Author's Notes: This story is a little diddy that's been floating through my mind for a while. I'm writing this for my enjoyment and for the enjoyment of others. I have no aspirations to become a professional writer and view scathing, sarcastic commentary as a sign of mental illness. (In other words, criticism is welcome if it is constructive. If you don't know how to do this, then learn the art as it is perhaps the most lucrative job and social skill one can hone.)
Thank you all for the wonderful comments—I do appreciate them. I can't comment on some of the inquiries, as an answer one way or another would give away the plot. Sorry this took so long, but I've had other commitments. Hope you enjoy this little additional piece to the bigger puzzle.
Note: I've re-posted this chapter because I noticed some rather major error. Macmillon instead of Macmillan... that's what you get when you add something to the spell-check when you're half asleep. 8)
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Chapter 10 – SecretsSeverus Snape slammed into the classroom, the door only stopping when it smashed noisily into the nearby wall. He paced quickly into the room, steaming ahead on his way to his podium and demonstration area. In a swift movement, practiced and honed over the years, he reached out during mid-pace and snagged a copy of 'Witch Weekly' from Ginny Weasley and quickly folded it under his arm.
Reaching his desk, he opened the lower drawer and added the magazine to a growing menagerie of prior editions of Witch Weekly, a stack of Quibblers, a few Muggle magazines that had odd, static photographs, an assortment of candies and sugar quills, a number of items from Weasley Wizard Wheezes—including a nose growth elixir whose label sported a thin, sallow-faced wizard who looked suspiciously familiar—and a recent edition of Playwizard with a coquettish, buxom redheaded witch on the cover who exposed her breasts for any of age wizard. The Playwizards he normally reserved for Filch; after he read the articles, of course.
"Thank you Miss Weasley," he said with a sneer. "And five points." The girl opened her mouth, apparently ready to protest. "Yes, you wish to make a comment?"
"No sir," she said wisely and began to prepare for class.
"Really, Miss Weasley," he taunted, "nothing at all?" Watching the girl wiggle slightly in her chair and shake her head 'no', he smirked. "I thought not. Well, if we may proceed..."
Since the lecture was a continuation from the last class-- purposefully designed so that the students would have maximum time to prepare the simple, yet time-consuming process of brewing-- Severus found himself back at his desk sooner than usual. Fortunately this clutch of fifth years was significantly better than last and this class of double potions with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw was rather uneventful aside from the occasional and relatively minor mishap.
Taking a quick scan of the room and satisfied that everyone was hard at work, Severus reached over to his desk drawer and quietly opened it. Taking out the newly confiscated Witch Weekly, he laid it carefully on the edge of the desk drawer. The cover sported an attractive, but not model-quality, house-witch holding up a tray of mouth-watering pumpkin pastries. Along the side the teasers read:
Brew It Yourself Weight-Loss Potions –
Household Ingredients and Easy Kitchen Preparation Pg. 5
Mood-changing Nail Polish- Connect with Yourself
Tense, Fickle, Amorous... Don't Guess... Act! Pg. 17
Witches Speak! Witch Weekly Survey Results
Top 10 Romantic Interludes that Wizards Wish They Knew! Pg. 22
"Eureka," Severus said softly, quickly turning to page 22. Normally he threw the droll pathetic rag that masqueraded as a periodical in the trash, but Bill Weasley advised him that the magazine was a gold mine of information. It was a literal map, the eldest Weasley sibling claimed, to into the hearts and knickers of witches. He began to scan the article. Number 10 was spontaneous romantic picnics. That much he knew and if he recalled, the same topic was also covered in a back issue. He frowned and considered for a moment that the magazine probably reused the same articles; simply rewriting them so they would sound fresh; adding just enough copy and spinning the headlines to make the average reader (who Snape considered to be at best a dunderhead and at worst hopelessly feeble-minded) think that they were receiving brand-new information. He laid the current issue he was reading on his lap as he fished in the drawer for a prior issue to confirm his suspicions. Digging through the pile he unearthed the Playwizard and laid it to the side as he searched for the other Witch Weekly. The ample witch (who was now a blonde), winked at the professor as she slowly and seductively began unbuttoning her blouse. He watched for a second and then noticed the copy written on the left hand side of the cover that read:
The Secrets to a Witch's Desires
Ten Simple Things You Can Do to Guarantee Endless Nights of Shagging...
