The next morning, the students finally had the chance to get to their rooms and change out of yesterday's clothes. Frisk and Ginny detoured on the way back to the Great Hall for breakfast to find the Fat Lady. They finally discovered her on the third floor in a painting of a tea shop, crammed into one of the booths. It took them a few minutes for get her to acknowledge them, but she finally did.

"I just wanted to make sure you were all right," Frisk said. "You're always so nice to us."

"I know what it's like to be attacked," Ginny said in agreement.

The Fat Lady looked touched, but only for a moment before her nervousness showed through again. "That's very nice of you," she said simply. They chatted for a little bit, mentioning that Sir Cadogan had taken over as guard at the portrait hole. "I am glad someone is be able to watch over Gryffindor," she told them.

"I'm not sure about him," Ginny admitted, "He's brave to take the position so soon after it being attacked, but he called me a 'Scurvy dame' and challenged me to a fight."

"His first password is 'slithy toves'," Frisk said, "and he suggested he will be changing it up shortly. I'm not looking forward to this."

After a few more minutes, they said their goodbyes with a promise to come back later, and went to join Luna and Opal for breakfast and Frisk's remedial flying lessons. The Hufflepuff and the Ravenclaw were already waiting for her near the broom closet. The calendar had turned to November, and the weather outside was letting them know it. While it was dry at the moment, they could see the clouds in the distance promising at least rain, and maybe storms as well.

As for flying itself, Frisk was improving, which was probably a kinder way of saying not falling further behind. They were up for about an hour before Gryffindor's team came to take their scheduled practice. Angelina Johnson was much politer about asking them to leave than the Slytherins had been. "If the match wasn't this week, I think it'd have been fine to watch," she confessed, "but Oliver's already walking on eggshells, and I think any distractions would cause him a complete meltdown."

It was a fair request, so the girls landed (and Frisk was proud, it marked her first session without falling) and headed back up to the castle for lunch. "Anything you'd like to do this afternoon?" Ginny asked. "Exploding Snap?"

"I really ought to catch up on my homework," Frisk said, "But I've never heard of Exploding Snap before. Is that a game?"

Ginny pulled a deck of cards from her pocket, and after a few minutes going over the rules, they played through several hands. It was almost an hour later before Frisk finally held up her hand to say she'd had enough. "I really need to get some of my homework done, I have to go."

She arrived back at the tower where Sir Cadogan was threatening a panicked Neville over his lack of password. "Slithy toves?" she offered, really hoping he hadn't changed it yet. The knight in the portrait gave her a disappointed look, but obediently opened to reveal the passage behind him.

"Thanks," Neville said, as he led the way up to the Gryffindor common room. "I have a terrible memory, and if he keeps using these nonsense words..."

"We'll look out for each other," Frisk said, giving the older boy a soft smile.

"But it's so embarrassing," Neville said, shaking his head.

"None of us can be good at everything," Frisk told him, "You should see me flying."

"I guess," Neville moped. He continued up to the boys' dormitory, while Frisk found a seat near one of the walls, to work on Snape's latest potion essay.

Ginny and Frisk were good to their words, detouring to visit the displaced guardian each day when they could spare a few minutes. On that Thursday, for the first time in a few weeks, Frisk was treated to the sight of Hermione dashing through the castle corridors, and she was finally curious enough to trail after her. When Hermione turned the corner, Frisk peered around after her, and what she saw only inflamed her curiosity further. Hermione had vanished, and as far as Frisk could tell, there was nowhere for her to go. The corridor was too long for her to have rushed all the way through it, and as far as she knew, there were no classrooms on that hall, so where had Hermione gone?

Frisk was booking it back to Defense Against the Dark Arts when the bell rang. She made it into the class room a minute or so afterward, and was prepared to apologize profusely to Professor Lupin, but Lupin wasn't there. Instead, it was Professor Snape giving her a cold look as Frisk quietly slid into a seat.

Once he'd finished taking attendance, Snape handed back the homework from the previous week. If Frisk thought he was going to be any kinder in this class, as a substitute, she was mistaken. In fact, he was cruel not only to the students, but to their normal teacher as well. The combination was starting to make Frisk very uncomfortable. How was it fair to go after someone who wasn't there to defend themselves?

"Now, are there any questions regarding last week's assignment?" Snape asked, glaring around at the class. Since nobody else did, Frisk slowly raised in her hand in the air. "Ms. Dreemurr," Snape asked, glowering at her.

"Professor Snape, is Professor Lupin okay?" she asked, her normally quiet voice barely audible.

Snape sneered at her. "That does not regard to the previous assignment, Ms. Dreemurr." His face twisted into a thin smirk. "But he says he is too ill to teach today. Now, are there any actual questions about last week's assignment?" When nobody had any, he continued. "Then, open your books. Turn to page 394. Today," Frisk felt a knot form in her stomach. "We will be discussing Werewolves."

There was silence as people opened their books, some fast, some slow. There were distressed murmurs through the class about what could possibly be wrong with Professor Lupin. They weren't supposed to be covering werewolves. Snape knew about Lupin's condition, too. He was making the potion for Lupin. Why do this now?

