Chapter Forty-Five: Smokey, Paul and Ringo

Harry and Ron stopped short once they realized where the chase had led them. Bellatrix Lestrange, all too hasty in her escape, had headed directly into the den of Aragog and his clan of Acromantulas.

"Wait, Harry!" Ron cried, catching his friend by the sleeve of his dress robes. "Don't go in there!"

"Ron, I have to-!" Harry gasped. "She almost killed-"

"So let Aragog and his kids eat her!" The redheaded boy shook his friend by the shoulders. "They deserve the bint."

It eventually took some convincing, but Ron succeeded in quelling his friend's vengeful impulses. By the time they had returned to the Great Hall, the unconscious werewolf had been taken to Madam Pomfrey's and the guests had been carefully memory-charmed to believe that Cass had sprained her ankle while dancing. Hermione, Ginny and Blaise were talking to one of the three redheaded gentlemen who had arrived just after the attack.

"I saw the curse hit her on the arm, right after she smacked Mr. Malfoy," Ginny explained. "Dumbledore was trying to stop the two of them fighting when it hit."

"From what direction?" the man inquired.

"We all saw that whacko do the curse!" Blaise protested. "She was over there."

"It's just bureaucratic crap," the man explained. "Got to be official. Okay, and what color was the ray?"

"Bright orange." Ginny frowned. "It wasn't the…?"

"Actually, I believe it was."

"But it couldn't have been!" Hermione pointed out. "She wasn't dead when they took her upstairs…was she?"

"Hell," the man remarked absently, a half-smile almost replacing his frown. "If I know my sis, it'd take worse'n the Blood-Boil Curse to kill her off."

"Your sister?" Harry asked suddenly.

"In-law," the man explained. "My name is Paul Tyler. John's my brother." Paul had the same shy grin and shaggy hair as his brother, but his eyes were darker and more intense. "Ringo and Smokey are interrogating that Malfoy fellow now."

"Interrogating?" Blaise asked, looking disappointed.

"Well, it's not so bad," Paul smirked. "Ringo thinks the Geneva Convention's more like guidelines than rules for treatment of prisoners. He's also awfully fond of his pain hexes. Say, I know you!" Harry braced for the usual 'can-I-see-the-scar' treatment, but Paul looked directly past him, to Ron. "You're the Gryffindor Keeper, aren't you? Ron Weasley?"

"Er…yes, sir."

"Cassie's sent pictures and reports of your last two seasons. I played Keeper for the New York Dragons for awhile."

"You're that Paul Tyler?" Ron's eyes lit up. "Sir, I've followed your team since I was thirteen."

"I rather prefer yours," the Auror grinned. "You've got a 4/5 block record for three seasons solid. If you were pro, that'd be…well, a record, for one."

"You had a full three-limb hang block against Michigan!"

"Oh, yeah. That was a weird game. I loved the two-limb when you took the Bludger to the gut. Were you okay afterward?"

"After about six potions."

"All of which tasted vile?"

"More or less."

"Er, guys?" Ginny gave the Auror and her brother a raised eyebrow. "Direly wounded professor, servant of Voldemort on the loose? Can we get back to business here?"

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Amazingly, the Blood-Boil curse didn't kill Cass Tyler after all. The very next day she was awake in the Hospital Wing, swearing a blue streak and pleading for a soda. Madam Pomfrey had her arm bandaged, Muggle-fashion, in a sling, as the curse had literally boiled her cartilage and most of the ligaments in her elbow joint. They could be regenerated, of course, but it would be awhile and she wouldn't be using her arm for at least a month. This news brought forth more swearing, as it meant Cass would have to sit out the staff Quidditch game. Her three brothers-in-law were jubilant at the fact that she would be well, but mystified, the eldest especially.

"That curse will kill a werewolf," he explained, looking critically at the burns on his sister-in-law's arm. "What did you drink last night, Cassie?"

"A flask of Scotch, six Cokes, and a butterbeer."

