Chapter Twenty-One: Worse Than Hate

"There is a way to do it," Lucius said triumphantly, looking up from his books to Wormtail.

"How? The girl's too old."

"Not do it to the girl personally." The blond man gazed at a gothic picture in the book, which showed a newborn baby staring at its mother with glowing eyes. Wormtail came over and looked at it.

"How do you mean, Lucius?"

"You know what I mean," the aristocrat snapped, irritatedly shutting the book. "The girl is old enough to bear children. We can mate her with a Death Eater of sufficient power and then seize the child for our own purposes."

Wormtail seemed to think for a moment.

"If we wish to breed an heir, why use the Mudblood at all?"

"Because she is Potter's friend and his own weak link. He cannot kill a child of hers."

"Oh."

"Get me a drink, you lout. The Revel is to be at ten."

Mumbling softly, Wormtail shuffled off. Lucius sank into a brown leather chair, feeling more exhausted than he had in years. A moment later, someone handed him a full brandy glass.

"Been reading hard, m'love?" Narcissa asked. Relief flooded through Lucius like liquor before he even sipped the drink.

"How is it you know when I want you most?" he asked, looking at the woman who was so close and still so distant. She smiled.

"Practice. I know you well." Interestedly, she picked up the book from her husband's hand and opened it to where he'd been holding his finger. Lucius frowned, but did not object.

"Ghastly picture, eh?"

"Moderately horrible, yes." Narcissa frowned in thought and handed it back to him. "Why all this interest in Filius Replicatus?"

"It's for the Dark Lord."

"I doubted it was for your own interest, Lucius," she replied sarcastically.

"You sound like Severus."

"I should." The old stab of jealousy burned in Lucius' heart again. "I was just reading his latest letter about our son."

"And what is our boy up to?" Lucius asked half-heartedly.

"Getting detentions and making a mockery of his house. There's a new teacher who feels pure blood is tantamount to Nazism; makes Slytherins' lives a hell."

"Sounds like another McGonagall."

"Worse." Narcissa took a sip of her husband's drink. "An American."

"Oh. That Tyler. I wondered when we'd get a complaint from him."

"It also seems she's married to a dangerous werewolf…why is our son so scared of them? You would really think he could grow some balls."

"I think it was the stories I read to him, love, or perhaps just a phobia. You know my own loathing for roaches."

"And I wonder why you do. Have you ever seen one in your patrician life?"

"I saw Skeeter in her Animagus form and that was bad enough."

"Chicken. Got a light?" Narcissa had gotten a cigar from the box on her husband's desk and looked earnestly about to smoke the thing. Lucius handed her his wand absently, as it was a habit she had acquired well over twenty years ago and he had long since given up protesting.

"Hand me one, too. It's been an awful day." Narcissa complied, lighting it from her own. "Pettigrew still has his head buried in an uncomfortable place for me."

"You'd better get your arse used to people's heads. If the Dark Lord finally beats that little Gryffindor down, you'll have a sphincter with crowds like King's Cross Station." Lucius gave his wife a startled look. "Oh, what? A girl can't have a good cuss every now and then?"

Quite abruptly, Lucius laughed. He loved her so.

"You're still the same uncomplicated girl, aren't you?"

"Or so I would have you believe," Narcissa smiled slyly.

"Come away with me after the Revel tonight," Lucius asked suddenly. "We won't be needed, you need a break from this."

Narcissa laughed, a short, frozen sound in the warm library.

"After the Dark Revel, Lucius? And I need a break from what, pretending Voldemort doesn't keep you as his own house-elf?" She stared Lucius down, hatred dripping from her every word. For the first time, she had spoken out about his activities. Lucius realized suddenly the reason for her distance. He stood up and looked at the woman he still needed so, but dared not tell.

"You hate me," he accused softly, more in sadness than in anger.

"I pity you, Lucius, and believe me, that's far worse." Narcissa turned on her heel and left the library so he wouldn't see her cry.

Silently, Lucius stubbed out the cigars and flopped unaristocratically back into the chair. A few moments passed, and slowly he began to sneer. He began to curse Muggle-lovers and poor wizards aloud. He leapt up and began to throw the books about, swearing his hatred of anything that got in his way.

