Despite the fact that Daphne had worked rather diligently in the last twenty-four hours to be able to move around again, it still wasn't good enough for her to be able to accompany Michael and the mediwitches at the task of collecting Matthew's saliva. Saturday night found Michael standing with two men and a young nurse outside the room specially prepared for the boy. McGonagall and Daphne were waiting in a small laboratory--or what was essentially such--starting the potion that would be completed with the saliva.
At first, the mediwitches had not thought it wise for Michael to help in this endeavour, but with McGonagall's help, they'd finally agreed that it would be best if he was there to help take the sample. Just inside the room was a special bed for Matthew and a solitary window which had begun to shine with moonlight several hours ago. They'd all heard the transformation... And to Michael, at least, it had sounded painful. It didn't seem fair that such could happen to a kid... but there was no way to fix it.
Shortly after that, they heard the sounds of Matthew snuffling around, and then settling down on the pallet prepared for him. Michael rubbed his bare arm nervously. The plan was for the mediwizard in the special armour to go in first and muzzle Matthew just in case. Then the others would collect the saliva, Matthew would be freed to sleep off his transformation, and Michael would run off to find Daphne and complete the potion.
That was the plan.
Then again, the best plans are often the first to fail. At least that was Michael's motto.
"He's only had one dose of the wolfsbane potion," one of the Healers was saying. "So while he's probably not as wild as he could be, he's definitely not all there."
Michael remembered explaining the plan to Matthew earlier in the day while the little boy was valiantly trying to finish what was obviously a disgusting potion. During that time, Matthew said he really did like McGonagall the Cat, but he really didn't think it was fair that a person had to spend their life as a plant. The kid was just barely four years old, though, so Michael honestly wondered how much he could possibly get. Would he on some level understand why someone was coming into his little room to muzzle him?
The Mediwizard opened the door to the room, and Michael caught the barest glance of the puppy - and he did look just like a little brown puppy - before the door was closed again. It was the first time Michael had ever seen a transformed werewolf, and he'd expected it to be a lot uglier. Matthew, however, was actually sort of cute.
Cute, but dangerous.
There was a sharp growl in the room, but a moment later, the armored mediwizard returned and nodded. "It's done. A lot calmer n' I thought he'd be, but he still doesn't like anyone touchin' him."
"We'll give him a few minutes," the other wizard said to Michael and the nurse. Then they listened for a while as the young werewolf attempted to remove the magically-sealed muzzle. Hopefully it would hold... But, Michael told himself, something had to go wrong.
After a moment, there was a soft whimper, a snort, and then the sounds of the pup curling back up. They waited another minute for the sounds of snores which had previously indicated the level of calm of the young boy. When they finally heard the deep, quiet breathing from the other side of the door, the man with the armor waved them through.
"Just one for now, all right?" the man said, barring the other two after Michael stepped through. "He might get upset if there's too many people in the room, and we want this to be as painless as possible."
Michael wasn't overly fond of this plan, but it seemed that the man knew what he was doing, so Michael very cautiously stepped into the room and listened to the door click behind him. He gulped. He was never a big fan of magical creatures, especially not the sort that could rip you limb from limb or cause you to transform into what was essentially a monster... even if the one before them did look sort of like a fluffy German Shepherd puppy.
The man with him said nothing, but slowly gestured that they should move forward, so very cautiously, Michael did. As they drew nearer, Matthew's eyes slit open. Michael paused, as did the mediwizard with him, and after a moment, Matthew's eyes closed again. It seemed the boy was rather drugged up at the moment and thus having a hard time staying away. Which is why Michael was thoroughly unprepared for what happened next because as he took another step forward, Matthew was wide awake, and the muzzle had snapped.
Michael didn't really think. He just shut his eyes, feeling a hot line of sticky saliva hit his cheek as the boy surged forward, sounding as vicious as any creature he'd ever encountered, including his neighbors horrible rottweilers that had chased him as a child. Just as he was sure he'd be feeling sharp fangs in his body, he opened his eyes to see the man in the armor grasping the struggling brown body only a metre away.
"Get out!"
Michael didn't need to be told twice. He ran, nearly running into the door before he remembered he had to open it. Wrenching the doorhandle down, the Ravenclaw bolted from the room, shutting the door behind him. The armored wizard could deal with Matthew right now. Cute kid, deadly puppy.