"Jesus," the gray-eyed werewolf frowned. "Six Cokes?"

"Hey, she's a Tyler, idn't she?" Paul inquired. "You had nine bottles of Mountain Dew on the trip over, yourself, Smokey."

"Smokey?" Severus looked confusedly up from the table where he was brewing a painkiller. "I thought his name was George."

"It is," John explained. "But he's gray when he turns and his eyes are gray, so he's called Smokey."

"And we just call him Ringo for kicks," Paul added, tossing a roll of gauze to his youngest brother.

"But it could be any one of those things that stopped the curse working," Smokey protested, a thoughtful frown on his face. "If there's a way of surviving that one, I'd like to bottle it."

"See why we get along so well with you, Sevvy?" Cass grinned. "I also had some chocolate fondue before the feast up in the Gryffie Girls' Quarters, and there was some really spiffing fruitcake…"

"Fondue?" Madam Pomfrey frowned. "How the sod did you make fondue in the dormitories?"

"Here you are, de- Professor Snape." Hermione closed the door behind her and brought the wormwood to her secret paramour, who quickly turned on her.

"Yes, Hermione, how did you manage fondue in the dormitories?" His frown had a raise to the eyebrow that told her why he was covering, and she improvised beautifully.

"Why, Ginny's cauldron, of course."

"Merlin's ghost!" Severus went ashen. "Sixth-year…the anti-inflammation potion might've blended with the chocolate, then the caffeine in the Cokes made it gelatinous-"

"And the alcohol let it remain in the capillaries of the cartilaginous tissue!" Smokey finished triumphantly. "All the curse could do is burn one joint! It didn't give her a stroke or a heart attack!"

"What?" Cass looked startled.

"That's what the Blood-Boil Curse does, Cassie. Bubbles in the blood instantly stop the heart or damage the cerebral-"

"Holy shit! You mean I could'a died?"

"Well, that's the typical use of the Blood-Boil," Severus pointed out.

"That mother should be Unforgivable!"

"It is, back home. The Ministry here's still debating it." Ringo looked disgusted. "Already they're sending a reporter up for an interview, you know. If Harry Potter hadn't been preverbal seventeen years ago, they would've sent one to bother him, I swear."

"Yes, Cassandra, can you act sicker than you are?" Paul flipped his notepad back open. "It might make that Skeeter hag go away."

"Rita Skeeter? Aw, naw! I'd love t'be interviewed!"

"Darlin', are you sure?" John had a concerned look. "I've read some of what she writes -well, had it read to me, and she's sort of…"

"A towering bitch," Paul supplied.

"Yes, exactly."

"Bring the hosebeast on! She can't possibly out-skank Umbridge!"

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"You know, that's really not very wise, darling."

"Severus, I'm worn out. What with the Yule Ball turning into an attack on Dumbledore by the killer of Sirius Black, only to be diverted by the elbow of my favorite tea–well, favorite Yank, come to think of it, not to mention I'm getting a cold."

"So you've chosen to immerse yourself in a tub of water up to the neck, behind an unwarded door?"

"I warded it very well!"

"Well, I got in, didn't I?" Severus smirked.

"You're almost as powerful as Dumbledore. You don't count."

"Up to your ears and your wand is –how many feet away?"

"None." Hermione raised a graceful, dripping arm and cast a spell on him. "Ravelus stiticus!"

The unraveling spell neatly undid Severus' clothes. Just about every stitch he had on fell to the ground, excepting a rather remarkable pair of Slytherin-patterned boxer shorts. "Sweet peace, why the hell didn't-?"

"These are my lucky pair, from school. I was playing Quidditch with those mad werewolves and Draco."

"And you've warded them?"

"After one Bludger to the balls, I felt it would be prudent." Hermione tried her damnedest, but wound up giggling, anyway. "What's so funny?"

"I just had this mental image…"

"Of the Bludger? That was in school, I'll have you know." Severus glared. "And you wonder why Sirius Black and I hated each other's guts." Hermione went wicked.