"Pity that there isn't an article on getting them to sign contracts," Severus said under his breath, "but this is a start." Being the astute researcher, however, he could see the value of double-referencing his work and concluded that the ideas that showed up in both articles were more than likely those with some merit. He glanced up again to the class, his black eyes taking a quick inventory of the situation. Satisfied that the students were otherwise safely occupied, he picked up the Playwizard, put it on his lap, and turned to the page. He was quite adept at covert research; it was a skill he honed as a first year when Lucius Malfoy, several years his senior, used to sneak books out of the Restricted Section of the library for him. Quickly scanning the two articles, he came across the first common entry:
Spontaneous Nature Walks: A Cozy Blanket, a Well-Stocked Picnic and a Stop by a Bubbling Brook...
Severus snorted and shook his head, recalling his own personal disaster. Two weeks ago he tried the very same thing-- a suggestion of Weasley's as well. During a particularly fine, but not terribly sunny, Saturday afternoon, he had convinced Ruedella to help him search for certain potions ingredients in the Forbidden Forest. It was not entirely a ruse, as there were certain items he did need. He offered a fine picnic lunch away from the prying eyes of students and a promise not to do any transfiguration in exchange for her assistance. As a precaution-- although he was quite confident that the two of them could defend themselves or escape from just about anything they would encounter-- he had asked Hagrid if there were any unusual goings-on in the Forest, with particular interest on the Centaurs. Hagrid had shook his oversized head, his vigorous movements shaking a few odd crumbs of food and Merlin-knows what else from his beard, and assured him that all was fine and he had not seen anything particularly large nor dangerous in quite some time.
Their expedition went well and in a relatively short period of time he and Ruedella were able to locate a substantial quantity of wild and exotic herbs. She was a rather quick learner, a quality he recalled her having as a girl, and he was able to teach her several harvesting techniques; including the rather complicated process of picking Drachenvine, a poisonous and aggressive plant the Professor Sprout did not grow herself. By mid-afternoon their tasks were complete and he had pulled out the blanket and set up afternoon tea, allowing them to enjoy a snack as they sat and took final inventory.
After carefully packing away the last of the plants in a box he had brought, he was about to scoot closer to test her receptiveness to some more intimate activities when the thunderous sound of snapping trees and a growl came from behind them. They both leapt to their feet, he drawing his wand putting himself between Ruedella and the noise. They both watched as a huge human-like form, at least sixteen feet tall, lumbered into the clearing. When it saw them, it bellowed "Grawp!" and jumped up and down, in what appeared to be excitement.
It was then that he realized that Hagrid was right-- there was nothing unusual in the Forbidden Forest as the huge giant the Gameskeeper called a brother had managed to scare everything away.
The giant, apparently in a playful mood, reached down and picked up a nearby boulder in his large meaty hands. Chuckling, the giant lobbed it at them—playing catch, one could presume. In a quick reaction, before Severus could think twice, he cast a spell in defense. The violent red light caught the huge rock in midair and shattered it; the force of the spell sent large pieces of the debris back at Grawp, one striking the giant squarely in the head, knocking him out. The thing crashed into the ground, the sound not less that hearing the largest tree in the forest fall, causing the ground to rumble in the wake. In the commotion, Ruedella tripped backwards and, in her attempt to steady herself, she grabbed at his sleeve causing him to lose his balance as well. The two tumbled onto the blanket, he awkwardly positioned on top of her.
Had it not been for the unconscious giant only fifty feet away, their situation would have been better received. But, as timing would have it, Hagrid bounded out of the forest, apparently in reaction to the noise. The Gameskeeper immediately locked eyes on them, and even at the distance, Severus saw a tinge of red creeping on Hagrid's face, just above his bushy beard. Hagrid's embarrassment was only short lived, as it would have been hard to miss the large unconscious mass not far from him. The worst part of the event, Severus recalled, was the debriefing in Dumbledore's office when Hagrid gave his account of what he saw, colored by the half-breed's excitable imagination. And, for as long as he would live, the Potions Master would never forget Dumbledore's and McGonagall's reaction when Hagrid blurted out in his broken baroque: 'An' I stumbl'd out ah the woods an' saw'er Professors Snape and Lestrange... err... I saw'er Professors they were...err... Ahem....Professor Snape was on top 'o Professor Lestrange...err...you kno' getting along nicely, as they'd say...'.