He stood there shaking and was approached by the nurse with the vial, who, noting the drool on Michael's face, took it upon herself to collect it. There was enough there to fill the vial just about three quarters full, which was just a little more than they needed for the potion. The other wizard grabbed a towel from a nearby cart and dried the rest.
"They're just down the hall and to the left," The nurse said, handing Michael the now-stoppered vial. He took it, staring at it rather blankly. It didn't look like anything special, and he'd almost gotten killed for it. Or worse.
The nurse gave him a shove. "The light's on. There's not a lot of time left. Go on."
There would be time to think about that near miss later, and so he shoved it to the back of his mind. After finally managing to force his feet to move him, he heard the mediwizard finally make it out of the room, cursing and remarking on how smart Matthew was for such a young one, and a Muggle, too.
He rather shakily made his way to the room McGonagall and Daphne were stationed at. It was sort of an odd thought to realise he'd just nearly died. It was probably the closest he'd ever come to such. He must have looked a little funny when he stepped in the door, because Daphne immediately attempted to rush over to him, only she couldn't, instead having to catch herself on the table in the center of the room, gasping. Thus it was that he hurried over to her.
"Don't hurt yourself," he muttered, trying to right her, but she pushed him off.
"'m fine," she muttered. "But what about you?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
"Shaken, but all right," he added with a tight smile, handing her the vial. She looked at him again, critically, but seeing as he wasn't rent in any fashion--just pale and trembling--she seemed to decide that he was fine. She took the vial and hobbled over to a nearby cauldron by which Clare and McGonagall were waiting expectantly.
"Now what?" Michael asked, following after her not looking as though he was any more steady on his feet. He leaned heavily on the counter as Daphne leaned over the cauldron and began to carefully mete out the potion into a measuring spoon. He distractedly rubbed at his cheek where the saliva had been.
Daphne was working now, though. He could see that... And she didn't bother to answer him at first. After she'd measured the potion out one spoonful at a time, though - half into a bowl, and half into a pitcher - she responded. "Now they take it. They should change back in the morning when the sun rises." She looked at McGonagall, who was already eying the potion in the bowl.
"It looks right. It's the right color and consistency. You both did well, I'm sure."
Michael wondered if she was trying to convince herself of that as well. Daphne placed the bowl in front of their former teacher, though, and McGonagall sniffed at it for a moment before she drank it. The smell really was terrible, and it was impossible to imagine anyone willingly ingesting it, but when you didn't have a choice...
Daphne looked to Clare, then, who was hunkered down in the flowerpot a bit. Was Rivers actually nervous? Michael couldn't remember the girl being anything other than cold, though he knew that Daphne considered her as somewhat of a best friend. "I'll have to pour it into your roots," Daphne told the plant, who moved her leaves so that Daphne could reach the dirt. Michael wondered if she could actually taste it. After all, the plant-Clare seemed to be able to see without eyes and hear without ears... Apparently she could taste the horrid-smelling potion on some level, though, because she shuddered horribly as Daphne finished.
This done, Daphne practically collapsed into a nearby chair to rest her legs. Michael sat down next to her, and was about to compliment her on getting it all done and whatnot when she surprised him by wrapping her arms around him.
It was surprising, because Daphne rarely made the first move, but not unwanted. He sort of felt he must have deserved it on some level considering he was almost eaten by an kindergartener werewolf. He wrapped one arm lazily around her and leaned in just slightly. Thinking one was about to die was rather exhausting, at least in the aftermath.
"You okay?" he asked after a moment. She nodded silently, but didn't draw away. On the table, McGonagall had curled up and appeared to be dropping off into feline REM, her tail twitching at random. Clare the plant shuffled quietly, but she, too, seemed to be content to silently rest for a moment.
He leaned his cheek against the top of Daphne's head. Her hair felt warm and a little prickly, but still nice and smooth. He thought for a moment that he could probably fall asleep like that, except after a moment, she spoke.
"Did you ever think you'd be saving the world with an evil Slytherin, a cat, a werewolf, and a plant?"
He chuckled. "We're not saving the world."
"We are if the professor can find Potter and Dumbledore," she replied, finally letting go of Michael and just continuing to lean on him.
