Chapter Twenty-Two: Explanations

"So I added the dragon's blood and it exploded, all over Miss Granger's and my clothes..."

"And Professor Snape lent me some of his pajamas because they were the only thing that sort of fit..."

"She transfigured them a bit smaller and made them pink as a joke. That's what I was laughing at..."

"Don't you think we should wake Ron up?" Hermione asked finally. Cass grinned and shook her head.

"Get changed first. He's going to need a guidance counselor when he wakes up."

"A what?" Snape asked.

"Guidance counselor. You know, the person who talks with kids and basically tells them not to shoot themselves."

"We don't have one here," Dumbledore explained. "Generally the don't shoot yourself lectures come from the Heads of House."

"Oh." Cass glanced at Professor Snape. "How many Slytherins are there now?"

"Unnnh," Ron groaned, getting up and supporting himself on his elbows. "Wha' happened?"

"Me and 'Mione played a trick on you," Cass explained. "I transfigured her an' Sevvy's clothes to give you a fright."

"Professor!" Dumbledore protested. "That was very unkind."

"That...was...hilarious!" Ron started cracking up. "Hermione, did she put you up to this? Fred and George will be so impressed!"

"Mr. Weasley, this is highly inappropriate," Snape growled.

"I'm sorry, sir, but...is that a snake on your pajamas?" Ron began to laugh even harder at the green double 'S' monogram. "Oh...I'm sorry, that was really a scary one. You and Hermione...that'd be weird."

"Very," Dumbledore fixed his eyes on Cass. The werewolf paled. "Mr. Weasley, if you would be so kind as to go and get one of Miss Granger's school uniforms? Your sister knows the password for the females' rooms."

"Of course, sir. I'll be right back, Hermione." Ron brushed himself off and left, still grinning with mirth.

"Now, Severus, Hermione, Cassandra," Dumbledore began, closing the door and sitting down at one of the classroom tables. "Why don't the three of you explain this properly?"

"It's complicated and really their issue," Cass remarked. "So why don't I go and get drinks for the lot of us?" She headed for the door, only to be caught by the scruff of the neck and lifted up, puppylike. "Put me down, Sevvy!"

"I had heard werewolves could be picked up that way," Dumbledore observed with some amusement. "Does it hurt?"

"No, but it's really undignified!" Cass tried to kick Severus in the shins and was dropped unceremoniously on the floor for her trouble. "Damn!"

"Albus, you've known me for most of my life. Would I do anything improper?" Snape asked calmly.

"Apart from dropping fellow faculty like hot potatoes, no," Dumbledore replied. "The pajamas, I assume, were an honest accident?"

"Yes, sir, like we told you," Hermione apologized. "It was my fault the potion even exploded."

"It was not. I added too much arrowroot," Snape argued.

"But the dragons' blood was the catalyst-"

"And I told you to add five drops!"

"But I cut up the arrowroot!"

"Children!" Dumbledore chastised gently. "I'm certain it was the hand of Fate. Now, what exactly was Cassandra trying not to tell me about earlier?"

"I can't be certain, Headmaster, we weren't there," Hermione explained.

"Something about her not wanting to let Severus enter Azkaban?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and Hermione went ashen.

"No! Why would anyone want to send him there! I won't let you!"

Cass hit herself in the forehead with disgust.

"Ah, just as I expected," Dumbledore said quietly. There was a long silence as the old man popped another lemon drop into his mouth and appeared to think. Suddenly he smiled. "I do believe that was the funniest metaphor I've heard in quite awhile, Cassandra. I was Colonel Pickering in this, wasn't I?" Hermione and Severus managed to look horribly guilty. "Oh, don't look so maudlin, Severus, it never suited you. Naturally I cannot approve of what those pajamas would imply, but as long as the two of you can find some way to keep this a secret and don't overstep the bounds of –well, er, morality, I don't see what's wrong with seeing each other secretly."

There was another long silence, and then a sigh of relief.

"So you're not going to kill me, Sev?" Cass asked.

"He might not," Hermione pointed out.

"Really, though, that little outburst to protect him, that was rather sweet," Cass observed dryly. "Blow your cover like the wind, why don't you?"

"You only slipped up in front of the Headmaster!" Hermione retorted. "Why didn't you just let Rita Skeeter know?"

"Who?"