After all, a Malfoy man couldn't cry.

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"And so, in conclusion, American Muggles are self-destructive creatures who will bring about their own end within the century." Draco folded his essay and placed it on Professor Tyler's desk before taking his seat, smirking.

"Nice view on the civil rights movement, dragon-boy. I'll give the thing full marks." There wasn't much else Cass could do, so Malfoy sneered at the Gryffindors, who returned the look with loathing of their own. "However, you neglected to write out your bibliography, so you have detention tonight with me."

Malfoy shrugged and seemed his usual self for a moment, until his gaze fell on the calendar and his face paled.

"No, Professor, I'll be happy to lose housepoints."

"I don't see why Slytherin should suffer for your sloppiness," Cass replied mildly. "Detention with me, at eight o'clock. Shall I write it down for you?"

"Please, Professor, I really do apologize."

"For what? All you did was make a mistake, and all it is is a detention. I swear I'm not as strict as Professor Snape. You can read the telescope directions out to me."

"Telescope directions?" Malfoy gasped.

"Yes. Mars is especially bright tonight and I hoped to take a few pictures of Muggle satellites from the Astronomy Tower. Don't be frightened, my husband will go with us."

"But- but professor! It's a full moon tonight!"

The Gryffindors could not resist. Starting with Harry and Ron, they all cracked up laughing.

"Afraid you're gonna get eaten, eh?" Seamus joked.

"Want to borrow some sauce for him, Professor Cass?" Parvati spoke with uncharacteristic glee.

With a very McGonagall-esque gesture, Cass made the class be silent.

"Now, students. Lycanthropy is a very serious condition." They were suitably awed; as it was evident she was beginning a lecture. "However, as anyone who has read 'Hairy Body, Human Heart' will understand, werewolves are not malevolent. Now, since Hermione is the only one looking at the others as if they were ignorant snails for not reading it, I will inform you of a few basic facts.

"Number one, werewolves do not wish to cause any harm, unless someone injures their family or their friends somehow. Imagine the loyalty of a dog. What dog would not rip a burglar's arm off if he attacked their human pets? Werewolves have an estimated three times that loyalty, which in basic terms means to make friends with one is good, and to get on one's friends' bad side is very bad indeed."

Cass was getting progressively angrier as her speech wore on. The Gryffindors even began to look a little scared.

"Number two, werewolves know that they are disliked. Mr. Malfoy's essay brought up the Brown vs. Board of Education case, in which it was proven that segregation makes people feel inferior. All of those crude jokes about werewolves in heat and 'a werewolf goes into a bar' have that same effect. What it basically amounts to is humans being bigots, which for some peculiar reason aggravates Americans, Pittsburghers especially. I have many friends and family members who are werewolves, and I have seen bigoted, worthless wizards attack and try to lynch them, just for being different." The class was silent and Cass glared at them. "You clearly don't know what in the hell that is because you're English. There are people, wizards included, who like to take people and string them up. They hang them, slowly, and often burn them to death to add to the spectacle. Sometimes they try to crucify them for extra fun. My own-" Cass's voice broke and she turned her back on the class as if she couldn't manage to say any more. Then someone swallowed a little too loudly and she spun around.

"As a matter of fact, there is another little fact about werewolves I have for you before you go. Werewolves who are born into lycanthropy have a star on their left forearms. Werewolves who are bitten do not. That is how biased, undeserving, worthless wrecks like those I have met in America find their victims. I couldn't live with that. So while my best friend was in the hospital, I went and got this done!" Cass tore the sleeve off her robes at the elbow, revealing a black star identical to John's, burned into her pale flesh like a brand. She held her scarred arm directly in Malfoy's face. "That is what affection and loyalty means, students. I should perhaps tell you that when I burned this star onto my arm, I hadn't been bitten yet. So if some of you feel loyal enough to get a Dark Mark burned into yours, maybe you should think a bit about bigotry as well!"

And with that, she stormed out, slamming the door to her office so hard several shelves had books fall to the floor. Dumbfounded, the students looked at each other for a few moments and then left the room en masse. Outside, they began to talk.

"I wonder what happened to her best friend," Pansy Parkington wondered.

"I hope they didn't die or something. She seemed really furious," Lavender concurred. "She's married to a werewolf now."

