Chapter Fifty-One: The Afraid
"Which is worse; to be so afraid of pain that you cannot
love, or to love someone impossible?"
-Anonymous
The Slytherin professor knew it was ridiculous to even consider what he was about to do. The bushy-haired girl serving detention with him was his student, barely sixteen, and most definitely off-limits to a thirty-four-year-old. She was even in Gryffindor. And yet- she was undeniably intelligent. Brilliance of the mind had always been more important to him than beauty of the physical nature, and the girl unfortunately possessed credible amounts of both. Her hair wasn't half as wild when she took some time with it, and her teeth had been fixed quite some time ago.
He liked her. She was as apt to argue with you for an hour as she was to outdo you in front of the class you were teaching –hers, no less- as she was to innocently ask questions about something or other as innocently and attentively as if you were Dumbledore. Without her, the class moved slower, and detentions were more a privilege lately than a chore in her presence. Ever since she had started his subject, he had noticed her aptitude, and beginning her sixth-year project early was turning into one of the best ideas Minerva had ever had. Simple tolerance had turned into appreciation, and finally into genuine liking of his underage near-colleague.
He was attracted to her. That was unquestionable and unquestionably not his fault. Who could fault a man when such an absentmindedly adorable girl sought him out? And she was adorable, twirling a bit of her hair and turning pages in the heavy text as if it were a fascinating novel instead of a boring schoolbook. The school uniform didn't hurt, either, having obviously been designed by either some long-forgotten female of exactly her body type or a male professor with exactly his problem. Honestly, having those kinds of thoughts…
Severus Snape had no choice but to stop stirring the cauldron. Hermione Granger, of course, looked up, so abrupt and unlike him was the pause.
"Is something wrong, Professor?"
"No -nothing." He was lying and they both knew it. Without even realizing he was about to, Severus leaned over and kissed the girl long and well.
The moment having passed, there was a shocked silence. Neither could really believe what had happened had. He was just about to apologize when she suddenly smiled and kissed him back gently.
Nearly eighteen years later, they were making the same potion, this time for two students instead of another professor, and with a few small improvements. Unspoken but ever-present whenever they worked together on Wolfsbane potion was the memory of what had occurred long ago, for as small as a few kisses before Hagrid came stomping in with a sick flobberworm were, it had been the start of something that would alter both of their lives forever.
"Here's the mugwort."
"Thank you, dear. I've finished getting these chopped."
"Wonderful." Severus kissed his clever wife on the cheek before adding the anise roots to the left cauldron. It had been her idea to do the one batch that way, as Donaghan had been having bad reactions to wormwood lately. Having people with hallucinations of little green fairies was one thing, but a wolf was quite another. They also had to get enough of the other kind made and stocked for the trip to America, as no werewolf's dose was exactly like another's. Remus Lupin, for example, tolerated a lot more mugwort in his than Michelle Tyler could, being female and reasonably smaller, and Donaghan's was always a trial since he was still getting used to transformations at all. That, and it was becoming fairly obvious that hereditary werewolves had fewer problems with potion lycanthropy controllers than bitten ones did. When all the mess with the Colonies was over, the Granger-Snapes planned to research this idea more thoroughly, using the Scot and American as observation subjects…
'When all the mess with the Colonies was over.' It was becoming an all-encompassing delay, sort of like a foreign war they really had no connection to, save their children's enlistment to go fight it. Everyone who knew about it was becoming more and more nervous, from Ron and Judy openly kissing in the halls to Poppy Pomfrey digging out a large quantity of old records from her schooldays for Julie and the American. Some people from the British Auror Office, in fact, were openly opposed to the whole idea. Sirius Black had been one of the most vocal, trying to persuade them to talk Julie out of it.
"What do the Colonies have to do with her? It's their fight!"
"Sirius, Dumbledore asked her to go-"
"This isn't like Voldemort! This is their problem! How long did it take the Americans to help us in our last war?"
"They had problems of their own to deal with, Sirius," Snape pointed out. It was true. American Muggles had been at war against the Middle Eastern ones at the time. "That doesn't mean they didn't send people like the Tylers in ample time."
"The Americans got here in plenty of time to help clean up the mess, all the while posing for world papers! It's worse than…" it took Sirius a moment to remember the Muggle word, "Vietnam!"
"Which one was that, dear?"
"The one where all the American teenagers protested and the government lost more than half of its approval until the turn of the century."
