It was Quidditch season, which meant that Fred and George were absent quite a lot, including Harry. She was sure they weren't enjoying it though, considering their Captain was Oliver Wood. She saw the way Harry looked after his first lesson with him, and the poor boy looked like he had the wind knocked out of him.

It was all and well with her, since she had her own life outside of those redheads. Though a part of her didn't feel right since they hadn't been able to really discuss her furry little problem. They had told her they had a lot of questions, but the three hadn't been able to have a moment alone to speak. Each time they thought they had a moment of peace, Wood would be rounding the corner, screaming at the top of his lungs for them abandoning practice.

"Does that look right to you, Ms. Lupin?"

"Hm?" She blinked, glancing over to Terrence Higgs, seeing him holding a potted Asphodel. He gave her a sheepish smile as the leaves fell off of the stem, turning pitch black as they floated down to the soil. She closed her jaw that hung open, chucking weakly, "H-How in merlin did you manage that?"

He groaned, pushing it towards her, "Nothing! I gave it water like the instructions said!" She took the pot in her hands, examining it, "With ashes in the water, right?" There was a silence. She pressed her lips together to hold back her laugh, before sliding the pot to him, "Perhaps you should ask Cedric, he's much better at plants than I am. He should be able to help you get this poor thing back in shape." He gave a sigh before picking it up and going lower down the table.

Cyra watched as he approached Cedric, and giggled as she saw Cedric's face fall as he saw the plant. As he turned to look at her, she turned her head toward her work that she had already finished.

"It's incredible. He's older than both of us and yet he's so helpless against plants."

Her lips quirked up at the comment, organizing her papers to place in her satchel, "Funny, Warrington. So that wasn't you in second year screaming bloody murder when the leaping toadstool jumped at you?"

She glanced up to see the Slytherin glaring at her, before he parted his lips to respond, "I was but a schoolboy, and that damn plant was coming for me." Cyra raised an amused brow, "But a schoolboy? That was last year, Warrington."

"Things are different this year, Lupin." He sneered back, "I'm different." She watched as he ran his fingers through his dirty blonde hair, puffing his chest out so much he looked like a frog. She wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but she decided to be polite and just smile. That seemed to satisfy his ego, as he relaxed his posture, motioning down at Higgs again, "Can you believe he was made prefect? They must have been desperate."

"Why are you so keen to insult a member of your own house?"

"Other houses aren't as nice as Hufflepuff, Lupin. In Slytherin, everyone is watching you, judging your every move. You show one weakness, they'll come for your throat." Warrington replied, narrowing his eyes at Higgs.

Cyra watched him curiously, "Sounds awful." She slid her parchment into her bag, thinking about what he said, "We're not all nice though." Warrington looked back at her, raising a brow at her statement. She looked around them before leaning in to whisper, "In Hufflepuff, we're a bit more secretive about it. Harsh words and insults thinly veiled in sweet words and a bright smile. It'll cut you deep, but merlin forbid you actually retort back."

He studied her with a concerned look, "Sounds awful." As he echoed her words, she gave a chuckle, "Not really, no. We're closer to the kitchens, so if you're sad, you could just get a cookie." He smirked at that before his gaze trailed over to the light scar that went down her eye. Feeling his stare, she shifted her head, letting her curls fall over her eye.

He furrowed his brows as he went to speak, before he seemed to hesitate. She fell quiet, feeling the awkwardness enter the conversation. But then Warrington spoke, "Only a witch or wizard with a dark soul would say a thing against you, Ms. Lupin." He looked away before she could match his gaze, glaring at Higgs instead.

She managed a small smile, before whispering back, "Thank you Cassius." He waved a hand at her, signifying this conversation was over. But she could see the quirk of his lips as she called him by his first name. She never understood the animosity between the houses, especially Gryffindor's burning hatred for the Slytherins. But she knew it was better to keep her nose out of it.

Closing her satchel, she said, "I better get going. I have some things I need to do." She waved goodbye to the group before walking out of the library. As she closed the doors behind her, she turned around to see Professor Quirrell.

"Oh, evening Professor." She greeted him, hiking her bag up on her shoulder. He stared down at her with meek smile, "H-Hello, good e-evening, Ms. Lupin." She began to walk away, but he called out again, "A-Are you busy, Ms. Lupin? I-I was looking for some h-help, I was going to s-speak to Hagrid, but s-seems he's away."

