Chapter Thirty-Four: Shock, Spring, and Smutmonger

"Severus?"

"Tell me that wasn't just-" Snape mumbled to himself in surprise.

"Severus?"

John Tyler's voice was echoing about the halls of the admittedly rather nice manor house. Severus had never less wanted to hear someone after him. As the door opened and the werewolf appeared, he wondered if these were circumstances fit for an Unforgiveable.

"Severus, there you are!" John looked fairly tense, which for him meant that either the Apocalypse was at hand or something god-awful had happened to Cass. There was nothing less that could shake him out of his wolfish state of calm. Suddenly, however, the location struck him. "This is where you sleep."

"Or try to," the Professor replied dryly. "Who's being eaten by a manticore that you're so upset?"

For a few seconds, John looked confused.

"Oh, there's not a manticore. Cassie's been chucked in jail."

"What?"

"You would not believe why for, Professor Snape."

Merlin's ghost. A tense werewolf was one thing, Blaise Zabini quite another. "She swept in like the wrath of God or Professor McGonagall! Six of those flobber-tripes wound up in St. Mungo's and everyone and their duck heard about Milton's not having any-"

"Blaise!" Snape was decidedly less than pleased, and the fear of his overnight guest walking in was only making things worse. The Slytherin obediently and meekly shut her mouth. "Explain yourself calmly and coherently, in less than five sentences. I am not accustomed to visitors in this particular venue."

"Right," Blaise agreed, glancing around at the elegant furnishings. "Nice sheets. Anyway, the wedding reception was being held last night, and Professor Cass up and gate-crashed it to beat all hell."

"And she was arrested for gate-crashing?"

"No, I think it was aggravated assault and public libel, actually." Blaise sighed appreciatively. "Though the libel's a crock, everyone knows he's honestly lost his-"

"Do you mind?" Severus was really starting to get testy. After all, how long did females usually take in the shower, anyway? "Get to the point with it!"

"Right. She gave Maria a Guardian of Branwen locket and told the whole slew of family and relatives where to get off. I think she intended Hell."

"And then?"

"She pretty much broadcast the reason why Milton was walking funny and why they made poor Maria marry him. Then the fights started."

"Was anybody killed?"

"No, regrettably. The Ministry pigs finally up and closed things down, but it took Alastor Moody and the really tall and dishy black Auror about ten minutes to get Cass out. What's-his-name finally wound up carrying her over his shoulder like a sack, still shouting the most poetic and clever profanities my ears have ever been graced to hear, waving her fists and threatening damnation and syphilis on the entire company."

There was a long and really quite awkward pause as Severus considered this.

"Was she sober?"

"Gods, I hope not," Blaise replied. "If she was, she must be a bloody hell-banshee drunk."

"She is," John pointed out calmly, appearing for all purposes to have greatly enjoyed the tale, smiling absently. "Especially when she's a bit on the randy side. I still have a couple marks-"

"Sweet Satan!" Snape cried, interrupting him. "The borders of acceptable conversation have been positively buggered with a stick to now; must you kill them off entirely with that image?" Blaise released a long-pent-up giggle, only to be glared at unmercifully. "The events of last night are completely unacceptable-"

"Morning, love," Hermione greeted, appearing from the bathroom door.

In her 2051 memoirs, Blaise Zabini was to describe that moment as 'easily the most positive, if not plainly the best shock of my life.' In 1996, however, she was simply a gobsmacked kid whose pal had appeared, still fairly wet, in one of their teacher's robes. As a startled squeak escaped Hermione, John smiled and waved a pawlike hand.

"'Allo, 'Mione."

Blaise made a little 'eeeak' sound as well, then looked rapidly from the werewolf, to Snape, to Hermione and back, looking in severe danger of whiplash. Since John Tyler seemed as unsurprised as Dumbledore, things were feeling a little strange.

"You…but…them…what…?"

The poor Slytherin was reduced to gesturing confusedly. John sighed and smiled affably.

"You know, if Cassie were here, she'd Obliviate you so fast her wand would smoke." He took a small tin from his pocket, opened it, and offered the contents to Blaise. "Have an Altoid. They're cinnamon."

There was no option but for the supremely off-balance girl to accept one of the red things and pop it into her mouth, where she chewed at it meditatively. The searing hot taste a split-second later seemed to shake her out of the shock stasis. Seeing that it had worked, John continued, still smiling and calm.