"So you're a fan of Potter, then?"
"I'm a fan of about anyone that can get rid of You-Know-Who."
Michael couldn't argue that. And since everyone seemed to think Harry Potter was their finest hope of survival, he supposed he was a fan, too. Not that he'd readily admit that, but if it meant getting rid of the Dark Lord...
It was getting rather late, and the room was warm from the dying fire under the cauldron. Michael was sure Daphne drifted off, and as the adrenaline rush from dealing with the werewolf pup diminished, he, too, fell asleep. For once, he didn't dream at all, which was nice because he needed the rest. However, he had a rather unpleasant awakening a few hours later.
It couldn't have been too late... Maybe one or two in the morning, and it was in part because he'd only been asleep a couple of hours that it was so hard to wake up. He blinked a few times, his eyes stinging, and suddenly realised Severus Snape was standing by the table near the sleeping plant!Clare and cat!McGonagall. Severus Snape who'd be in on the attack that finally knocked down Hogwarts... A moment later the words "Death Eater" clicked into place, and Michael suddenly found himself very much so awake, though it seemed Daphne was not.
Even the D.A. hadn't much prepared him for this. He was the alone wakeful presence in a room with a Death Eater two decades his senior. That was two decades of murder and mayhem that Michael probably couldn't even fathom if he tried... He carefully slid out from under Daphne. She made a very soft noise of discontent, but luckily it was quiet enough that it didn't alert Snape whose back was presently to them.
His heart was beating so fast it hurt, made him feel sort of suffocated. He wondered if he wasn't just going to have a heart attack then and there. Was this what Potter went through all the time? How could he even stand it? It was nauseating. Yet somehow, his hand managed to find its way to his back pocket and pull out his wand and even point it at Snape. He gulped sharply, wondering if he should kiss Daphne good-bye first, and spoke in a rather shaky voice.
"What are you doing here?"
Snape turned around, stared at Michael for a while, and then turned back to the table. Perhaps he was biding his time. He thought he had all the time in the world to kill them all because Severus Snape thought that Michael wouldn't fight! Well...
He was right.
He stood there frozen, wand still pointed at their former potions professor for the longest time before Snape spoke. "Put that away, Corner."
It was by sheer force of willpower that Michael kept his arm up. He kept telling himself that he was no longer obligated to listen to their former professor, and he certainly didn't have to listen to a traitor.
"This is passable," Snape went on, looking into the Cauldron. "I assume, of course, that the dose was given while it was still warm. Who made it?" He turned around again, looking past Michael to Daphne, who was still asleep.
"Sh-- she did," Michael said quietly, trying to get himself between Snape and Daphne. It didn't work too well, because his feet didn't want to move.
"Thank Merlin you didn't have a hand in it," He finished, turning back to the Cauldron. "You can relax, Corner. I'm not here to kill you. Seems like everyone is up in arms about everything lately. Wouldn't you agree?"
"What do you want?" Michael asked, somewhat encouraged by the fact that he was still alive.
He didn't think Snape would answer him. He thought that he would probably throw up just standing there with his arm still outstretched, and his hand obviously shaking around his wand. Snape looked at him with annoyance, and then began to inspect the plant. Michael lowered his wand fractionally, and Snape finally deigned to speak to him, turning from the plant with a strangely smug and yet terribly irritated look.
"I am here, Mr. Corner, because I heard that there were two fools at St. Mungo's attempting to restore a cat and a plant."
Word obviously travelled fast.
"And given that Miss River is my former student, and Professor McGonagall my colleague, I decided to make sure those two did not end up killing anyone or themselves."
Michael lowered his wand completely, blinking at Snape, because it didn't make a bit of sense why Snape of all people--who was now known to Michael as a Death Eater--would come to check on McGonagall and Clare with the intent to not kill them, unless...
"You're not taking them anywhere," he blurted out, wand raised again, though his treacherous hand was still trembling.
"Mr. Corner, if you please. Lower your wand, or I shall be forced to lower it for you. I have no need to tell you or Miss Greengrass why I am here. It's better that you not know, but I have my reasons. If you're not too much of a simpleton, I'd like for you to give Minerva this note. Read it, and you shall find yourself the victim of a rather nasty hex."