"Oh, yes. I was thinking you meant Entebbe, Sirius."
"Which was that?" Harry's godfather asked, now confused himself.
"An airplane of Israeli travelers was hijacked and they had to rescued by a team of crack operatives because the governments couldn't get together to organize military aid."
"Do you consider your sixteen-year-old daughter a crack operative?"
"Look, Black, I've bloody tried to talk her out of it! Do you honestly think I want her going off to the damn States almost all alone? What do you want me to do, ground her?"
"It would be a start!" Sirius retorted, storming out of the classroom in disgust and running smack into a pair of eavesdroppers. "Tyler, you don't really want to go to America?" he started.
"Just fancy the owl!" Mitchie was giggling. "'We regret we're unable to save the world since Julie has detention.'" Chloe was little better.
"Why don't you come along as well, Mr. Black?"
And that had been pretty much the last anyone had seen of Sirius for the day. Two weeks later, on Valentine's Day, the comparison of the mission to Vietnam still bothered Severus.
"Dear?"
"Yes?"
"I still don't want them going."
"Nobody does. Judy's been outdoing Myrtle lately with her crying in lavatories, and I've never seen Mrs.-Narcissa look so pensive."
"I expect she's probably just as worried that Julie and Draco will crack up into laughter or start arguing than something might –well, go wrong."
"What is with those two? If they aren't about to rend each other limb from limb, they're kissing under mistletoe to mess with us."
"Have you ever considered the idea of Julie's maybe thinking of Draco as an annoying older stepbrother?"
"Severus, I've known people with annoying older stepbrothers. You don't kiss them."
"Even to mess with their parents' minds?"
"No, I'm starting to suspect Julie fancies him."
"WHAT?" Severus was suddenly a combination of furious and disbelieving. "But…but Draco's blond!"
"I thought that we had established that," Hermione remarked, for the moment too amused by Severus' genuinely funny expression to really be serious.
"I mean, Julie's always going on about dark-haired ones with Michelle and Chloe, like that what's-his-name in the leather pants?"
"Jim Morrison?"
"Yes, him."
"He's been dead since the early seventies."
"Oh. Good." That was one less male Severus had to worry about. "I mean, she just doesn't seem like the kind who'd be able to put up with Draco, let alone like him."
"Well, he's certainly too patrician for my tastes. But have you noticed how much more -well, normal he's been getting since the mission rehearsals started?"
"How do you mean, normal?"
"He's ceased to remind me of a Roman emperor, to start. I mean, ten years ago he wouldn't even have held a conversation with Mitchie and now look how he is."
"Ten years ago, Michelle was a five-year-old. Are you forgetting he was born before you were, dear?"
"I'm not saying Julie likes him, just that I suspect."
"Couldn't you suspect someone –well, someone younger?"
"Matt Flint."
"Merlin's flaming hemorrhoids!"
"Severus!"
"If that little bastard so much as kissed my daughter I'd have him fed to Weasley's dragons in Romania and her sent to a wizarding convent in Italy!…why are you laughing?"
"The image of Julie and Michelle in a convent, dear."
Actually, it was nervous laughter and Severus could tell the difference.
"Seriously, Hermione, what's happened?"
"Put a Calming Charm on yourself first," she instructed. "Alright, Lyff Grudgett was giving Jen trouble in the halls while she was walking to class with the girls. Michelle lost her temper and went wolfish for awhile-"
"Good!"
"And then Flint showed up. He put the Body-Bind or something like that on Grudgett and then talked to Jen and Julie for awhile. According to Jen and Mitchie he used …a Quarnificatus spell on Julie."
"Gods!" Severus mumbled. "Why didn't she tell you?"
This was the kind of thing he had to deal with oftener than he liked in Slytherin. Quarnificatus had been nearly classified as an Unforgivable seventeen times throughout history, the acts always being voted down due to the spell's popularity on a consensual basis. It was easy enough in theory for a first-year to master, but with enough expertise it could be heightened to the point where it would knock the victim unconscious. Needless to add, it was usually the first spell taught in sex magic. It had all of the positive physical results of an encounter without there actually being one, which was why female victims of non-consensual castings were usually a mess. Guilt for liking it was usually as bad a symptom as the other feelings invoked, which mirrored those felt after sexual assault. In fact, the only female students he had ever seen who weren't in some stage or another of shock and emotional breakdown were old-family Slytherins, Jen Blodgett included. At the very least Julie had had her about to explain that it was alright-
"Julie's got no idea what it was the spell did to her. Jen Blodgett told her it was just a curse." Suddenly, Hermione realized just what the ex-Slytherin girl had protected her daughter from. "Michelle told me, and I asked Julie what happened. She's convinced Flint either messed up or her immunity prevented her feeling most of it."
