Chapter 6

Remus sat as close to the window as he could get in Divination, and contemplated the shape of his hands. True, palmistry had been covered several years ago, but his own hands were far more reassuring than the chicken entrails spread before him.

Augury. Why did it have to be augury? asked Kenneth Jamison. The rest of Gryffindor house had already dropped the class, so Remus went to Divination with the sixth-year Hufflepuffs.

The usual heavy perfume of Trelawney's tower-top classroom was enough to give Remus migraines, but the stench of dead and disemboweled poultry sent his stomach into his throat. He edged his pouf further from the table and closer to the window, mercifully opened — but only slightly. Professor Trelawney apparently preferred to attempt to mask the poultry smells with copious amounts of strong incense, rather than (god forbid) air out the room. A breeze brushed his hair against his cheek, and it smelled of outdoors.

All right, Lupin? You look a bit green, asked Ellen Henley.

No, I think he's more grey... commented Thomas Stirling, peering thoughtfully at Remus.

For the three weeks since the beginning of term, they had been reviewing from previous years, for the spirits inform me that the N.E.W.T. examinations will cover previous material, Trelawney had misted at them. It had been fairly innocuous. However, today they had begun learning augury, and it disagreed with Remus in a big way.

I'm not enjoying the air at the moment, said Remus faintly. By Selene, it's worse than the Potions dungeon...

said Stirling.

Well, just try to inhale away from the table, suggested Jamison.

Are you trying to make him suffocate on the incense fumes? Henley accused.

Now, now, Miss Henley, the aroma stimulates the inner eye, scolded Trelawney mystically as she wafted toward them. Her enormous eyes lit on the window, and she rushed to pull it closed, latching it firmly. There. That should be better. She flitted away, and her passing sent a gust of incense-and-intestine-scented air toward Remus. He tried desperately not to breathe, but failed — and took a gasp of the nauseating air.

Jamison exclaimed, as Remus stood abruptly and made for the trapdoor. He managed to make it into the nearest restroom and to the sink.

He scooped water into his mouth from the tap and wiped his face on a towel.

That was charming, Moony.

Remus turned. Skiving off Muggle Studies again, Padfoot? It's not even October yet.

Sirius shrugged. Professor Dobbin is absurd. And I wouldn't be learning anything, anyway, I spend more time in Muggle London than in my house. What's your story? Studious werewolf vomits in sink?

said Remus flatly.

Is that the chicken guts? He nodded. I see.

Remus drew the sleeve of his robe across his forehead, got a good whiff of it — and turned to retch again. Leaning over the sink, he was dimly aware of Sirius rubbing his back. After a moment he made to shrug off his robes and loosen his tie. He realised that his clothes would be saturated with the stench — and his hair, as well.

his friend answered.

I think I need to go shower...

I'll walk you to the dorm.

And can you get my bag from Trelawney? And an anti-nausea elixir from Pomfrey?

Of course, Re. Always. I'll tell her about the augury problem, maybe she can get you out of it. Come on. He draped the werewolf's arm over his shoulder and put an arm securely about his narrow waist, because he looked shaky.

Sirius grinned across the common room at Remus. Good news, Re — you get to help Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing until Trelawney's done teaching augury. The look of relief on his face made Sirius laugh. And here's your potion, my poor sick pup, and your bag — I charmed that lovely odor away for you.

Remus shook his damp hair away from his eyes and reached for the vial of elixir. He had managed fairly well until he disrobed for his shower. The stench hit him full in the face as he was shoving the contaminated clothing down the laundry chute, and he'd just managed to make it to the loo before vomiting.

What do you call that scent, anyway? asked Sirius, his blue eyes twinkling.

Eau d'entrails, said Remus, and downed the elixir, throwing his head back.

Sirius snickered. Trelawney's personal line of perfume. Revolting.

Remus blinked at his friend. They're just letting you keep skipping Dobbin's class?

Well, actually — I don't think McGonagall and Dumbledore know. Sirius winked. Dobbin never notices, anyway. I've only ever gotten one detention for it.

Supper that night was chicken.