And, every day since, every faculty member he spoke with had made it a point to work in the phrase 'getting along nicely' into any conversation they had with him.
Shaking the memory, he scanned the articles again, gleaning a few other ideas and seeing how he could convert them into something that was at least passable, and with how events were progressing, certainly not lethal. Noting that the full moon would be out high tonight, as its ascension just started an hour or so before, he devised a quick plan. 'Spontaneity,' he mulled over Weasley's advice, hearing the younger wizard's voice in his head, 'make witches believe that then you're always thinking of them.' Throwing the magazines in the drawer, he wrote a quick note and summoned a House Elf to deliver it. As the elf dissappeared, the wizard thought of something else and re-opened the drawer to retrieve the same two magazines again. He flipped through them and perused the information until he realized that someone was watching him.
"Miss Weasley!" Severus shouted at the teen, "How dare you sneak up on me!"
"I did not wish to disturb your..." Ginny looked down on the floor, as Harry warned her about making eye contact with Snape, "...research. I just arrived and...err... I was waiting for an appropriate break point. You should know, sir, that McClelland's potion is a deep purple. I believed you mentioned that poisonous gas would emit if..."
"Fine, fine," he said tossing the magazines once again in storage and then kicking away his chair. He rushed over to McClelland's cauldron; fortunately the girl had enough sense to add some additional beetle wings to reverse the reaction. After taking some points, and satisfied that the girl's temporary solution would do, he stalked around the tables, staring at each cauldron in turn. Taking out a pocket watch, he studied the time...yet another two hours to go. He cringed and then turned to retreat back to his desk.
Before he made it to the center aisle Peeves the Poltergeist screamed through the ceiling and plowed through his body, giving him the cold shivers. "RUN, HIDE! A WEREWOLF IS LOOSE IN THE CASTLE!" the entity screamed as it zoomed around the room and then, just as quickly the thing disappeared through the wall; odd behavior as the poltergeist would normally try to tip a cauldron or two before the Potions Master took aim with his own wand or summoned the Baron.
"Silence!" the professor bellowed at the class. "Attend to your cauldrons!" he barked at the chattering students. Retreating back to his desk, he was about to take his seat when, through the dungeon door came an odd, bone-chilling sound. A howl. It was apparent that the sound came from within castle, using the granite walls to carry it. It certainly did not, as Severus could tell, come from the outside and for once, the Potions Master feared, the poltergeist was not playing tricks.
~***~
It was a quiet Thursday afternoon and the late September sun was starting to dip below the nearby mountain ridge. Ruedella's classes were done for the day and she decided to head through the castle to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. She was quite sure, but not entirely positive, that Weasley was also done for the day, but she did require a book she had lent the wizard and did promise McGonagall that she would drop it off before dinner. As she hopped rather ungracefully from the landing onto a moving staircase, she nearly fell backwards in surprise as a House Elf popped into view. The creature, realizing what it had done, grabbed the witch by her teaching robes, pulling her forward. Regaining her balance, Ruedella clutched the railing and was preparing to give the odd little gray elf a swift kick off the stairs into the chasm below when the creature held up a scroll.
"Professor Snape asked me to deliver this to you," the Elf slammed the scroll into her hand and quickly disapperated before Ruedella could react.
Noticing Severus' precise handwriting on the outside, she situated herself on a more stable landing and opened it. The note was short and to the point; a basic invitation to his rooms for some wine and conversation. Barring, of course, if she had any other commitments. Deciding the invitation was satisfactory (and an improvement from the general commands her normally barked out), she pocketed the note and would accept it later, probably at dinner. Seeing how their last two rendezvous went, her morbid curiosity wondered how this one could go dreadfully wrong. Given that, how could she resist?