"I know it's very startling, a scene like this."

Blaise and Hermione both nodded. Severus was growing red and tense.

"But really, isn't the best thing when one discovers that two friends –or acquaintances, whatever, are together, simply to congratulate them? I mean, judging from the way she came in, Hermione wasn't coerced into anything, and judging by the way Severus has lent her a robe and all, he's clearly head over tail for her. Really, if we didn't have to go spring my wife from the pokey in a little bit, I'd suggest champagne."

A short moment passed following this extraordinary pronouncement, then Blaise seemed to grasp the logic of the werewolf's argument. She smiled.

"It is awfully cute, the two of them, idn't it?" She tilted her head at the pair admiringly.

"I thought so," John agreed.

"And it really makes sense as well. I mean, you're both smart, you both read more than you sleep, eat or play Quidditch, and you sort of balance each other out. Apart from the whole student-teacher thing, I can't say that I'm really that surprised, come to think of it." A thought crossed her mind and she smirked a little bit. "Actually, I sort of find the teacher-student thing sexy."

"So we'll just leave them to get dressed, eh?"

"Right. See you lot in a bit downstairs."

Blaise quite chipperly left Severus' bedroom, but John remained. Hermione, still a little the worse for the shock, looked quizzically at him.

"How did you manage that?" The werewolf shrugged.

"Logic, plus not jumping when you came out. Good thing I smelled you here and was ready, eh?" There was suddenly a muffled thump from the hallway outside and John looked a bit sheepish. "That, and those weren't really Altoids. She won't recall a thing."

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It didn't take too much to get Cass out of jail in the end. Severus made an impassioned argument to Cornelius Fudge, pointing out that a witch of her youth, slightness, physical diminuitivity, etc., could not possibly have posed a threat to several very large and burly Blodgetts, especially when she had clearly over-imbibed and was in the grips of alcoholic incapacity. Moreover, she was American, and with some lack of subtlety he reminded the Minister of the prevailing belief that American magical education was wildly inferior. He also pointed out his colleague's pallor and persistent cough as an example of her poor health, which, he said, even hindered her flying, as only yesterday she had snapped her leg falling off a broom.

Then he appealed to the Minister's sense of family by explaining (and rather exaggerating,) the relationship of Cass and Maria until it appeared that a sick, maleducated, small, hapless, overly emotional and American female had been acting in defense of her heart's sister. Several pre-menopausal witches in observance of the scene actually wept at points. Cass and Hermione tried their damnedest not to snort.

It was a piece of forensics worthy of Clarence Darrow or Thurgood Marshall, but Professor McGonagall outdid him. She walked calmly up to the Minister, waited for Severus to be completely out of breath, then smiled calmly and spoke:

"Two words, Cornelius. Diplomatic immunity."

And that pretty much did it.

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The next day, Cass found Hermione absently playing solitaire on one of the multitude computers. She cracked a soda and went to perch by her chair.

"So I hear you shocked Blaise into next week, eh?" The girl froze and went rather scarlet about the ears. "Calm down, it was John told me. Blaise thinks she saw Sevvy in bunny pajamas. I think that's worse."

Hermione, it should be mentioned, was absolutely red.

"You're blushing. What?" Cass glanced at her soda can and then back at her friend in astonishment. "Is that…good lord!"

The werewolf smiled as Hermione went ashen.

"What?"

"That little smile."

"What smile?" Hermione asked, trying to look neutral.

"The little secret 'hopelessly sick in love' sort of one, lurking a little below your cheek! I know that look!" The mischief drained out of Cass' grin, leaving only a knowledgeably affable half-smile. "I've had it myself for awhile now."

Hermione watched as her friend and teacher pulled up a chair. "So you love Sevvy." She nodded.

"I do believe I do."

"I've been thinking the same thing since I met the pair of you. Aw, you both didn't quite notice it at first, but it's there. The way he glances at you in class, the way you watch his hands, I've seen those looks before. And believe me, I know what a pair of people in love look like."

"Do you remember your parents together?" Hermione asked, immediately regretting it. Cass shook her head, though, not sadly at all.

"Nope. But there's one thing I'll say for Muggles. They photograph everything." She took a long slug of the soda and then sighed. "Arthur and Molly Weasley, the way they look at each other, that's how you and Sevvy look. It's not quite as obvious, because you two are having to hide it, and they've forgotten how to look at each other any other way."