Michael blinked and put his wand away, reaching out to take the rolled up parchment. It buzzed with a sort of static energy that made the hairs on Michael's arm raise. Yes, there was definitely a powerful hex on that letter. He bit his bottom lip, then looked back up at their professor.
"You... you were in on it," he said quietly and behind him he could hear Daphne stirring. "You must know where they took Weasley and Malfoy... You have to know why all the professors just abandoned us," he continued, his voice rising as the injustice became clearer in his mind. "Where the bloody hell did they all go?" he snarled, and he could hear Daphne gasp softly behind him.
Snape, however, remained maddeningly calm and didn't look the least apologetic. "You will stifle yourself, Corner. I have no desire to explain my presense to another student."
Michael noticed that the cat, too, was stirring a bit, though she didn't awaken. That was odd... Unless the Wolfsbane potion used to calm Matthew was also affecting Clare and Professor McGonagall. Not that they could really do anything if they woke up, but he really could use a little support.
There was a flicker of something across Snape's face that wasn't really anything except the twitch of a muscle. "Some of them didn't make it out of the attack. Others followed Potter on his fool suicide quest. One was incapacitated." He looked back at McGonagall.
"Who... Who went with Potter?" Michael asked, instead of asking 'who died?'
Snape paused, contemplating the question and whether or not he should answer it. Eventually, he said, "Professors Hagrid, Flitwick and Sprout. Professor Trelawney has been missing, and I know nothing of Firenze."
"Why did they leave?"
"You left," Snape observed, "Because your hope rested elsewhere. Why shouldn't they do the same?"
"But we only left after we knew everyone was...!" He felt a tug on the back of his pants leg, and turned to Daphne who was shaking her head, indicating that he should drop it. He stared angrily at their former professor for another moment before dropping his hands to his sides and relenting. Snape was obviously not going to tell them anything, and the more Michael provoked him, the more likely he was to be hexed. Given that Snape was a Death Eater, Michael figured he was lucky to not be dead for saying as much as he did.
"Give the letter to McGonagall. If she deems it worthy to inform you of its contents, then so be it, but I must go now," the bat-like man said, sneering down his long nose at Michael and Daphne.
"Professor," Daphne said softly.
He paused in his billowing path to the door, but didn't turn around. "Yes, Miss Greengrass?"
"Thank you," she mumbled.
He didn't reply, just whisking out of the room. Michael glared furiously after him.
"That... that bastard!" he said through gritted teeth, his hand curling roughly around the letter which let out a little electrical shock. "Ouch," he muttered, loosening his grip. Still not looking at Daphne, instead staring heatedly at the closed door, he spoke again, "We should read it."
She stood up rather painfully and looked at the note all rolled up and sealed in his hand. When Daphne reached for it, he thought she might be in agreement with him and that she might look for a way to remove the hex. However, once she had, it, she put it into her pocket and shook her head. "No. Bad idea."
"But-- Daph--"
She shook her head again. "I can't say I entirely trust him, but you're still alive, aren't you?"
"Look. I just..."
Her hand was suddenly wrapped around his chin as she forced him to look her in the eye. He knew he could have easily pulled away, but she seemed so adamant, so he didn't. "How did you feel..." she started, "When you figured out I'd fallen through the Gryffindor Tower?"
"I-- Oh."
"Right. You're stupid if you think I'm going to let you hurt yourself." She smiled, patting her pocket. "I'm guessing it's for McGonagall."
Michael turned to the cat who was, miraculously, still asleep. Hopefully there wasn't anything wrong, though surely Snape would have been able to tell them if there was!
Maybe he'd poisoned them! No, the cat looked too peaceful, and Clare was rustling slightly.
Daphne continued. "Why don't we try to get a little more sleep?"
He nodded. There was nothing else to do, so despite the fact that he was still much too angry to even contemplate sleeping, he knew when to cave in to Daphne. He let her pull him back down into the chair beside her, and as if sensing his reticence, she decided to give him a bit of incentive. She pulled him a little closer, putting his arm around her shoulders and laying her head on his shoulder.
"Night, Mikey," she said, forcefully closing her eyes. He sighed. No way he could argue with that. He squeezed her shoulder with the hand draped around it and stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles until he, too, drifted off into restless but not very spectacular sleep.