"Oh.." She paused, thinking about it, "Well, not really busy. I was just going to go bake in the kitchens, but that can wait."

He clapped his hands before motioning for her to follow him, "S-Such kindness, f-follow me!" She trailed after him to the DADA classroom, glancing around to see if anyone would come along and see them. Something about Quirrell really twisted something in her gut. She wasn't going to go off suspicion alone though, so she didn't turn down his request for help.

He was a teacher, selected by Dumbledore himself, so she was brushing it all off as her paranoia. As they entered, she saw the projector screen pulled down over the chalkboard. She placed her bag on the desk, turning to Quirrell, "So, how can I help?"

He took out his wand and waved it at the projector, causing it to turn on, the image of a man turning into a wolf projecting on the screen. Her smile fell as she took it in. Seeing her expression, he hurried out, "I-I'll be teaching a class on Werewolves, and I-I was wondering i-if you'd answer some questions? I-If it's not too much. You see, H-Hagrid is very knowledgeable on crea- topics such as this. But since he's-"

She shook her head, forcing a smile back on her face, "Of course, Professor, as long as it all remains anonymous." He nodded before motioning for her to take a seat, reaching into his drawer for some parchment.

She took a seat at one of the tables at the front of the room, fiddling with her hands nervously as she waited. Quirrell dipped his quill into the ink as he began, "Now, let's s-start with a simple q-question. When were you turned?"

Cyra hesitated for a moment, before responding, "I was six." He wrote her answer down, eyes turned down to the parchment, "Can you describe to me how it felt?" She tilted her head, confused by what he meant. Upon hearing no response, he looked up, offering her a comforting smile, "A-Apologies, I meant y-your first t-transformation?"

"Oh." Her voice softened, thinking back to her first transformation, "Well..it was terrifying. I didn't change the night I was bitten, so I had plenty of time to think about it and worry. As the moon approached, I began to throw more tantrums. I was just so.. upset, and it felt like my chest was going to burst. Like something was trying to claw its way out."

She paused, listening to him scratching on the parchment quickly with his quill. Once it stopped, she began again, "When the moon rose, I remember my father kissing my forehead, and that was the last feeling I had that wasn't pain. After that, I just remember hearing my screaming and blacking out."

"Mmhm, how would you describe the pain?"

She began picking at some carvings on the desk, trying to keep herself calm as she continued, "It starts out as a building feeling. All day your skin is itching, and you just want to claw yourself. But when that moon rises.." Cyra took a moment to swallow, feeling herself begin to sweat, "It's like your blood is pure molten fire. Your bones breaking in half and reforming. All you feel is pain. You can't even feel the air, every inch of your body is in agony. The day after, you can't do anything but sleep. You just feel battered. Like a quidditch player who's been on the wrong side of a few bludgers."

"Hm, very good." He replied lowly, dipping his quill back into the inkpot. As he looked at her, his eyes seemed to look darker, "Now, how d-do you take your s-steaks?" She let out a laugh, feeling some tension leave her, "Medium Rare. Any rarer, and I feel like a vampire."

"Hm." His lips quirked up at her joke, scribbling her answer down. Cyra was just beginning to get relaxed as the next question came, "Do you experience rapid hair growth in areas?" She grimaced, before forcing a polite smile, "Pardon?"

He didn't spare her a glance as he answered, "Such as h-hairy arms, back, or perhaps the ears? U-Unusual hair growth, like a wolf?" She felt her jaw tighten in the fake smile, replying through gritted teeth, "No."

"Curious. Mood swings? O-Or perhaps a craving for v-violence?"

She narrowed her eyes at that, her smile falling, "No." He heard the tone in her voice, finally meeting her gaze. He immediately made himself look sorry, backtracking, "I a-am just asking because you s-stated you get u-upset."

"Irritated, yes. But I don't get violent."

She saw some form of smirk appear on his lips as he poked her nerves, "Are y-you sure? You find n-no urge to hurt your fellow peers?" She had to keep her lips pressed together, knowing she was feeling such an urge right now. He seemed to understand to drop it, moving on to his next question.

"Werewolves are labeled as dark creatures, would you agree with that? D-During the change, d-do you feel free? P-Perhaps Powerful?"