"John looks at you like that," Hermione pointed out. "Sometimes he'll just sort of stand there while you're doing something, watching you like the only thing in his life worth seeing. And I've seen the way your whole face changes when he walks into a room. You can be frustrated or angry or ready to throw a chair at Goyle, but when he shows up, you just look so much in love. You both do."

"Wish you didn't have to hide yours, pal," Cass sighed. "Because not everybody in the world is going to grasp the idea of you two together."

"No."

"Did I tell you about the other Aurors in my deputy class?" Cass asked. Hermione shook her head. "Well, John used to teach tracking and Animagic sometimes. Those are his areas. And a lot of the witches and wizards there were specist gits. Some weren't, like my friend Katie Scarlett, but a good many were.

"They used to call him Wolfy and Dog-breath and a hundred other mindless things. They also used to play tricks, like leaving a dog bone on his desk or putting dog …droppings in the classroom somewhere. And you know John, he just stayed as calm as ever. There were times when I wanted to ram that stuff down some people's throats, and sometimes Katie Scarlett did ream those people out. But John didn't do anything. He knew they were less than him.

"Eventually, it came out that we were seeing each other out of class. I won't even dignify some of the things said by repeating them. Some people asked what I saw in him, some people asked whether I was into bestiality…they didn't grasp werewolves as human. A few people were really concerned that I was interested in someone 'below myself,' and tried to stage kind of interventions for me. When I had the wolf mark done, some people wrote me off as well. I found notes with 'doggy-style' and 'wolf-lover' in my stuff. There were hideous caricatures. It was all really cruel. I almost dropped a session of Transfiguration training because of the assholes in that class."

"What happened, though?" Hermione asked. Cass swallowed hard and tried to restrain her smirk.

"Katie Scarlett got sick of it and had her husband drop by."

"He was a werewolf?"

"Worse." Cass grinned. "A Malfoy. This was the American Aurory, and some of us were looking at maybe being shipped out to fight Voldemort. We knew who Lucius Malfoy was, hated his guts, used his picture as a dartboard, the whole nine yards. Katie Scarlett was and still is married to his brother. She basically said 'Look, if I can love Sal, Cassie can love John.' And you did not want to mess with her."

"I didn't even know Lucius Malfoy had a brother."

"Salazar was disowned. He's sort of an Arthur Weasley type…married Katie without knowing she was a witch. She's Muggle-born, too, and Southern to the point of being frightening, but she's bright enough to know what tripe-sluppers specists are." Cass set the soda can down and smiled. "She's the sort of person who won't even blink at you and Severus. Even if she had doubts, politeness would keep her from voicing them, and with the two of you, there's not really any doubt."

"Ron and Harry won't like it."

"Then they can kiss your ass and go to hell. Friends are only friends if they put your heart in mind." Cass shrugged. "Sure, they'll likely need some nitroglycerin on the tongue at first, but if they don't see what I do, they're blind as bats. And I think they'll see."

"Is that optimism or trying to cheer me up?"

"Hermione, I call it like I see it. I don't do optimist." Cass smirked wryly. "The only thing more overrated than optimism is drunken sex."

Hermione went absolutely crimson and had to restrain a guilty look. "I mean honestly, you can't remember half of it, plus alcohol slows guys down, not to mention what you smell like the next morning…" Cass caught a look at Hermione's expression and froze mid-gesture. "Oh, holy fuck. You didn't."

"I –erm, well, I…"

"You did!"

"It wasn't like we were drunk!"

"And a good thing, too! I tell you, it's lousy drunk." Cass opened another soda and began quite calmly drinking it. Hermione, who had expected the Spanish Inquisition to begin at that moment, looked confused.

"Aren't you going to ask…?"

"Not unless you want to tell me, why?"

There was a very long, very frustrated pause. "Wait a second. If I were Ginny or Blaise, I'd be begging for every little detail, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"Hermione, pal, it's none of my business, or of theirs either. I'm not barking with curiosity because I've pretty much sampled the available feast, you know." The meaning of her metaphor struck Cass a bit funny. "Well, not feast, but …you know what I mean."

"That's likely why Maria never asked at all."

"I s'pose."

"But Blaise's tried it, with a couple of guys. Why does she ask, then?"

Cass thought for a moment.

"Maybe because she's never done it with anyone she really gave a damn about."

"Oh." Hermione considered this. "Wait. Maria's certainly never…" Cass looked evasively at her shoes. "She has? Cass, you know something I don't about Maria, don't you?"