"So she's perfectly ignorant of what that bastard tried to do?"
"Another fortunate side-effect of being brought up by Muggles."
"Didn't Michelle realize what Flint did?"
"Yes, she said Jen made her keep quiet."
"Merlin's ears, I'm glad that girl's out of Slytherin." Severus stood up calmly and gave his wife a hug. "There will be some drastic changes made shortly."
"What are you going to do, darling?" Hermione asked more than a little nervously. A mental image of Severus Cruciating Matt Flint was dancing through her mind. "Nothing illegal?"
"I'm going to reorganize the Slytherins' schedules and quarters."
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"Red, definitely," Mitchie suggested.
She and her friends were all having a glorious time in her room, picking out dress robes to the glorious soundtrack of her inherited CD collection. At present, Jen's attire was the subject of discussion. "The black is too dour, the green is too Slyth-y, and I think the gray is a little short in the arms."
"Not to mention you look a bit like a ghost in it," Lucy observed bluntly.
"I've got some others," Jen reminded them helplessly. But it was too late. The part-veela was already drawing herself up to her full, if not very substantial height.
"Mitchie, get the music. I need …inspiration."
"Oh, gads, she's getting inspired!" Julie cautioned. "Jen, better get some robes on or she'll transform the clothes right off your back." The fifth-year cautiously obeyed, leaping behind the Yank's Chinese paper screen and changing hastily into the black robes. Meanwhile, Mitchie had seized one of her more wild soundtracks and now the speakers were thumping out 'Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend.'
Had it been the old Broadway recording or even the Marilyn Monroe film one from the late fifties, it was likely that Jen might have resembled herself just a little bit for the Valentine's Day dance. As it was, the Yank had gotten hold of the Nicole Kidman one from shortly before she and Julie had been born.
"Smoldering temptress," Chloe announced, unleashing the full force of her French creativity on the unfortunate Jen, who had just stepped out wearing her black robes. In seconds, they went from looking a bit like a misaligned Vicar of Dibley costume to the most violently corseted and incredibly fashionable thing any of the fifth-years had ever seen.
It was red, it was embroidered, it was wild. Little gold lions raced upward from the hem to a bodice that barely deserved the name, and then returned to thread for a lacy finish down the very French Renaissance-looking elbow-length sleeves. Poor Jen felt as if she had suddenly been attacked by a renegade costume for 'The Scarlet Pimpernel' or worse. "Perfect," the first-year announced, blowing the smoke from the end of her wand like a gun and circling Jen to admire her handiwork.
"Mack will die," Hannah observed, awestruck.
"The Slyths 'ave got reason to wet themselves," Julie grinned. "Lyff Grudgett will probably throw himself off the Astronomy Tower in a fit of remorseful stupidity."
"Chloe, you have outdone yourself."
"Applause for the artist!" Mitchie cried, and the fifth-years gave the not-very-humble-looking Chloe an ovation. But the first-year was still looking scrutinizingly at Jen.
"I like your hair," she observed, eying Jen's black tresses oddly.
"Er-thank you-"
"Mind if I change it?"
And before Jen could so much as nod or protest, Chloe had recolored and highlighted her hair from cold raven black to an incredibly becoming vague burgundy. While it wasn't nearly as red as the Weasleys' or even Mitchie's charred-cherry locks, it was a dramatic enough change to make Jen squeak in surprise when she saw the mirror.
"I- ...-er, what…I –you," she gasped, uncertain as to what in heavens' name the younger girl had done. "I'm…different."
"To say zhe least," Chloe observed. "Now zhat you're beautiful, I'd better fix the travesty running the stereo."
"Hey!" Mitchie protested.
"Seriously, Jen, you look great," Julie complimented. "You look like the portrait of Aphrodite near the Potions room."
"Chloe!" Hannah exclaimed, surprised. "You cribbed that?"
"I did not crib zhat…I borrowed a few ideas." Chloe smiled mysteriously and held up the book of Lautrec's paintings.
And suddenly Jen found she loved the outfit.