"Severus," she sighed his name as it rolled off her tongue, careful not to say it too loud lest it carry to overhearing ears. It was a powerful name, an appropriate name for a man on the cusp of being a Dark Wizard. He was moody, nearly indecipherable, yet at the same time she was drawn to him—not unlike when she was a girl. She continued to walk, finally reaching the safe and unmoving hall, as she recalled those long evenings years ago in the Slytherin Common Room. Those nights when she forced herself awake to study while Severus sat in a nearby armchair, his face buried in a book while the rest of the students had retired hours before. She remembered him as a thin, scrawny boy with a sharp wit and even sharper tongue and his boyhood knowledge of the Dark Arts rivaled the then DADA instructor himself. There was something about him, dark, mysterious...a tragic soul who occasionally found comfort with a small, equally scrawny girl who by most accounts should have been in Ravenclaw. But the Sorting Hat put her in Slytherin because, as it whispered in her ear her first day, it felt that her time there would benefit her inevitable path in life. Her lids grew heavy remembering those numerous, uncountable, 3 am sessions when she would timidly clear her throat and ask him a question about Herbology or Potions (often already knowing the answer), only so that he would put down his book and help.
She recalled the Halloween party at the Malfoys nearly twenty years earlier and how the rose bushes and a warming charm made a comfortable enough atmosphere for two young adults, one just out of his teens, to snog and fondle each other in a clearing between the bushes. His body pressed down on her as they lay, entirely clothed—although they were working to remedy that. His mottled kisses on her ear and the scrape of his teeth on her neck that made her arch her back and open her legs invitingly while his deep voice whispered in her ear the appealing suggestion that they steal off into the mansion to find an unoccupied guest room. But the romantic rendezvous ended suddenly as the blinding light and the sharp pang of Rodolphus' stinging hex he blew apart the bushes during his search. It was fortunate that her uncle, Lucifer, was present otherwise the wounding spell Rodolphus used on Severus could just as easily have been an Unforgivable.
Their time together over the summer was too stressful to even remotely be considered to be romantic, and Severus was not one who took to the subtle arts of courtship. During those weeks, her mind was preoccupied-- terrified that Rabastan or Rodolphus would find out her cowardice or that Severus would eventually turn her in should she continue to refuse his offer. However, Severus kept to his promise and provided her sanctuary; leaving her remaining time at the Black Mansion to focus on her work, coordinating elves, and consulting designers. There were no flowers, no picnics, and no overt advances; and until nearly the first full week of classes had passed she had thought that the wizard had abandoned the pursuit and simply failed to inform her.
His unwillingness to leverage his position, threaten, or blackmail her was perhaps the one main indicator that his offer might have an underlying element of sincerity. That resonate fact plus the reality of their brief affair those years ago swirled in her mind, whispering to her that perhaps she was misguided. After all, the voice reasoned, it would make sense to start off where they left off. It reminded her that it had been some time since she enjoyed a wizard's touch, the stroke and precision that only a man could deliver.
Further down the corridor, she could hear Flitwick's high-pitched voice echo off the stone walls. Her curiosity piqued, she made her way towards the sound, stopped, and peeked her head into the Charms classroom. It was a sixth year N.E.W.T.s class she assumed, noting the attendees a few of whom she had as students as well. She leaned against the entryway, apparently unnoticed, as the diminutive demi-elf (or that was her current theory) taught the students animation spells. She watched the classic animation spell, the self-sweeping broomstick, and she marveled on how the broom flew through and tidied up the room at the Charm's Professor's simplest command. Knowing from experience the chaos that would ensue once the Professor turned the class over to do practicum, she quickly exited and resumed her journey down the hall.
Rounding the corner, she could see the D.A.D.A. classroom up ahead. Judging from how Weasley's voice carried, she judged that the door had to be open. "Damn," she said softly, as she was not particularly keen on making another trek back later that day. She quietly leaned forward, just outside the entryway, peeked her head around and listened in, hoping for a lull or a practicum time where she could quickly pop in, request the book, and do so with limited disruption. Fortunately she was in no particular hurry so she could wait if necessary.
"Professor!" Weasley nearly hollered, his voice amplified off the granite walls. "May I help you?"