"Yep."

"And that's why you crashed the reception, right?"

"Partly why."

There was another uncomfortable pause.

"You can't tell me."

"No." Cass frowned, looking frustrated, if not plain angry with Maria's family. "I'm sorry." Hermione sighed.

"I sort of wish she'd come to Severus, or Madam Pomfrey or somebody. She shouldn't have to have that bastard's kid." Cass patted Hermione's shoulder.

"That's part of the problem, pal. But at least none of their lot can hurt her now."

"How is that?"

"The locket I gave her last night."

"Guardian of Branwen…what's that mean?"

"Well, you know who Branwen of Britain was?"

Hermione was indeed familiar with the story. Branwen, a Welsh princess, had been married to a brutal Irish king, who after a short honeymoon had become abusive to her. Her twin brother, Brandon, had heard from the birds of what was going on and invaded Ireland to depose the king and rescue his sister. She nodded and Cass gave her a little smirk. "Well, it's basically a really strong Portkey. If anyone hits her or yells at her, or so much as ticks her off, really, the next thing you know Maria'll be somewhere else."

"Where?" Hermione was impressed.

"Well, you can cast the end on a person, but there didn't seem to be anyone safe enough, so I put it on both a person and a place." Cass looked really smirky and pleased with herself by now.

"Madam Pomfrey's?"

"Even more unexpected."

"America?"

"Closer."

"The Shrieking Shack?"

"Less dangerous. Who can you think of who would take care of anyone or anything? The most big-hearted person on the earth?"

Hermione was thunderstruck.

"You'll send her to Hagrid?"

"Well, why not? Seemed like a damn good idea to me." Cass grinned cheekily. Hermione seemed confused.

"But what if she's in labor or something?"

"Well, if Hagrid can deliver baby hippogriffs, I doubt baby humans are much harder."

"Why not Molly Weasley or somebody?"

"I considered her. But you never know…" Cass looked at her sneakers again. "I felt Hagrid would be best."

"Sometimes I wonder what goes through your mind, Yankee professor," Hermione observed.

"Air and lectures, from coming in my ears."

"In one, out the other?"

"Yep." Cass suddenly had an idea. "You have had the bitchy contraception slash avoid STDs one already, right?"

"The Muggle version."

"The wizarding one's not much different. You took a potion last night, right?"

"Severus cast a spell."

"Good, because the potion always gives me a rash. And at Hogwarts you don't have to bother." Cass went smirky again.

"Why?"

"They told us professors that there's an anti-ception ward on the whole grounds, sparing my place, of course. Noone can get pregnant unless…I think it's if both parties either want a kid or if they love each other enough to look after one. Not sure." The werewolf shrugged.

"But Maria-?"

"In Hogsmeade. Didn't apply," Cass spoke abruptly, then relaxed. "And if worse comes to worse, there's several places where you can get potions or condoms our gods-know-what."

"Wizards have that kind of stuff?"

"Pal, they've thought of things Masters and Johnson never dreamed about. Why, the toy stores alone are worth a good visit…" Cass brightened considerably. "I tell you what, let's go look at some. I have back Auror pay for almost ten months now that's burning a hole in my pockets like crazy."

"In Diagon Alley?"

"No."

"Knockturn?"

"Where?"

"There's a whole bloody wizards' red-light district. Sensu Alley, I think it's called."

"But…I'm underage. Do they let teenagers in?"

"They'd let first-years in with a responsible adult."

"You look responsible?"

"Maybe you'd better take me, then?" Cass joked. "Naw, they already know me too well from my book signings. Did you hear John and I've just outsold Lockhart?"

"He only wrote about garden gnomes."

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A/N: Sorry about the delayed chapter, but I have rehearsals to attend, lines to learn, litter boxes to clean, and other nasty tasks. With regard to the recent reviews, I am sorry it's taking so long to get to the plot 'meat,' but it has to happen chronologically. I am following orders here, both from a beta who can catch dangling participles and mixed metaphors, and from an outline, done on wrinkly notebook paper with a blurry Bic quite awhile ago. It's going to be a few more chapters before the really dramatic stuff starts happening, and until I find some means of doing Research (I am now sans boyfriend,) the smut will be humorously implied or described sketchily. Never was that good at writing it, anyway. Either sounds too sentimental or like an anatomy text. That stuff's hard –no pun intended. Really. Good lord, I need some sleep. More later.