"Ghastly female gossip reporter. Hedda Hopper without the charm," Dumbledore explained. "And I don't know if I blame Cassandra for letting this tidbit slip. It really is kind of amusing, the dark, brooding Potions Master falling head-over-heels for the shy bookworm."

"Really! It's so poetic, kind of like 'Sweeney Todd' without dead people or meat pies," Cass agreed.

"No, it's definitely more like Shaw's 'Pygmalion.' I rather like the idea of being Pickering. Shall we find some tweed for Severus?"

"Oh, we must! And fancy, him passing her off as a blueblood duchess at the next Dark Revel! Peter Pettigrew as Zoltan Carpathy!"

"That's rich! And Narcissa as the fancy royal what's-her-name." Cass and Dumbledore were getting out of hand when they finally heard Severus clearing his throat for attention. "Heavens, that sounds like a bad cold, Severus. Fancy a lemon drop?"

"This is intolerable, Albus! You've just caught your most disappointing protégé involved with Minerva's prize student!"

"And it's hilarious. My journal's going to have a fun chapter," Cass smiled cheekily.

"Well, were you hoping I would be upset, Severus?" Dumbledore stood up. "I mean, if you are as disappointing as you say, surely you aren't capable of feelings for another, even if she clearly is the only girl you've ever really cared about this way. I'd better make the two of you separate, hadn't I?"

Snape looked guilty and shook his head pleadingly. Dumbledore looked at Hermione quizzically.

"And it's obvious you care more for looks and Gryffindor heroism, Miss Granger. Surely a witch of your intellect and wit can't want her mind's equal for a companion. Silly, really, to think the two of you…" Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling. "Come, now, it's certainly not the first time teachers and students have fancied each other. I'm living proof."

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"He what?" Minerva McGonagall was somewhat pissed. "That filthy, loathsome snake of a Slytherin! I'll have his balls for Snitch practice!"

"It's not like they're involved physically, Minerva. It's as innocent as the third years at school dances."

"Except that third years aren't twenty-odd years each other's senior!"

"Darling, calm down. I'm twenty years yours at least."

"But we were completely different! We were at least from the same House, and I was a seventh-year before I even thought of you that way."

"How direly disappointing. I thought of you that way in sixth."

"Well, alright, maybe it was third, but you had a lovely beard. Severus is just so…"

"Slytherinish?"

"I was going to say homely, but yes."

"Well, look at everyone she's fancied so far. Viktor Krum was certainly unnattractive by most standards."

"But they were just friends. He needed help with English and she was learning Quidditch terms to surprise Weasley and Potter."

"Severus isn't too bad, when he remembers to wash his hair."

"A little sun wouldn't kill him."

"No, and I've figured out a way to get him out of the dungeons occasionally. I've been thinking of asking him to referee a faculty Quidditch game. Hooch, bless her soul, wants to Beat for Hufflepuff."

"And shall I Chase?" Minerva asked, the old slightly insane gleam that only mentioning Quidditch brought coming back to her eye. "You know as well as I that Remus was a superb Keeper, except he never tried out. And Sprout won't be too hard to flatten at all-!"

"Darling, I think you may be in charge of the Gryffindor faculty team on one condition."

"What?" Minerva asked absently, writing a line-up in her head.

"Let Severus and Miss Granger alone."

"What?"

"She's given him something to live for and he's giving her the intellectual company she needs. Even if it fades back into friendship, it's a good match. I trust Severus not to take advantage of her in any way."

"Why, Albus, you old yenta." Minerva kissed Albus on the cheek. "Alright, but I'd better not have to teach any bushy-haired Slytherins eleven years from now!"

"I don't think you will. I'm sure that they'll behave."

"He'd better," the animagus warned darkly.

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Cass fed the owl a bit of her sandwich and opened the letter from her dad. The Slytherins and Gryffindors were working on Muggle model airplane kits in groups of two. For the first time in recorded history, someone had to help Ginny, as she had neatly glued a wing part to her thumb. Models weren't the specialty of many of the usually bright students, but Colin Creevey was nearly done with a little B-52. Cass read the letter eagerly, as her father never failed to include news of the Penguins hockey team, which she followed avidly. The first paragraph was cheering, as Jagr had finally broken Mario Lemieux's goal record and it looked as though they might beat the Maple Leafs at last. The second paragraph was a pleasant list of her father's activities with Hermione's parents and the widowed librarian he sometimes went out with. The third paragraph was the most vile, earth-shattering news Cass had ever gotten.

She was not her father's biological daughter.