Of course, Remus muttered. His friends, having heard everything from Sirius, looked at him sympathetically, and he even received a few concerned glances from the Hufflepuff classmates he had run out on. He supposed they and the Gryffindor girls merely thought he had a delicate stomach.

All right, Lupin? called Jamison.

Much better now, he replied, with a slightly wan smile.

Why are you still taking Divination, anyway? asked Margaret.

Remus shrugged. The theory and history behind it is interesting — and some of it isn't so bad, like palmistry and tarot.

You're such a scholar! It sounded like a bad thing, the way Peter said it. What could you ever do by knowing the theory and history of Divination? Take Trelawney's job? he scoffed.

You'd do well to be a bit more scholarly, Peter, chastised Lily.

Arabella smiled teasingly. Although Remus is the one who'll have grey hair when he's twenty.

Or sixteen, said James, catching hold of a lock of Remus's hair and examining it from across the table. Look, right there. See?

Have your friends finally found your brain, Lupin? asked Snape. He stood behind Remus, sneering.

Actually, we were wondering if it was yours, Snivellus, since it was so hard to see. You've been missing it for about six years, haven't you? Sirius retorted.

Arabella spoke over whatever anyone might have said next.

Belle. A word?

Lily raised her eyebrows doubtfully at Arabella, but the blonde girl excused herself quickly. They left, and Margaret pulled a face at Snape's retreating back. Lily frowned. I don't like that. He doesn't deserve Belle at all.

He's bad for her, agreed Peter, nodding.

And how, interjected Sirius.

Margaret bit her lip. I don't know — he really cares about her, I think. There was a in her tone, but she did not voice her reservations.

Well, Severus? What's this word' we're to have about? Arabella studied his face earnestly, though her words were teasing. His deep, dark eyes bored into her with an intensity that was sometimes frightening. Another girl might have found the hooked nose off-putting, but Arabella liked the distinction and dignity it gave to the angular face, and when she reached up to rub a lock of dark hair between her fingers, it was soft as her own.

It is about, Snape began, pausing to rake over her with his eyes, And he ducked his head to capture her lips in a soft kiss, his hands rising to hold her wrists. She kissed back quite impatiently, and he pulled away, tilting his face upwards and out of her reach.

You horrible, teasing Slytherin, she said petulantly. He laughed, very softly, never moving his eyes from her own. It's not very fair for you to come and fetch me from supper, and then be a tease.

Snape merely gazed at her and raised an eyebrow. Ah, but you were a tease for the entirety of the spring term last year. I think it's my turn, at least for a little while. Brindle had forced them together in Potions, and an odd sort of affection had developed between them. It had become something more in the spring term, over many hours of feverish O.W.L. preparation, and equally feverish lips and hands. And I think I'm owed a bit of teasing you, because I've tried very hard to be civil to those — people — you call friends. He sneered a bit in disdain.

Arabella sighed wearily and rested her forehead against his chest. And I thank you, Severus, for making the effort. Merlin knows they're not about to. They're so childish sometimes. You've shown remarkable restraint.

That's nothing compared to the restraint I'm showing in not ravishing you right now. he whispered against her golden hair, and bent his head to nibble at her earlobe. She truly had no idea how much restraint he had shown by not skinning Black and Potter alive when he'd awakened in the library in the middle of the night, bound spread eagled to a table with the words slimy git emblazoned across his chest and his hair smeared with petroleum jelly. Of course, he had been insulting Pettigrew and Lupin, and he had taken revenge by setting them up to lose dozens of House points in Potions.

She giggled as he began to do incredibly interesting things to her neck. Ravish away, Severus, she breathed, tilting her head to expose more skin to him. He undid several buttons of her blouse to bare her shoulder, exquisitely aware of her: her hands, splayed across his back and twining in his hair; her halting breaths; the delicious scent of her creamy skin; the way she shivered in his arms when he nibbled at her throat...

Arabella suddenly caught at his hands, which were sliding up her thighs and under her skirt, and held them tightly in her own. He twisted them from her grasp and now they were slipping up the back of her shirt and she shuddered as they traced her spine. Not here, she hissed in his ear.

Then let us go someplace more... suitable. murmured Snape, claiming her lips once more.