"As for zhis, zhough," Chloe caught hold of the scruff of Mitchie's school robes, "you need to get changed into somezhing I can fix."
"You don't have to refer to me as an inanimate object," the American said quietly, just a little offended, as she ducked behind the screen.
"Without fashion, we are all inanimate," Chloe announced in her superior way. "Blue, I think."
Within ten minutes, Mitchie's unfortunately too-small set of greenish-teal robes became resplendent blue ones in the exact shade of her eyes that fit as flawlessly as Jen's and made her hair look redder than ever. Before Chloe could 'fix' her hair, however, she ducked into her bathroom and emerged with her wild bushy mane turned into beautifully elegant curls.
"Pour notre dame, she actually knows how to fix 'er 'air," Chloe remarked, pretending to almost faint from the surprise.
"I just got it wet and scrunched it a bit while I dryed it," Mitchie explained.
"A wolfy thing?" Lucy asked.
"No, a part-Irish thing." Mitchie smiled. "One of my better inherited double-recessive traits."
"You next, Hannah," Julie prompted. "Chloe, work your magic."
Hannah and Lucy both wound up looking incredibly good, of course, with contrasting colors and very similar robe designs since they were going with Tom and Tim. As soon as they had finished chattering and thanking Chloe and going on and on about how perfect their dress robes were, Lucy turned on Julie, who looked positively incongruous in her tight flares and patch shirt.
"What are you going to wear, Julie?"
"Er…whatever Chloe decides I'll look good in?" she hedged.
"Well, are you going to try and match your date or just trust our Duchess of Fashion?" Hannah asked politely.
"Yeah, you haven't told us who you're going with yet!"
"That's kind of because I don't have a date," Julie clarified, talking at hyperspeed. Of course, she would probably wind up dancing with her professor and secret boyfriend, but there was no way she could just bloody well walk in on his arm as if there was nothing wrong whatsoever with teacher-student relationships. She hadn't really been surprised when he hadn't asked her, though in a small way it was kind of a letdown.
"You? The unspoken goddess of Gryffindor?"
"Probably too scared of her dad to ask," Chloe covered.
"Well, Donaghan asked Mitchie, didn't he?" Lucy pointed out, but the Yank was quick to contradict her.
"No, he didn't."
"But you're going with-"
"I asked him, silly," Mitchie explained, as if this were common practice. Lucy looked at her as if she'd just announced her intention to parade the streets of London as a suffragette. "What? It's perfectly usual where I come from."
(Actually it wasn't, but Mitchie felt more of a need to help Julie keep her secret than to accurately represent her country.)
"Right on, sister," Hannah complimented. "I asked Tim as well."
"I think violet for our dear Starcatcher," Chloe observed. Ten minutes had Julie in what slightly resembled her threatening Dark Lady getup, which Chloe had also designed, but with red-violet accents amid the deep blue-violet making her look a little less evil but more grown-up than she usually looked. Hannah, amazed, turned to the French girl with an impressed smile.
"My grandfather once told me all a man needs in life is a good doctor, a forgiving rabbi, and a clever accountant. I think all a woman needs is a smart designer and a stereo."
**************************************************
Remus Lupin and Donaghan were having another talk when Professor Snape appeared.
"Severus," the elder werewolf greeted. "What would you say are the symptoms of true love?"
"You always know how to open a conversation, Remus," the professor remarked acidly. "Who needs the advice –McPhersen!"
This was really not the professor's day. If it wasn't the suspicion of his biological daughter's having inherited one of her mother's more disconcerting tastes in men, it was his foster-daughter's boyfriend thinking he was in love with her. Never mind that this was the second girl Donaghan had fancied strongly in the space of five months; the second daughter of his as well.
"I'm not sayin' I am desper'tely in love wi' Mitch, but I suspect I migh' be," the Scot explained. "I mean, las' time I thought I loved someone, I' turned out I jus' liked her a great lot an' she didn' really need me all that much at all."
"I suggested he try to imagine living without her," Lupin added.
"A wise idea. You may also wish to try knowing the girl for more than four months."
"The first time I talked ter' Mitch, I wanted to be around 'er forever."
"Well, you do realize you have fewer options as to just what you can and cannot do in dating now," Lupin reminded. "We mate for life, and that's not something you want to get into at eighteen and sixteen."
"Fifteen," Donaghan recalled. "She's born in June."