"I don't blame her being angry at us," Harry said quietly. Ron looked at him, each thinking of the same former teacher, deposed by bigotry.

"I wonder if anyone ever tried to do that to Professor Lupin," Blaise Zabini said quietly. "I don't think I like the whole idea of that. With the Wolfsbane potion, werewolves aren't even dangerous anymore."

"We used to lock ourselves up in my parents' day," a voice said calmly. "So, did Cassie dismiss you lot early?"

It was John Tyler, wearing a Slytherin t-shirt that showed his star openly.

"No, sir, she sort of…"

John smiled.

"Ah. Say no more. I've seen her temper, too. Which one of you insulted the Pittsburgh hockey team?"

"Sir, it was about werewolves, actually, -and lynching," Hermione explained. John sighed and looked a bit less calm.

"Oh. Anyone want an explanation of that story? Cassie has a real knack for still being pissed at those dumb rednecks." Most of the class nodded, even the Slytherins. "Okay, here's what happened. My three brothers and I took a trip down to the Muggle theme parks in Florida. We took our girl cousins with us, and I invited Cassie along, because we were just best friends then and I wanted her to get to know my family. Anyway, while we were in one of the Southern states, we ran into a group of specist wizards."

"Specist?" Malfoy asked.

"Sort of like racists, except they hate werewolves and all sorts of part-humans." John cracked his knuckles and sat cross-legged on the floor, as did the class. "They really didn't want to see any werewolves passing through their territory, especially with pretty witches, so they tried to take Cassie and the other three girls away. Well, my brothers and I didn't like that idea. There was a fight, and since there were more of them than us, we almost got lynched."

"Who stopped it?" Ron asked.

"The Muggle cops came along. My brother Ringo had a cellular phone, sort of a Muggle talking thing, and one of the cousins used it to call for help. We weren't hurt too bad, but it really bothered Cass. If Ringo and George hadn't stopped her, she would most likely have hunted the rednecks down and gutted them like cod."

"So that's when she tattooed her arm?" Blaise asked.

"Naw, that was while I was in the hospital with Paul. We had some minor burns and needed a few stitches. I've gotten worse injuries from Quidditch, but Cassie was still sorta pissed. And it's not a tattoo. It's a potion brand. Works the same way one of those Dark Marks might, which is just how a wolf-born's star works. She just hooked herself up to every werewolf's child in the world, sticking her arm like that. But that's Cass." John smiled with a little shrug, totally used to her passionate outbursts. "So, what do you think of her class so far?"

Somehow, the class was more dumbstruck by his casualness than they had been by Cass's outburst.

"Um, sir? If you don't mind my asking, what exactly did they try to do to you and your brothers?"

"Lynch us. They tied Paul an' me to trees and tried to set us on fire, beat all of us with whips, and they shot George with what they thought was a silver bullet, but it turned out to be just plated, not to mention they missed." John pulled his collar aside a bit amiably. "I have a little scar."

"But don't you hate them now?" Malfoy asked, frowning in abject confusion. The handsome werewolf grinned.

"I call 'em specist rednecks. That's what they are, and most intelligent people pity them. Naw, I can't hate people like that. They're too stupid and I'm too lazy."

Cass emerged from the classroom just then, looking as if she had just washed quite a number of tears off her face, considering the long bangs of her hair were wet. She looked startled.

"What's going on out here?"

"Your class just had some questions for me, love. Is there still time for a lesson on American soda now?" John held up two bright red boxes of Coca-Cola, at which almost the whole class gasped. "What?"

"How can you afford that?" Millicent Bulstrode gasped.

"What? They're two-ninety-nine apiece."

"Coke is a delicacy to English wizards, dear," Cass explained. "Really hard for them to get and all."

"Oh. Well, let's drink 'em then." John tore open the first box and began to hand the Cokes around. The Slytherins especially were awed. When every student had one, he waited expectantly for the familiar crack-and-fizz. "What now?"

There was a sheepish mumble among the students, except for the few Muggle-borns, who were stifling giggles.

"We –er, don't know how to open them," Maria Catesby admitted.

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A/N: Three cheers for soda, the nectar of the more interesting gods! I'll try to update soon. –J. McN.