"Tell me, did you ever get back at him?"

"In seventh-year he took two in one game. I'm amazed old Snuffles wasn't a neutered dog." Looking as ticky as he usually did in class, Severus crossed his arms and looked about the Prefects' bathroom, taking in the décor. "How unbearably tasteless," was his verdict.

"It is awfully tacky, yes," Hermione conceded.

"I've seen better-decorated abattoirs." Severus picked up a rubber ducky, which let out an offended-sounding squeak. "What do you call this?"

"It's a rubber duck."

"For hunting whilst in the tub?"

"It's a Muggle thing." Severus frowned.

"Clearly." He made the duck squeak a few more times, slowly smiling as it made the chipper sound. "You know, I might grow to like this thing. It has character."

"I'll keep that in mind." Hermione moved slightly toward the professor, so that the hot water and bubbles kept her covered up to the collarbone. She was actually smirking. "Are you going to play with the rubber duck all night or will you get your Slytherin arse in here?"

"Why, Miss Granger," Severus replied, looking as scandalized as he could. "Are you implying that you wish me to conduct myself inappropriately?"

"Yes, as much as is humanly possible. You. Tub. Now."

For all her commanding bravado, Hermione still let out a startled squeak when Severus leapt boldly into the tub. There was a splash, and as the bubbles fled the surface she dove to avoid being seen.

"What the sod are you doing?"

"Hiding." Hermione caught a breath and then re-submerged. Severus caught her from behind and lifted her out of the water. As the cold air touched her skin, she let out another squeak.

"You sound like the rubber duck," Severus observed, turning her around so that they faced each other. "Shall I squeeze you, too?"

"I would like that, yes."

A few moments later, Hermione had a new command: "And get those damn lucky boxers off."

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Ginny happily began reading the new interview on page nine of the Daily Prophet. She could practically feel the giggles coming just after she saw the headline:

'Rebellious Defenders Within Hogwarts' by Rita Skeeter.

Albus Dumbledore has done it again. Where legendary Auror Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody once trod, American operatives have come from far across the Pond to protect the next generation of England's wizarding youth. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will certainly have a hard time reaching our children with these Aurors on the prowl! All five are fully-qualified graduates of the Corey Institute, America's best Auror-training school, and two of them are certified Past Masters of Tracking, a qualification unheard-of in Britain since the war against Grindelwald.
            The sole female among these gifted defenders is herself a double Master, though in the controversial fields of Muggle Technology Applications and Counter-Programming, skills she has put to use in her official post as Hogwarts' Muggle Studies Professor. Lieutenant Cassandra Tyler attributes her success with the American Aurory to her father, her Muggle-born upbringing, and "a great lot of spy movies." In the interview below, yours truly seeks to further unravel the mystery behind the controversial multinational defense program at Hogwarts.
Rita Skeeter: So, Lieutenant Tyler, how are you?

Lt. Tyler: Right now?

RS: Well, yes, right now…

Lt.T: My left arm hurts like hell. How about you?
RS: I'm –er, fine…tell me, what is it like to teach the famous Harry Potter?
Lt.T: Harry? Oh, he does alright in class. His essay comparing two Muggle films was one of my favorites.