There wasn't much of a discussion, not even much of a lecture. While Snape added a few things to the information found in their textbook, it was mostly reading, but the class completely silent. If anyone had any questions, they didn't dare ask.

As the bell rung, Snape made a swift motion with his arm, and the Gryffindors waited. "I want an essay, handed to me on Monday afternoon in Potions. One roll of parchment on how to recognize and kill werewolves." At those last two words, Frisk let out a small cry of alarm. Snape rounded on her, and stepped forward menacingly. "Is there a problem?"

"No..." whispered Frisk. "No, sir."

"Good. You may go," said Snape.

There was a near panicked rush to get out of the Defense classroom with his dismissal. Frisk sat stock still, still thinking about those two words. When the rest of the class had departed, Frisk finally started gathering her things, but as she stood up, she look at Snape, and looked him right in the eyes and asked, "Are you afraid of him, sir?"

Snape's already dark voice took on a deathly chill, "Five points from Gryffindor... for insinuating that I am a coward."

Frisk looked down. For a moment, she wanted to know what kind of damage a soul like that had sustained. Almost unconsciously, she focused herself on trying to see. "Mom says," she said, "Pain and fear can make you do things you never thought you'd be able to do."

"Another five points from Gryffindor, and I suggest you choose your next words very carefully," Snape said, his voice was almost monotone.

Frisk could feel her own soul coming into view, but with Snape so focused on Frisk's face, she wasn't sure he saw it. But she could see Snape's... and it looked empty. Just a hollow shell, with thin tendrils of blackness on the outskirts... was this the LOVE that Sans had talked about? But, and how had she almost missed it she wasn't sure, in the center was a tiny, yet extremely bright core of yellow, burning the blackness back even as it tried to creep in further. "He trusts you, you know. Lupin trusts you."

Snape's sudden derisive snort broke Frisk's concentration, and she fled, the fastest she had gone since running from Undyne the first time.

Frisk didn't even try to start that essay until the next day after classes. At that time, she had it on good advice that the common room would be loud with excitement over the next day's quidditch match. So she went down to the library instead, where there was a handful of students of all four houses working all sorts of projects.

Hogwart's library was the largest collection of books she'd ever seen, and she had seen non-wizard libraries. The locked door in the back labeled restricted section was nerve-wracking and curiosity inducing at the same time. But today, Frisk wanted to find books about Werewolves, and that meant starting at the card catalog.

With a list of likely titles in hand, Frisk went to the shelves to search on books before starting to the essay. The number of books that were already missing however, made the search difficult. Frustrated, Frisk headed to the librarian for suggestions, but Madam Pince, disagreeable on the best of days, was downright grumpy tonight. "I have asked and asked professors to make sure to vary their assignments so the books have a chance to recover! But no, just how many classes did Lupin give werewolves too, anyway?" she complained.

"Professor Snape was substituting for Lupin, actually," Frisk whispered.

"Then he definitely knows better," the librarian groused. She got up from her desk though. "Werewolfism: A Defensive Study" was checked out, "A Muggle's Guide to Lycanthropy and Werewolfism" was similarly missing. The one they finally found, though it didn't give Frisk much hope for actual information on her essay was "Werewolves: the Wizarding World's Secret Shame."

"You will not," Madam Pince began, "Eat while reading this book. You will not fold the corners of the pages of this book. You will not take this book to the restroom..." she went on with multiple things that Frisk would not do.

"I'll just read it right here," Frisk whispered, wondering if the rumor was true, that she did think the books more valuable than students.

"Good idea," Madam Pince told her, before moving quickly over to scold a pair of Hufflepuffs for talking too loud, which was to say, barely above a whisper.

As Frisk read through the book though, taking notes with her pen, she grew horrified. Lupin was right. Wizards afflicted with werewolfism had been ostracized, hated, and hunted, and this book was giving gory details. She continued to read until the librarian told them it was time to put their books away (the words, "Or check them out" were not included).

She took her notes back up to Gryffindor common room, all the while thinking what would happen if Lupin's secret was discovered by someone who didn't care for him as a teacher. Would they try to get him sacked? Would they do something even worse? As she sat in the noisy common room, she knew she had to tell a teacher, but the best place to do that before Monday would be at the staff table, and that was in front of Snape. But, Gryffindor was playing in the game tomorrow, right? That would mean McGonagall would be there, right? If she could just get a second of her time then, that would be fine.

But what about the essay? She still had to do the work, thinking that Snape wanted to expose Lupin to fear and anger was one thing, but it wasn't... she paused at that thought. Why did Snape want to expose Lupin like that? He said it wasn't fear, but she wasn't sure she believed that. What if, instead, she wrote an essay about how (she cast about for a word describe humans and monsters as a collective and settled on) mortal werewolves were... just like anyone else. It wouldn't make Snape happy, it might even get her a detention... but once it crossed her mind, she just couldn't get rid of the idea. It reminded her too much about the report she'd read in the Snowdin Library. She'd start with the historical context, then today, then hope for the future, including how a truly masterful potion maker could give them an almost normal life. She took out a fresh sheet of parchment, and began to write.