Cyra grabbed onto her bag, placing it over her shoulder, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Professor." She stood up, "My sincerest apologies, but I've just realized I do have something to do. Please excuse me." She waited for no response, hurrying to the door.

As she went to exit, he called after her, "So you don't feel the darkness, Ms. Lupin? The dark creature clawing at you from within?" His voice was low, almost alluring. It was wrong. She gripped the doorframe, replying, "Werewolves are labeled as dark creatures because of one, Fenrir Greyback. They see him as an example of those cursed with lycanthropy, but take away the wolf, and what do you have?"

"W-What do you have, Ms. Lupin?"

"A monster."

After her storm out, she had ended up in the Hogwarts Kitchens. She had discovered how to get in from her second year, experimenting with the Marauders Map. She asked the house-elves for the ingredients and tools she needed, and got to work. Out of the way of the elves who had many preparations to make for dinner.

Her jaw remained tight as she creamed the butter and sugar with her wooden spoon, glaring down at the bowl. She was still stuck in that conversation with Quirrell, a small growl leaving her as she began mixing harder. Snatching up an egg, she went to crack it, only for it to smash on the counter and leave a goopy mess.

She let out a frustrated noise and bent down to clean it up, only to hear a snap and for it to be gone. Glancing up, she saw one of the elves turning away, going back to its work. She bowed her head in apology to it, beginning to rise back up.

"I thought I heard Cyra's angry baking!"

She shot up, hitting her head on the edge of the counter, "MERLIN!" She clutched at her head, glaring at Fred and George, "You scared me to death!" George tsked at her, coming over to her side of the counter, "Now Cyra, what's got you so jumpy?" He pushed her hands away from her head, checking it over with his.

Fred took a seat at the counter, leaning on his elbows, "Yeah, anything we can help with?" She began to relax as George attended to her head, "No..I'm fine." The sharp scent of oranges overtook her senses, making her feel a bit cheerier.

"Oh, fine she says."

George scoffed, poking her in the forehead before going to join his twin, "That's like Cyra code for definitely not fine." She gave a huff, grabbing an egg again and cracking it into the bowl, "I just had a frustrating conversation with Professor Quirrell."

"Well tell us about it, you nut." Fred replied, smiling playfully at her. She sent him a glare before adding the next egg, "Well, I was leaving study group, and he asked me to assist him with a project." She shook her head, "Apparently Hagrid was unavailable."

"Figures, not even Hagrid would want to deal with that bumbling man."

Cyra pointed her spoon at Fred, "Be nice." He swatted at it, huffing, "If he's upset you so much, why should I?" She didn't have a clever response, so she simply stuck her tongue out at him. George snickered at her immaturity, motioning for her to continue, "What did he want to speak about?"

"Well.. me. Or rather, being a werewolf." She started, beginning to cream the ingredients together, "It started normal. Simple questions about how it feels to transform, my steak preferences. Then..he asked me more personal questions."

Both boys were quiet as they listened intently, giving her their undivided attention. She glanced at them nervously, mixing the bowl faster, "Like if I ever considered violence. Hurting my peers. Or if my body grew hair like a wolf."

"That's such a stupid question, of course you don't." Fred interjected, "We both can vouch, we saw you in that pretty bathing suit, you definitely are not hairy." Cyra looked at him in surprise, managing a small smile, "Thank you, Fred. You thought my bathing suit was pretty?"

Feeling her and George's stare, he began to turn red as his hair, "Ah..ah..yeah, I did. Cause it had those.. those.. ruffles." At his brother's snicker, he kicked him beneath the counter, making him shut up. Cyra let out a giggle before turning her focus to the batter, "Anyway. It just felt very prejudiced. He even asked me if I agree with the label of being a 'dark creature.' I said no to the violence question, but I honestly did want to strangle the man."

George hummed, "I feel like that's just Professor Quirrell's demeanor. He makes you want to sock him, right Fred?" His twin nodded, adding, "Yeah, or get pummeled by a million snowballs." Cyra laughed at the imagery, dropping the flour into the bowl, "That would be very funny. You might knock his turban off though."

"Nah, I imagine that thing is charmed stuck. He wears it all the time now!"

"It is a bit strange. He never seemed to be a hat person."

Cyra raised a brow, stirring the flour into the batter, "Well, he said he was given it by some African Prince." She added in a whisper, "It does smell though.."

"Right!?" Fred and George exclaimed.