Lily, Margaret, and Peter sat in the common room, doing homework — at least, Peter was, and Lily read over what he had already done while Margaret talked him through the current assignment.

Peter, belladonna doesn't grow in taiga, weren't you listening? scolded Lily absently as the wrote notes on Peter's Herbology paper. I hope you'll have time to recopy all this.

The portrait swung open and James stepped in, holding an irate Lancelot in his arms. Look who I found trying to get into the kitchens, he said to Lily, who smiled dazzlingly and plucked the cat from his arms.

So that's how he keeps gaining weight. I've put him on a diet, but that does nothing if the house-elves keep feeding him.

James planted a kiss on her forehead, then surveyed the parchment spread over the table. You know, Peter, once we've graduated, you won't have all of us to do your work for you. However will you manage?

Lancelot leapt from Lily's lap onto the table, where he very deliberately stepped all over the assignment Peter was working on, smearing the ink and getting little kitty-prints everywhere.

exclaimed Peter, shooing the cat off the table. You know, sometimes I think Belle has the right idea about cats.

Oh, not you, too, groaned Lily. I've had quite enough of the cat debate. She caught Lancelot and scourgified his inky paws.

You've had enough? At least you aren't going mad listening to the stupid, constant back-and-forth, shrilled Margaret.

Speaking of Belle, James interrupted, speaking over the girls, where is she? And Remus and Sirius?

Belle still hasn't turned up, Lily said darkly, her lips thinning with disapproval in a remarkably McGonagall-like fashion.

Remus and Sirius are up in the dormitory. I think Remus still isn't feeling well, and Sirius is being a mother hen, said Margaret.

It must have been the chicken at supper, poor dear, Lily clucked. But if you're going up, tell Remus his help would be much appreciated, if he feels able. And yours as well. She glanced pointedly at Peter, who was bent over the table, trying to salvage what Lancelot had stepped on. He was so absorbed that he didn't notice his mousy blonde hair falling into the ink.

James sighed. I suppose I'll just stay, he relented, pulling out his wand to assist Peter.

When Sirius sauntered towel-clad into the boys' toilet, Remus was peering into the mirror over a sink. My god, it is grey, he muttered, tugging at the offending hairs.

But it becomes you, Re, said Sirius, staying his hand. He glanced briefly at his own reflection. If I had grey hair, I'd just look old.

But I'm sixteen! I shouldn't have grey hair! wailed Remus, waving his arms and glaring accusingly at the mirror, which shimmered in what could have been a shrug. The bathroom mirrors were far more reserved than the ones in the dormitory. It's abnormal! Unheard of!

Maybe it isn't abnormal, said Sirius. You don't know.

Remus fixed him with a skeptical look. You think it's something to do with lycanthropy.

The flatness in those mutable hazel eyes wrenched at Sirius. It could be! He sounded defensive, even to his own ears. You've never met another werewolf. You don't know. And it's hardly something that would turn up in a book on Dark Creatures. Remus started to turn away. Don't you look at me like that, Re, I know you've read them all. It was true, he had; Remus made pilgrimages to the library almost daily, and his trunk and bookshelves at home were a veritable treasure trove of resources on Dark Creatures. His own condition had led him to this obsession and others, and he had acquired an intimate and encyclopedic knowledge of werewolves.

And I'm sure it doesn't help that you run yourself ragged, Sirius went on, as though you've got something to prove. You don't, Remus, you really don't. All you're doing is piling more and more stress on top of yourself. You're bound to reach a breaking point someday, and it looks to be soon. He steered Remus away from the mirror and into the dormitory, and made him sit on his bed. You said you were still feeling ill, and we've got Defense tomorrow, so rest up.

Remus made no move to get into bed, preferring instead to watch Sirius return to the bathroom. His back was still golden with the summer's tan, and his Quidditch-toned muscles moved tantalizingly beneath his skin. Skin that Remus would like to — What am I doing? But some small part of him knew perfectly well what he was doing: he was still contemplating Sirius's proposition. He tugged absently at the lock of hair causing him so much grief.

When Sirius returned, flushed from the hot shower and in his pyjamas, he shook his head. Remus was still sitting up, tugging at his hair. Third quarter. You're so hypersensitive at third quarter, Re. Go to bed.