"You intend to go out in that?" Frisk asked, plaintively. The weather had been getting more and more threatening all week, and that Saturday morning, it had finally broken. It wasn't just raining, it was pouring, and Frisk had been convinced she'd seen lightning in the distance. Sans may have loved the storms, he could watch the chaotic falling of raindrops for hours. Frisk had grown up with it, and she preferred staying dry.

"Might be better if her first Quidditch game was in good conditions," Opal said.

"It'll be fun, even if we're not playing Slytherin. We've got an umbrella, we've got a blanket," and Opal cheerfully showed off the large blue, fuzzy blanket,"...enchanted with a waterproofing charm, what..." Ginny replied.

"Don't say that," Luna complained. "Magic'll hear you."

"It'll be a good time, C'mon. Let's go," Ginny said.

Frisk looked dubiously into the torrents of water, but really didn't want to miss the chance to talk to the professor. So off she went, huddled with Ginny under a red umbrella, while Luna and Opal utilized Opal's Hufflepuff gold one.

"Is it okay," asked Frisk, shouting to be heard over the rain, "That we're supposed to be rooting for different sides?"

"It's a game," Opal shouted back, "As long as it's a good game, it doesn't matter, does it?"

That was something Frisk could agree with, but after about fifteen minutes, she still wasn't sure that it was a good game. She was a having a hard time seeing anything other than the players. She could see them focused around a main ball. "That's the quaffle, right?" she asked for probably the fifth time or so. There were two other fast-moving balls that she saw only when they nearly hit other players. And a small golden victory ball that determined the length of a match? That just baffled her.

On another, warmer, day she would have continued to badger her friends with questions about the game. She could ask them to explain the game another day, for today, she would rather just let them shout, as she huddled under the blanket for warmth.

The game ran long, she thought it would only take half an hour, but it kept going. And the weather got worse. After a while, Frisk really did see lightning, and she heard the thunder several seconds later. It wasn't here yet, but it was going to be soon.

And it was cold. In fact, it was a lot colder than she was expecting. Rain didn't usually affect the temperature like this, at least not in Frisk's experience. It wasn't until she looked further up that she saw the black cloaks of dozens dementors twisting about like some sort of storm rider.

And... above them, there was a form growing larger by the moment. No, not a form, a player, and she... or he... was falling. Gripped by memories of both her own falls and the Monster Kid's fall, probably brought about by the dementors, Frisk tore the blanket off from the startled other girls and raced down the stands to the shouts of... "Harry! He's falling!"

When she reached the pitch, she was perplexed to find that she had beaten the falling Quidditch player. She looked up to see him floating gracefully the rest of the way down. The dementors had scattered to Frisk-didn't-care-where, and the boy lay on the ground motionless. Frisk covered him with the blanket, her hand briefly touching his. He was deathly cold.

"Stand aside, please," came Dumbledore's voice from behind her. His voice was curt and authoritative, and Frisk quickly stepped to one side. The headmaster looked down briefly at the now covered Harry, and moved his wand in a rapid pattern. What looked like a free floating cot appeared in midair. Another quick incantation (this one Frisk recognized as a levitation charm) brought Harry on to the stretcher, and a third set the stretcher in motion up to the castle. Frisk followed along, partially to get Opal's blanket back for her, but also to see if there was any way she could help. She was soon joined by Ron and Hermione, and a few minutes later by the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Frisk stood near the door, watching the Quidditch team, Hermione, and Ron all crowding around Harry Potter. But Frisk was waiting for Madam Pomfrey, who was being furious with the Headmaster. "I understand, Poppy," he was saying, "They are not supposed to be on school grounds. I will be telling Cornelius that if it happens again, I will remove them personally. I do not like their presence any more than you do. But I do not like the thought of Sirius Black here either." Madam Pomfrey put her hands on her hips and harrumphed. "I know you will take good care of him. I will go speak to the dementors and compose my threat now, while it is fresh."

Madam Pomfrey turned to watch the cadre of concerned Gryffindors around the bed, and about jumped when Frisk said her name while standing next to her. "Madam Pomfrey, is there anything I can do to help you?" Frisk asked.

"To help Harry?" she asked, "No. We just have to wait until he wakes up. He was near them for a long time."

"No," Frisk explained. "Not Harry, you. With anyone you need. I like to help people."

Madam Pomfrey turned to regard Frisk, who looked small, bedraggled, but determined standing next to her. "Frisk, you're soaking. You should have changed already. Go!"

But Frisk didn't leave. "Do you ever need help? I want to learn to be a doc... healer." Healer was the term Ollivander had used.

"Come back when you don't look like you're about to catch cold, Frisk, and we can talk about it then," Madam Pomfrey insisted. "Until then, go!"

Frisk looked at the well-attended patient in the only currently occupied bed, fetched Opal's blanket to return to her later, and headed back to Gryffindor tower to act on healer's orders.

(A/N: They never fly in the books. I know. They fly in the films, though. And with Harry 8 feet up, and probably the most elevated of the active players; I figure other players would have been affected first if they were a lot closer.)