"I have a theory he has a huge boil beneath it, and it's festering." Fred said, making Cyra cringe in disgust.

George shook his head, "No way, he totally stuffed it with a bunch of garlic. It's said he encountered some vampires in Albania, and was so shaken by them that he's wearing that smelly garb to ward them off."

Cyra scoffed as she added in some cream of tartar and baking soda into the bowl, "Well, it is more believable than giant boil." Fred made an offended noise, but she ignored it, "Either way, I don't look to being alone with Professor Quirrell anymore. He makes me uneasy."

Fred asked curiously, "Is that like a wolf sense?" She gave him an amused smile, knowing he wasn't asking to be rude, "Yes. Something about him unsettles my wolf. He smells like danger..but also not dangerous. It's weird."

He nodded, leaning on his hand, "We actually had some questions we wanted to ask you, but I could imagine you might not want to answer them now." George looked just as unsure, continuing, "It can wait till another time."

"No, no." Cyra shook her head, placing her spoon down to look at them both, "I'm fine with you two asking me questions. You deserve answers after eight years of lies." She gave them a guilty smile, "Ask away."

Fred stared at her, making sure she was truly okay with it, before he suddenly asked, "How old were you?"

She matched his gaze, looking him into the eyes as she answered, "I assume you're asking when I was bitten. I was six years old. It was a week or two later that I met you guys."

His eyes softened, whispering, "Merlin, Cyra.." His brother looked just the same, staring at her in worry. She began to feel nervous about the pity, looking away and focusing on her cookie batter, "I was pretty young, but I remember it all fairly well. It was just a random night that Fenrir attacked my family. He toyed around with me, made me try to run for my life. But it was all a ploy."

She grabbed a separate bowl, adding some cinnamon and sugar to it, "He would have been able to catch me in seconds, but he delayed it. He waited until he was turned, and then the true chase happened. I didn't last long. When I woke up, I was in some room and my Papa was there. Headmaster Dumbledore put him in charge of me after he found my body in the woods."

She heard the tense silence, and cracked a joke, "Instead of a stork dropping me on the doorstep, I was dropped in a leaf pile." There was no laughter. She sighed, adding the cinnamon sugar to the batter, "After that, he became my caretaker. Then later, he officially adopted me."

There was silence, before Fred spoke, "Mum always wondered what would possess him to suddenly adopt a kid." He then realized something, looking at her with wide eyes, "Wait, does that mean that Mr. Lupin is..?"

"Yep." She replied, grabbing a cookie tray from the pantry, "He's a werewolf too. But that's also secret, if the ministry knew, he'd be forced to register and then.." She trailed off, sliding the tray onto the counter.

"Hey." George took her hand, breaking her out of her thoughts, "Your secrets are safe with us. Not even mum will know." Fred nodded, taking her hand, "We could do an unbreakable vow if it makes you feel better."

She made a face at them, "Like you tried with Ron when we were seven?" The twins winced at the reminder, Fred reaching down to rub his side, "My left buttock hasn't been the same since.." George groaned as he thought back to the beating they got, "I'd never seen Dad so angry before."

"Well, of course, you two almost killed your brother."

"Only if he broke the promise!"

She rolled her eyes, plopping the cookies onto her baking sheet, "I trust you both enough to know you wouldn't divulge my secrets." She watched out the corner of her eye as the boys seemed to preen at her response, looking rather pleased with themselves.

"What kind of cookies are you making, anyway?" George asked her as she took the sheet to the oven. She looked away as she opened the oven door, letting some of the heat escape, "Snickerdoodles, your favorite." He grinned at the mention of the cookies, remembering their deal at sorting.

Fred seemed displeased, making sure to complain, "It's not mine though!" Cyra slid the tray onto the rack, being sure it was placed in the right way, "I'm aware of that, Fred. I know it's chocolate chip. But I promised George he'd get his own cookie tin." She turned around to see him pouting, giving a scoff as she took the dirty bowl to the sink.

She let him sulk for a moment longer, before she finally said, "That's why I'm making chocolate chip next." Fred gasped, his sullen frown lifting up into a bright smile. She tried not to laugh, pointing the wooden spoon at him, "But you're helping me, mister. George gets the free cookies cause of the bet, but you gotta work for yours."

"You just don't like doing the dishes."

"Quicker you wash, quicker you'll get to lick the spoon."

"On it. Hand me the sponge."