Ruedella grimaced and rounded the corner until she stood fully in the entry. "My apologies, I was hoping for a good break point," she started to explain as she took a few slow paces through the doorway. "I did not mean to interrupt."
"No mind," Bill said pleasantly enough, waving her in. "Just explaining the Riddiculus spell to the third-years here. And, don't worry, you were very discreet. Just being raised in a big family you get a second sense when someone is listening in. How may I help you?"
"The book...Runes and Defensive Spells," Ruedella said, "When you get a chance. I need to look up something and if you are done, Professor McGonagall would like a turn with it..."
"Sure," Bill said, "I am done and was meaning to send it back... just did not get around to it." Addressing the class, he instructed, "Students, please get into groups of two and line up against the wall. With your wands put away, practice the spell. Like I said, think of your worst fear and then something funny. When you're ready, yell out the spell—again with wands put away—like you mean it. Now, keep on your toes because I found two Boggarts and I don't know exactly what will happen when you put to Boggarts together." Bill said the last with a wink and a semi-false sense of warning.
"I would imagine, Professor Weasley," Ruedella suggested, "that you would get more Boggarts." She returned Bill's snort and smiled a little as the children began to giggle.
"Well, Professor," Bill nodded, "If you could keep an eye on things, I'll just pop into my office..." With a quick turn and a few paces, Bill walked into his office.
Taking their cues the students, a class of third year Hufflepuffs, obediently rose from their chairs and went to the far left wall. The soon classroom echoed with 'Riddiculus' over and over, until the word blurred into a sound menagerie of hard 'R's and extended 'S's. Ruedella observed for a few moments and then began to look around the room. Spying an unusual display of artifacts on the far side, next to a large armoire. She walked over and was admiring the various amulets, divination stones and other items until her concentration was shattered by a high-pitched cackle. She turned quickly on heel towards the noise and saw Peeves swooping around teasing the children and trying to steal their wands. Pulling out her own wand, she raised her arm and fired a warning spell in the air to get the poltergeist's attention.
"Peeves!" she commanded, "You know very well that you are not permitted during class..." She stopped and smiled triumphantly as the poltergeist stopped and hovered in mid air, it's pallid, translucent face sporting a most serious expression as it looked over to her. She silently congratulated herself in getting the entity's attention in such a short period of time; a feat even the Bloody Baron would be proud. But, she then noticed, it wasn't just the poltergeist that looked terrified, the students did as well, so much so that only a few could manage enough courage to quiver their lips. Perplexed, Ruedella was about to ask, when the moaning creak of a hinge told her that their source of fear was not her, but what was behind her.
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The sound wasn't exactly a shriek...or a howl... but a combination of anger, pain, terror and horror into one ear-splitting roar that rushed into the room as a relentless tsunami of bone-chilling sound. The brooms crashed to the floor, as the students' concentrations were shattered by the wail, the sounds of wood crashing onto the floor muted by the horrid screams. Panicked, the most of the students instinctively ran to the far corner, while the rest stood their ground looking to one another to see if someone knew exactly what it was. Flitwick, in a display of energy, bounded over his stack of books and ran to the door, yelling over the shrieks for the students to stand back.
Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley huddled together. Hermione looked at Harry and then to Ron. "It can't be," she said.
"What?" Harry asked. "Do you know what it is?"
"I bet the Death Eaters are behind it," Ron said loud enough to be heard over the terrifying noise. "They let something in here..."
"It's a werewolf," Hermione said, "the sound...not quite entirely animal...I'd say it was near fully grown."
"And since when have you been an expert on werewolves," Ron balked, "getting pointers from Remus?"
"Remus!" Harry exclaimed, realizing the likely source of the sound. "Snape didn't give him... I bet..." Harry said, panic breaking his words and thought. "I know that I could talk to him, calm him..." Harry sprinted towards the exit and in a swift athletic movement jumped over Flitwick's head and through the door.
"Harry!" Hermione screamed as she watched her impulsive friend speed towards the dangerous, lethal-sounding, bellows. "Harry, he won't know it's you..." she yelled as she too ran towards the door, but was grabbed on the wrists by her Professor.