RS: Rumor has it that you and former Hogwarts school governor Lucius Malfoy are engaged in a feud, Lieutenant. Is there any truth to this?
Lt.T: You can call me Cass. My rank sounds so…pole-up-arse.
RS: Oh, yes! And is it true you allow students to call you 'Professor Cass', shattering academic tradition?
Lt.T:  Oh, yeah. It's a matter of convenience, really. See, my husband also teaches there, and having two 'Professor Tylers' would get really confusing.
RS: I see. Getting back to your students, which would you say show the most promise?
Lt.T: In what?
RS: In joining your field, of course.
Lt.T: Which?
RS: Why, the Aurory.
Lt.T: Well, I don't teach Auror Training 101, Ms. Skeeter, I teach Muggle Studies.
RS: And what does that entail?
Lt.T: The study and appreciation of all things Muggle.
RS: Have you encountered resistance to your subject?
Lt.T: From the students, not much. Once they see how much fun it is, they generally put aside the prejudices they imbibed with their baby food and begin making rapid progress. Some parents and wizards are really opposed to some of my curriculum, though.
RS: And why is that?
Lt.T: I d'know. Maybe it is because I, like Headmaster Dumbledore, don't believe in sugarcoating the truth about Voldemort and what they're up against. I also believe that the Ministry, like any government, is, in fact, fallible, and to speak down to the young is to cripple them. (Pause.) I also let my students read books that interest them.
RS: You and Ministry official Dolores Umbridge have had several notable clashes, have you not?
Lt.T: Well, yes. We are ideological opposites and between her smugness and my temper, it's really a wonder it hasn't come to a duel someplace.
RS: Your temper has also distinguished you from sundry of your peers, is that correct?
Lt.T: Most decidedly. I was arrested earlier this schoolyear for an incident involving my temper.
RS: Tell the readers about it.
Lt.T: Well, a girl was forced to marry her rapist. That sort of thing tends to piss me off.
RS: And you crashed the wedding reception?
Lt.T: You bet your boots, I did, Rita. It's rather a lucky thing for the parties in question that Kingsley Shacklebolt was one of the Aurors sent to arrest me.
RS: Why is that?
Lt.T: Because I was loaded for bear as it was and they tried to use wands on me. Poor Kingsley wound up having to pull me off the one sonofabitch by the scruff of my neck.
RS: You were agitated?
Lt.T: And rather drunk. I've been sober for two months –mostly, but booze does make us werewolves violent.
RS: That's another thing. You and the other four American Aurors at Hogwarts are all werewolves.
Lt.T: We're all family, too. My husband John and I have been here for a year, and his three brothers just arrived over Christmas holidays.
RS: Have you had any opposition due to your lycanthropy?
Lt.T: Yes, though I can't think why. Our condition is quite well controlled with Professor Snape's Wolfsbane potion, and he makes improvements constantly. You might say we're his guinea pigs.
RS: Professor Snape seeks to improve the potion?
Lt.T: Of course! He's taken out two patents since the start of term, one with his assistant, and he's managed to remove roughly half of the unpleasant side effects. (Pause.) It still tastes awful, though.
RS: What advice would you offer a young werewolf?
Lt.T: Start washing your hair once a week with dish detergent. It keeps the fleas away and makes your fur extra-soft.
RS: Seriously?
Lt.T: I swear. Helps Animagi, too.
RS: I must remember that…Tell me, what is your favorite part of Hogwarts?
Lt.T: (Pause) I think the comfy chair in Professor Snape's office.
RS: Er, no…I meant, what do you like best about the school?
Lt.T: Oh, the people! The little first-years, the seventh-years who know good dirty jokes, the professors…I've never had more fun. Even if I am there as a watchdog and a deprogrammer, it's a great place to be.
RS: Well, the Daily Prophet thanks you for your time.
Lt.T: No prob, Rita.

Ginny stifled a laugh. She could practically picture Rita Skeeter's face. With a grin on her face, she set down the paper and headed for the Prefects' Bathroom for a relaxing soak in the tub. Once she had filled the pool-size bath with hot water and lavender-scented bubbles, however, she noticed something strange. A black, silky object was hanging from a wall sconce, as if it had been stretched and shot there by the elastic. She prodded it and it fell to the ground. She held it up.

A sense of horror filled her. Slytherin-patterned boxer shorts! Sweet Satan!

Then she remembered who else in Gryffindor was a prefect.

She laughed.

Then something else occurred to her. How had she gotten the shorts off? And why? And what was she doing with her Slytherin boyfriend in a bathroom…?

Ginny decided that she would not be using the tub that night, after all.

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