Well, she couldn't throw a huge fit in class again. It would be the second in a day. And the letter reassured her that nothing had changed at all in how her dad felt toward her. If anything, he expected this might bring them closer.

What a sentimental load of crap!

It certainly explained a lot. Cass scratched her neck testily and then looked at her nails in surprise. They had gotten long again, as they always did before a full moon, trim them how she might. Her knuckles, as always, wanted to be cracked, a bad habit she had never really tried to break, and her fingers were as long and spindly as ever. Was that one of her mother's traits? Cass remembered only photographs of her mother, and her father's hands were somewhat different.

She glanced at the mirror she always kept on her desk. The gray roots of her hair were starting to show again. Ah, well. Cass began to think. She had been blond as a child, and her hair had darkened by about age ten, but only to a mousy brown. Then at fourteen it had reddened and grown darker still, partly due to her desire to resemble her auburn-haired mother and partly due to Clairol's universal appeal to the teenage girl. She had dyed it for years, and the fact that gray or white had started at fifteen or so was merely a good excuse. John didn't mind and even found it amusing, as she had once mistakenly made it scarlet red and looked very funny for a week. Was her real father prematurely gray also?

'Wait a second,' Cass thought abruptly. 'Why worry?' Her dad loved her, and she would always think of him as her dad. Her children would call him Grandpa and make him birthday cards. Kids found out they were adopted all the time. This was only half as shocking as that, as it was clear she was her mother's child.

Except the facts of her conception were clear and cruel. Her mother had been attacked. Her father had explained that fact years ago, when Cass had noticed a scar on her mother's arm in a picture. It was possible, if not likely, that her biological father was magical, and given the circumstances, most probably evil or Dark.

Suddenly the present war meant a lot more to Cass. She fought hardest when it was a cause for revenge, and as if Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom weren't reason enough, this unseen stranger hurting her dad years after his wife had died gave her plenty of good, healthy hate to feed upon. She wasn't going to run to the closest female friend and cry as if it were a bad soap opera. It wasn't her style. She would simply use this data to process hatred for energy.

One could say it was a female thing.

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"Ah, Mallomar," Cass greeted the pureblooded Slytherin. "Nice to see you on time." She handed Draco some Windex and a roll of paper towels. "Could you clean the lenses on these?"

"Yes, ma'am." Draco obediently began to polish the sights on the telescopes, using the blue bottle to look through to check if they were clean.

"Er…Draco? You spray the windex on the paper towel, and then it cleans the glass."

"Oh." He squirted himself neatly in the mouth. "Gah-yuck! That stuff's disgusting!"

"It's not meant to be taken internally. Here, have a caramel." Cass handed him a Milky Way.

"Will this make my tongue swell up, ma'am?"

"Naw, it's not a Weasley thing. Bright of you to ask, though. It's from America, the Mars company to be exact. They're a division of the Hershey Corporation, which is where most of the country's chocolate comes from. That's what tomorrow's class is about." Cass thought for a second. "Don't eat too much at breakfast. We'll be tasting."

The werewolf adjusted the telescopes as Draco finished cleaning them for a few minutes. The Slytherin spoke up suddenly.

"Not to be rude, professor, but are you safe tonight?"

"Naturally. Professor Snape makes the potion for me all the time. Clever git."

"Oh. I read that it tastes quite bad."

"Wretched. Can't stand the bloody stuff." Cass grinned and turned the focus knob a bit. "The good thing is, Sevvy always makes me his best potion afterwards." Draco looked blank. "Hot chocolate. Even Dumbledore bows to him. I think he adds cinnamon."

"Oh, yeah! He makes it after Quidditch games if we win." Draco frowned. "Though with Potter, those are few and far between."

"He's pretty good, but I think his turns could use a bit of work," John Tyler observed, coming up the stairs. "You have good form yourself, reminds me of Wronski."

"You follow Quidditch? I thought you were…" Draco pondered a second. "Americans."

"And we're supposed to watch that bloody tar the Yanks play? Naw. We're the sort who'd follow soccer if we were Muggles." Cass recalled something. "English call soccer football."

"I've heard of, but never seen it played," Draco admitted. "Father doesn't like me to learn about Muggle things. Calls it a waste of time."

"I've noticed that attitude. That's why I try to make class as fun as possible –that, and it's more fun to do it that way."

"I liked the lesson on American food last week. Those biscuits were great."