"Even worse. You'd do well to hold of on the l-word for now, because even if you are ready to commit to something, I sincerely doubt Michelle is."
"I sincerely doubt whether Michelle will ever be serious enough for ten minutes to discuss commitment," Snape observed dryly.
"So she's a bit on the flighty side," Lupin defended airily. "Just because you prefer the more scathingly intelligent doesn't mean the funny ones aren't nice, too."
"Are y' callin' 'er stupid?" Donaghan asked suspiciously.
"No, Donaghan, especially since Michelle is one of the most blatantly clever females I've met in years, despite being too conciliatory to make that fact obvious. I wished to point out to Professor Snape that the characters of his wife and your girlfriend are a bit far from similar. It can therefore be inferred you have different tastes."
"Come again?" the Scot asked, more than a bit confused.
"What Remus is saying is that you and I admire different qualities in women, which causes me to wonder at his dear love of stating the obvious."
"Draco, I was wondering where you were," Remus hailed the blond professor, who had actually been looking for Severus. "I have the necessary information about she whom we previously discussed," he explained, handing Malfoy some parchments and surreptitiously indicating Donaghan did not yet know about the mission. "We were just discussing the symptoms of love, care to join us?"
"Er- alright," Draco stammered. "I suppose you feel slightly
light-headed when you're in love, and it gets harder to see your lady's flaws,
assuming, of course, that she has any."
"Mitchie doesn't."
"Oh, don't be ridiculous, McPhersen, she can be absolutely insufferable when she wants to be. All women can."
"I'd been blaming genetics for your daughter's abusing me," Draco sighed. "And you mean to tell me they're all like that?"
"I like Julie, don' get me wrong, but she does seem just a wee bit hell-bent on sendin' y' ter' St. Mungo's."
"Now, now, I'm sure she'll grow out of it," Remus pacified.
"I haven't," Snape remarked, casting suspicious glances at Draco occasionally.
"But at least you don't twirl your hair while you're reading."
For some reason the werewolves found that funny.
"I'm not really surprised that you and Julie don't get on that well. You and Hermione hated each other for years and there's not much difference in the way they think." Remus smiled. "Except, of course, that Hermione never thought to bribe Mrs. Norris with tuna and got Minerva instead."
"And Julie never attempted a double schedule."
"Only because her mother forbade her to. They are an awful lot alike, aren't they, Draco?"
"More than I care to put up with sometimes, Severus. She's a sprightly little criminal, though, if nothing else, and she's fun to have a really good noisy fight with."
"Yeh like fightin' wi' girls, per'fessor?"
"Don't you ever just want to have an argument for the sheer fun of doing it?"
"Mitch would never jus' start an argument for fun," Donaghan remarked loyally.
"Funny, she did just that in my class yesterday."
"Speaking of, how are you liking Charms classes, Draco?" Remus inquired.
"Well, the first-year Gryffindors are a nightmare from hell with the Slytherins. The fifth-and sixth-years are quite a bit easier than those little ones."
"My class ar'right?" Donaghan asked hopefully.
"Yes, I like your group. Your class doesn't demand to learn half the glamourie spells the girls always seem after, probably because there's only three girls in the lot…What are you doing after you graduate?"
"I wanted ter' write a new textbook, actur'lly," the Scot announced. "Hist'ry of Magic's my fav'rite subject, even if per'fessor Binns is a bit on the dull side sometimes."
"He's a tearing bore and has been since I was in school."
"Thank you for that positively stirring show of anarchy, Remus."
"Don't mention it."
"Actually, McPhersen, if you're interested in history, why don't you compile a comparative text with both Muggle and wizarding events on one timeline?" Snape relished the look of fascinated inspiration that lit up the young werewolf's eyes. "Binns told the girls last week that the Internet was a direct result of the bubonic plague."
"Have any of you ever had the chance to try that thing, by the way?" Draco inquired. "It kind of makes owl post look bad, tricky as it is to use a rat."
"D'you mean a mouse, per'fessor?"
"Whatever. Why they call it either one is quite beyond me."
"I trust you're going to put in an appearance at the dance tonight, Remus?"
"I suppose I could. Something tells me watching your daughter and Draco fight is worth dressing up."
"About that!" Severus turned on the blond professor. "I would appreciate it if there were a few less outward spats between you two…Slytherins are beginning to suspect the inappropriate."
