a child with a horrific, rare form of hemophilia alive with their daily delivery of blood to a small house on the outskirts of town.
Of course, transporting the blood from Bristol to Hogwarts was slightly less than pleasant, at least for the person who had to personally hold the bags to their skin while Apparating. This prevented magical interference, which, after a bit of judicious testing while Ryn was still under quarantine at the Ministry of Magic, they discovered had very, very unpleasant repercussions.
Dumbledore sat back in his chair, sighing heavily. He really was much too old for this sort of thing, no matter what Minerva said. "Well, it appears that the sun-proofing has been completed, and the Great Hall altered to filter ultraviolet light out of the reproduction. There are a few hiccups in the distribution to work out before the first outing, but the outlook is good that young Varyn will be able to attend."
Taking a deep breath and releasing it in a slow sigh, he picked up his goblet, and regarded the coffee in it gloomily. A habit he'd picked up while in America in the twenties, all of the thoroughly British house elves seemed to be completely baffled by its manufacture, so it always tasted, for some inexplicable reason, faintly of liver. Most unpleasant. But he couldn't stop drinking it, so when Snape spoke, he only narrowly missed introducing said liver-flavored coffee into his sinuses.
"I don't think he should be allowed." Snape was, for once, wearing a rather spectacular pout, which would have been a relief from his usual overbearing arrogance, except that it did extremely unfortunate things to his sallow skinned, thin-lipped face.
"Do stop pouting, Severus. It's been established that he has no intent to harm, and that lovely additive you worked up should do wonders to suppress his appetite. There is precedent, and he is arguably much less dangerous than Lupin, who, need I remind you, is currently a Professor at this school." Minerva was practically oozing self-satisfaction, as well she should, and considering the coup it had been when they managed to convince Minister Fudge to allow Varyn Tanner to attend Hogwarts.
It was completely incidental that he was a brilliant student, and a career in the making for one of the protégées of Lorna, head of the Study of Dangerous Creatures sub-division of the Ministry. Lorna had been one of McGonagall's favorite students, and her student's success pleased her to no end, as did Snape's irritation. Smiling a pleased smile, she transferred her gaze to Lupin, who looked a good deal less worn about the edges this year. "Speaking of which, have you seen the papers the young Tanner boy wrote while in quarantine? They are rather remarkable, aren't they?"
Lupin smiled, faded blue eyes resting placidly on the space between Snape's eyebrows. "He is a rather remarkable boy, and I am sure he will be a pleasure to have in class. In fact, he's supposed to." He trailed off, and his already pale face became quite abruptly paler, eyes widening. "Oh bloody hell." He muttered quietly, so distraught that he didn't notice McGonagall's disapproving glare as he checked his watch. "Oh bloody hell!" With a start, he put down his teacup, and pushed away from the table so fast that his heavily padded armchair fell back, sound muted by the heavily padded red carpet. Which he then leapt over, leaving the room in such a hurry that no one was quite sure what to do.
With an awkward cough, McGonagall pushed her square glasses up her nose, looking vaguely worried. "Does anyone know what just happened?"
Author: Mithara
Summary: The Professors have a 'pleasant' gathering between classes. This is from Dumbledore's point of view.
Author's Note: AU Fic, see part 1 for explanation. This one has been sitting on the back burner for a *long* time, so don't be surprised if this sounds different in tone from the first two chapters. More will follow.
Disclaimer: None of these characters, save Ryn, are mine. I am making no money and will whine if sued, and you won't get much, so don't.
~*~*~*~*~
All was going well. No one had noticed the house elves painting all of the windows with a viscous, grey-green fluid that seemed almost to disappear as soon as the brush was removed. The arrangements had been made with a blood bank in Bristol, who apparently thought they were doing their part to keep a child with a horrific, rare form of hemophilia alive with their daily delivery of blood to a small house on the outskirts of town.
Of course, transporting the blood from Bristol to Hogwarts was slightly less than pleasant, at least for the person who had to personally hold the bags to their skin while Apparating. This prevented magical interference, which, after a bit of judicious testing while Ryn was still under quarantine at the Ministry of Magic, they discovered had very, very unpleasant repercussions.
Dumbledore sat back in his chair, sighing heavily. He really was much too old for this sort of thing, no matter what Minerva said. "Well, it appears that the sun-proofing has been completed, and the Great Hall altered to filter ultraviolet light out of the reproduction. There are a few hiccups in the distribution to work out before the first outing, but the outlook is good that young Varyn will be able to attend."
Taking a deep breath and releasing it in a slow sigh, he picked up his goblet, and regarded the coffee in it gloomily. A habit he'd picked up while in America in the twenties, all of the thoroughly British house elves seemed to be completely baffled by its manufacture, so it always tasted, for some inexplicable reason, faintly of liver. Most unpleasant. But he couldn't stop drinking it, so when Snape spoke, he only narrowly missed introducing said liver-flavored coffee into his sinuses.
"I don't think he should be allowed." Snape was, for once, wearing a rather spectacular pout, which would have been a relief from his usual overbearing arrogance, except that it did extremely unfortunate things to his sallow skinned, thin-lipped face.
"Do stop pouting, Severus. It's been established that he has no intent to harm, and that lovely additive you worked up should do wonders to suppress his appetite. There is precedent, and he is arguably much less dangerous than Lupin, who, need I remind you, is currently a Professor at this school." Minerva was practically oozing self-satisfaction, as well she should, and considering the coup it had been when they managed to convince Minister Fudge to allow Varyn Tanner to attend Hogwarts.
It was completely incidental that he was a brilliant student, and a career in the making for one of the protégées of Lorna, head of the Study of Dangerous Creatures sub-division of the Ministry. Lorna had been one of McGonagall's favorite students, and her student's success pleased her to no end, as did Snape's irritation. Smiling a pleased smile, she transferred her gaze to Lupin, who looked a good deal less worn about the edges this year. "Speaking of which, have you seen the papers the young Tanner boy wrote while in quarantine? They are rather remarkable, aren't they?"
Lupin smiled, faded blue eyes resting placidly on the space between Snape's eyebrows. "He is a rather remarkable boy, and I am sure he will be a pleasure to have in class. In fact, he's supposed to." He trailed off, and his already pale face became quite abruptly paler, eyes widening. "Oh bloody hell." He muttered quietly, so distraught that he didn't notice McGonagall's disapproving glare as he checked his watch. "Oh bloody hell!" With a start, he put down his teacup, and pushed away from the table so fast that his heavily padded armchair fell back, sound muted by the heavily padded red carpet. Which he then leapt over, leaving the room in such a hurry that no one was quite sure what to do.
With an awkward cough, McGonagall pushed her square glasses up her nose, looking vaguely worried. "Does anyone know what just happened?"