"Biscuits?"

"Cookies, love," John translated, hugging her from behind and smiling at Draco. "You know, we're setting up a place for Cassie to show movies. Out at the Shrieking Shack."

Draco paled.

"The Shrieking Shack?" He did not look pleased. "What about the ghosts?"

"Aren't any now. Cass drove them out with her opera records." John got a playful smack upside the head for that. "Okay, maybe it was the Rolling Stones."

"The who?"

"I have some of their records, too. I think 'Tommy' will be the next project." Draco looked really confused. "Oh, you meant 'who are the Rolling Stones'. They're a band, and so are The Who."

"Oh." The poor blond looked as though he had been kidnapped by Martians with long hair. "Like the Weird Sisters."

"Don't you love Tremlett's solo album?" Cass asked, grateful for Bill Weasley's lending her some British wizarding music. "I'm not sure about Celestina Warbeck, though, she struck me as a little too old to do rock duets. It's like Marianne Faithfull singing with Metallica –scary."

"My mother likes her stuff. She also keeps Muggle things that I'm supposed to keep mum about." Draco almost smiled. "Do you know who Captain and Tennille are?"

"Sure!" Cass grinned. She was finally breaking Draco's shell.

"What is he, a sea captain?"

"A yachtsman, I think. That, or he's just a bit eccentric."

"Do Americans have a Parliament?" Draco asked.

"Sort of. We have a Congress, which is a bit like Parliament with poles up everyone's arses." Cass gave John a look and he shrugged. "What? They do."

"Who is your Prime Minister?"

"We have a Muggle president called Bill Clinton. Randy bastard, too. The wizarding president is Bjork."

"John, that was not funny!"

"Okay, Bjork's the Foreign Ambassador. The president's a man called Dennis Miller…really scruffy beard."

"I've heard of Bjork…Goyle had nightmares about her killing You-Know-Who with a rabid swan."

"I could see that," Cass observed calmly, deciding not to call attention to Draco's looking on Voldemort's death as a bad thing. "Personally, I think we should sic Anna Nicole Smith on him. He'd be broke in a month and dead in a year." Draco didn't get the joke. "She's the Dumb Blonde Laureate over there."

The moon was rising over Cass's shoulder and suddenly she began to cough. "Okay, Draco, we're about to turn. Don't be scared. Treat us like big furry dogs. We may need help with the telescopes. Two barks mean no and one is yes, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good man. You may not want to watch if you've a fear of –errrow!" Cass's voice broke off in a wolfish howl.

Draco couldn't take his eyes off the frightening transformation. Fur began to sprout, legs began to bend backward, hands became paws, and suddenly, there were two rather well groomed pet wolves. John, a larger, gray wolf with a silver ruff, licked his wife's cheek. Cass was smaller, reddish, and looked more like a girl. She padded over to Malfoy and sniffed at him.

"Er…Professor?"

"Arf?"

"Did that …hurt?"

Cass put her paw on her nose and then barked twice, which Malfoy could only assume meant 'Sort of.' She began to sratch at her ear with her hind leg, and Draco decided to touch her, for a scratch behind the ears. She looked like a decidedly happy wolf at that.

"Do you like this?"

"Arf!" John came over and offered his head for a scratch as well. Draco began to smile, as the Tylers were genuinely like big, friendly dogs. Suddenly, Cass went and fetched a quill. With her mouth, she set it on its end and nosed at the parchment. It began to write.

'Well done, Draco,' it wrote. 'I'm feeling peckish. Can you ask a house-elf to bring up some steak or ham and a bowl of water, and whatever you like to eat as well? The ear scratches are quite nice.'

Draco patted the she-wolf's back and whistled with two fingers. Dobby came running and immediately stopped short.

"Wolves?" the terrified house-elf asked. "Hungry wolves want to eat Dobby?"

"No, they just want a plate of steak or ham and a dish of water. May I have a chicken sandwich, also?"

"Dobby will get. Pet wolves?"

"Professor Tyler and her husband."

"Oh!" Dobby brightened considerably. "Professor Cass! You is a pretty wolf!"

"Er…that's Mr. Tyler, Dobby."

"Dobby sorry. May Dobby pet?" Cass licked him. "Professor Cass is a funny wolf!" Dobby happily petted the wolves, who were nearly as tall as he, for a moment and then scurried away to go get the food. "Dobby be back soon!"

The quill began to write again: 'Thanks, Draco.'