"I don't blame them," Draco said, shocking Donaghan nearly into next week and convulsing Remus into silent giggles. "Julie's wonderful and if it wasn't for the obvious difference in our ages, I believe I might get myself poisoned by Severus quite readily."
"Per'fessor, I'm sorry ter' hear you na' longer wish ter' live," Donaghan pointed out. "'Ave y' forgotten 'e's after bein' just a bit ter' y're left, y'kna?"
"I find your candor appreciable, Draco, but that is decidedly not funny."
"Well, don' worry, per'fessor, it's not like Julie'd really give 'im th' time o'day." Everyone looked at the Scottish teenager in surprise. "'E's blond."
"And wizard-born, and Slytherin," Snape pointed out.
"You forgot wealthy," Draco agreed in frustration. "Honestly, she's so dratted resentful of anyone with money-"
"I think what you're mistaking for resentment is actually self-sufficiency, a disturbing little stubbornness she picked up in the Muggles' care."
"I can understand why you would be attracted to her," Lupin observed.
"Gods, not you too!"
"No, hear me out. Julie's intelligent beyond her years, and Draco loves a good argument or debate. She's fiercely stubborn, well, so is he, and they're both talented wizards. I mean, who's to say? In ten-odd years, who's to say, they may wind up dating."
There was a horrified silence.
"Remind me why I haven't killed you?" Severus demanded.
*************************************************************
"Why me?" Lyff Grudgett demanded of the carved stone gargoyle in the Slytherin boys' lavatory.
"I don't need to mention whom I suspect," Matius Flint observed. "You have the correct potion, I presume?"
"The Muggle I bought it from said it would work."
"What's the proof?"
"Ninety, I think. What's proof?"
"Alcohol content. It'll turn the Gryffindor girls into flaming nymphomaniacs by ten."
"Just where did you read about this vodka stuff anyway?"
"Let's just say I've used it on occasion to impress females."
"Like who?"
"Well, instead of beating a girl for studying Muggle literature, I simply suggest trying a few concoctions she's been curious about, like absinthe, for example. Works wonders on Blodgetts, you know." Flint's sidekick looked at him in abject betrayal. "You really don't appreciate what you've lost, do you? The legs on her…"
Lyff was steaming by that point, but Flint knew it wasn't aimed at him. Perfect. His temper always got the better of him, and if all went correctly, he'd be expelled from the dance shortly after spiking the punch at a certain select table. Sometimes this was easier than he thought.
It was true, though, what he had said, except Jen was only a step in a greater plan.
************************************************************
Half an hour before the dance began, the Gryffindor fifth-year girls put the finishing touches on their resplendent attire and prepared to depart from the sanctuary of the Yank's garish room. They were to meet their dates just outside the Great Hall.
"Before we go," Mitchie announced a bit mischievously. "I think it would be well to preordain our after-party spots of choice, so we don't have a repeat performance of what occurred in the supplies closet over New Year's." Hannah and Lucy blushed.
Tom and Tim had unfortunately, escaped with their dates to the same secluded location, an anecdote which seemed destined to live on in Gryffindor myth and song. Mitchie, ever the artist, produced a map of the school's better corners and closets and deserted rooms, all carefully numbered for easy reference, complete with the usual routes of Filch and Professor Snape drawn in.
"Dibs on twenty."
"I'll take four."
"Fifteen."
"Feeling a bit ambitious, eh, Chloe?"
"Shut up, Rover."
"I won't need one."
"Just in case, though, Jen?"
"Alright, nineteen."
"And I've got seventeen. Julie?"
"No date."
"Still, in case you pick one up?"
"Twenty-three."
"Excellent. Now that that's taken care of," Mitchie brought forth a bottle of something that was decidedly not thorn soda or butterbeer. "A toast."
"This is rather illegal, you know that, Yank?"
"Calm down, it's really the non-alcoholic kind. It's all in presentation."
"To closet space," Chloe announced.
"To good colors," Hannah added.
"To dishy guys," Lucy chipped in.
"To friends," Jen and Julie added in unison, exchanging grins of amusement.
"To Diureserum!"
And with that, the girls raised their mismatched glasses, just before a truly enchanting evening began.
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A/N: Smut has been delayed due to lack of research material. Fifty-Two promises to be more well-stocked and humorous, featuring public semi-intoxication, the Seventeen Uses of Broom Closets, and more than three professors getting caught snogging.
-J. McN.