Professor Amanita Sontuoso looked at her class very seriously. She had decided upon waking that morning that she would eschew her lesson plan for that day (Disorienting Jinxes) and have a discussion with her sixth-year students. She had a feeling that the seven Gryffindors she regarded would take this a great deal better than the Hufflepuffs she had just sent on their way.

You may put your wands away.

The Gryffindors gaped at her in shock. No one had ever expected Sontuoso to utter those words; every one of her lessons was practical.

Sontuoso sighed impatiently. Well? What are you waiting for? Rapidamente!

Are we going to learn what to do if we're disarmed by an opponent? asked Sirius eagerly. The professor gave him a withering look.

No, Signore Black, we are not. Today we are going to have a talk. There was no mistaking the freezing tones of her voice, even through the melodious Italian accent. This news disturbed the Gryffindors as nothing else in her lessons had. Something, they rightly supposed, must be very wrong. However, it was hardly a recent something.

Some of you may have been wondering about the curriculum my colleague Professor Wilkes and I have been teaching. It is practical, yes, but it is not what was taught even seven years ago. Only recently have we received the official approval of the Ministry of Magic for what has been taught to you.

The headmaster has encountered heavy criticism for allowing me to demonstrate the Imperius Curse in class, and allowing me to teach you resistance. Recent events have forced these critics to reevaluate their position. Sontuoso looked at them gravely. She had been delaying this discussion for three weeks, preferring to review previous years and briefly cite objectives for the term. Now, with nothing else to stall her, she was more unwilling than ever to shatter the safe, sparkling world of these teenagers. With the newfound support of the Ministry, however, she and Dumbledore had agreed that it was better that the students understood what the real motive was.

How many of you subscribe to the Daily Prophet — and actually read the news, Signor Pettigrew? The seven Gryffindors looked at each other uncertainly. Lily and Remus raised their hands.

Well, sometimes, amended Lily at the arching of the professor's slim black eyebrow, and Remus nodded.

You may or may not be aware of an event that occurred this summer, continued Sontuoso smoothly. A wizard under the control of Imperius attempted to kill several wizards crossing into Muggle London with a Slashing curse. He did not succeed, but several wizards and Muggles were injured in the attempt. However, the most serious aspect of this attack is that the perpetrator of the Imperius Curse could not be identified. When questioned with Veritaserum, the wizard could only tell Aurors that the caster was masked and wearing a black cloak and robes. the wizard also said that the perpetrator called him a filthy Mudblood.'

There was a murmur in the classroom, and Lily looked down at the desk, lips pursed. James clenched his jaw in bitter anger. Sontuoso waited for the class to quiet before she continued, This is but the most serious in a rash of hate crimes against Muggles and Muggle-born wizards. The connecting element is the masked, cloaked perpetrator, and the Ministry has been blaming a cult. Professor Dumbledore, however, suspects something far more sinister.

The Gryffindors exchanged a worried glance. Dumbledore had his sources, they knew, and if he was worried, doubtless the rest of the wizarding world should be as well.

It is because of these suspicions that Professor Dumbledore has requested that I teach more advanced material, and the Ministry at last has come to see the sense in this.

James timidly raised his hand. Professor, if it's not top secret information or something, what does Dumbledore suspect?

She had known this question would follow, and it was the hardest part to disclose. The Hufflepuffs had nearly panicked, and she suspected the other Houses would react rather badly, as well. The Gryffindors, she felt, would be the most rational about it; they were certainly her favourites. Sontuoso sighed. The headmaster believes that a powerful dark wizard is rising, a Dark Lord the likes of whom has not been seen since the fall of Grindelwald.

A stunned silence froze the seven Gryffindors in place. Dark Lords were matters of lore and History of Magic, not their very practical Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Of course, there was no question of doubting Dumbledore. The headmaster had the implicit trust of three-fourths of the school, and possibly more (not all the Slytherins were idiots).

Remus could almost see the wheels turning in James's head. You're training us. So we will be better prepared to take on this rising Dark Lord.

Professor Sontuoso regarded them solemnly. Sì, Signore Potter, this is precisely what I am doing.