"Coming from the D.A.D.A. classroom, I would venture," Flitwick said with a squeak. "Professor Weasley can handle it, I suppose..." he said the last with some confidence, but that was shaken as they could hear human screams coming from the same direction. Pulling himself together, the Professor hopped up on a table. "Malfoy, Parkinson, escort the group to the far stairs. Ravenclaws and Gryffindors I feel you can proceed safely to your common rooms and dorms as the sound appears to be in the opposite direction from there. Slytherins, you as well – take the back stairs to the dungeons..."
"Sir," Macmillan interrupted, his voice cracking slightly from the fear. "It is... there's a third year Hufflepuff class in there..." A loud painful shriek and the sound of various voices screaming made him stop.
"Correction," Malfoy said indigently, "A third year Hufflepuff class WAS in there..."
"You are not being helpful, Malfoy" Flitwick snapped. "Granger, Weasley... and you too Macmillan... come with me," he commanded with as much authority his small body could muster. "The rest of you make a run for it!"
~***~
Harry flew down the hall and around the corner, the shrieks, wails and screams getting louder. He pulled out his wand and gripped it tightly, his mind running through every spell he knew, finally settling on one which turned a werewolf back into his human form. If it were Remus, his next stop, he determined, would be Snape's office to demand a few answers.
The sound suddenly changed from a howl-like shriek into a wail of pain. He could hear another person scream out a spell, but one he had ever heard before. As he reached the doorway, he could see Professor Lestrange, her wand pointed and a stream of red and violet energy streamed out as she chanted the spell over and over. The witch was disheveled, her gray eyes reflecting her terror—Harry thought she looked downright deranged. He looked up towards Bill's office and could see the students rushing into it as a disorganized, frantic stampede, effectively blocking Bill's ability to get through and assist.
The werewolf was large, but judging from the size, not quite fully grown, with brownish-red fur. Its muzzle and other features were similar, but not exactly that of Remus' in that, Harry noted right off, it lacked gray spackle to its fur. Realizing that the witch was torturing the creature, he grabbed her arm to break her spell. She turned to him, stopping her chant, as the wolf then fell into an exhausted heap on the floor, her gray eyes penetrated Harry, blazing with fear, anger and hate. She opened her mouth to speak, but the door to the armoire flew open. Harry watched as a black haired boy, about his age, stumbled out, his face and torso slashed open and his left forearm and hand completely missing, blood spurting from the ragged, severed stump that showed through the boy's shredded outer robe sleeve. Blood gushed from an open throat wound, drenching the Hogwart's uniform with blood, save for a tiny spot on the house crest on which Harry could make out the outline of a serpent.
"Sev..." Lestrange began with a whisper as she watched the boy crumple to the floor, face down. A second later the hair turned from a matted black to that of a shaggy brown, causing her to wail again at the sight.
"Professor," Harry said, "it's just a Bog..."
Before he could finish, Lestrange emitted a bloodthirsty scream and raised her wand again, pointing it at the werewolf-boggart who was now getting back on its feet. Harry could hear her scream something, but he was too busy trying to stop her to hear. As he started to step in front, he felt a strong invisible pull on his body, causing him to lurch backward involuntarily out her spell's path. He reeled as he saw the bright green light, his mind immediately flashing back to the end of his fourth year and Cedric Diggory's cold lifeless eyes.
He fell to the floor hard, but the fall fortunately knocked him back to his senses. He quickly sat up and looked around. The one boggart that took werewolf form was dead. The creature's waning magic slowly transforming the body of the wolf into that of a grayish mass. He was always curious on what a boggart actually looked like, although he was hoping the circumstances would have been slightly different. The second boggart, the one that assumed the form of the boys, slithered back into the cupboard. Lestrange had fallen to her knees not far from him; her wand slowly rolling away. She was bent over with her forearms on the floor and her head resting on them as she sobbed, her back heaving up and down as she wailed. He then looked over to Bill's office and saw that the students began to back away from the door as Bill frantically pushed his way out and then dashed over. Harry then turned around and saw Flitwick, Ron, Hermione and Ernie Macmillan. Flitwick's wand dangled between the small professor's fingers and his face ashen.
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