Bad Faith

by cmdragon

The tragic comedy of Jezibell Malfoy and her family during the second rise of the Dark Lord. But caution for nothing in this world is so that is so. There is always a reason and there is always a way, if you are brave enough to look for it.

12. Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

Rubeus Hagrid

"This is perfectly easy! Why can't you say it right?"

Hagrid looked over the essay he was holding gingerly in his fingers so not to rip it. Hermione was just as surprised. The girl hastily cupped a hand over her mouth and plunked down on the stool. It squawked and leaned in a way stools are not meant. The right leg would snap soon. He would start whittling a new one when Hermione went back to the castle.

"I'm so sorry, Hagrid," Hermione rubbed her red forehead, "I didn't mean it the way it sounded. You're coming along real well. It's just that I'm running out of time. You can start again. Paragraph three is about where you left off."

But Hagrid didn't turn back to the fiddly little print, instead taking a good look at his lawyer. Since Harry and Ron stopped speaking to her over something to do with a broomstick during the Hols, Hermione worked with him on the case alone. Jezibell Malfoy stuck with her a few weeks but as the girls saw eye to eye well as a pixie and a centaur they started working apart from the other. Jezibell finished the notecards weeks ago and Hagrid knew them good by now, but Hermione pressed hers into his hands, saying it was better. No doubt she did a fine job and it was just the sort of posh the ministry wizards would want to hear, but rows and rows of letters in neat piles of ink made him cross eyed. Hagrid wouldn't fail to try his best at it though. Not after Hermione took an hour out of her overstuffed school day to help.

But seeing her face and posture, raccoon eyes and slumped shoulders, reminded him of the stool.

"Hermione, is everythin' all righ'?"

She twitched to the clock on wall behind her. Hagrid was dimly aware of that clock breaking down a while ago, but he'd been too worried about Buckbeak to fix it, "Of course, everything's fine! Why wouldn't it be?"

Hagrid's eyebrows rose.

"Have ye spoken to Ron abou' his attack yet?" he asked measuredly.

At the mention of Ron and the second Black Attack, she broke down. Shuddering, she covered her face to hide tears over her friend.

Hagrid put a hand on her shoulder and the stool fractured more and more to the side. He really needed to do something about that.

"He was actually in their dormitory," she blubbered, "Could have killed, had a knife. And what then? Ron, he could have died! Or Harry. Black could come back, he's done it twice now. Security trolls don't matter, they're not safe, but I can't help them because they hate me for Scabbers and the Firebolt. Harry has it back now, but he always sides with Ron! I can't sleep, and I'm exhausted all the time. Jezibell doesn't care… And I can't talk to them because all my spare time is spent helping you. But I can't give it up. Not on you and Buckbeak, not on the classes, not on Crookshanks. I'm better than this, so why am I failing?"

Hagrid supported her and handed her his handkerchief to use. She buried her face in it, small enough to use it as a pillow.

"Hermione, Don't think fer a second tha' you've failed at anythin'," Hagrid smiled down on her kindly, "You've been doin' everythin' a person could do fer me an' Beaky. I reckon we stand a chance now, thanks to you and yer smart writin'. They'll come around, you see. Though, I suppose it wouldn' hurt to give a nudge."

Hagrid mused on the last thought. He could send the boys an owl to ask them to come down to see him before dark tomorrow. They hadn't visited for a while, and he'd been about to anyway. Best leave Jezibell Malfoy out of it. He knew the best way to give Harry and Ron a shove in the right direction, but didn't think guilt tripping would work on that kid. Let her come on her own course, following the boys' example.

He patted Hermione lightly on the shoulder and the stool listed dangerously to one side.

"Do what ye can to help 'em," he continued to advise, "Even if they don' thank ye fer it. Ye got to keep their heads on fer them even they don' have the sense to do it themselves. "

"No sense…. You're too right there," She planted her feat to steady herself, "I know what it is. Ever since Jezibell joined us, I've been feeling… outside them. It's as though I wasn't so important as before. But I've had so much else to think about."

She looked up at him through red eyes, in the sweet natured yet sharp understanding way that made her so preferred among the teachers. It wasn't just that she was brilliant in her classes. Half the Ravenclaws were just as good. Hermione Granger was decent.

"That's not an excuse, is it?" She stood and shifted out from under Hagrid's hand to hold it in both of hers, "Thank you, Hagrid, for getting my head on straight. I know what I have to do now."

She smiled through her buck-teeth that made Hagrid think instantly of the expression he once saw on a chipmunk after tossing its family the rest of his bread. The loaf was long stale and they were helping him clean out cupboards as much as he was feeding them, but the thought counted. Hermione reissued the weight of the world and a book bag to her shoulder, telling Hagrid to look over the essay for tomorrow when they would start on paragraph four, the most important one.

"Oh, and Hagrid," She added to him as she fixed the white and pink scarf he knitted her for Christmas, "That stool, the one I was on, it has a large crack in one of the legs. You really should have it fixed before somebody is hurt."

---

Gryffindor Common Room, February Eighth

Jezibell lounged in a fireside chair, Emmy circled around her feet, waiting for Harry and Ron to be back. They'd left earlier at Hagrid's invitation sometime near six and it was going on nine now. Curfew didn't last much longer. Jezibell kept an eye on her watch as she worked alongside Hermione on group effort muggle studies homework.

The challenge was thus: coordinate with two other people to research, compile and tastefully organize information on modern muggle engineering. Due to the diverse nature of the topic, the lesson plan divided the class into groups of three, the idea being every person would have a distinct job. Each group was assigned a particular aspect of technology to explore. After a month, the groups would present their findings on the overhead projector while the rest of the class took notes in the perfect marriage of learning, cooperation and oral report. It would sound great on Burbage's to Dumbledore and the school board.

Less so in practice. The third year class did not divvy evenly into threes. When Burbage announced this, Lisa and Mandy Ravenclaw promptly offered to be the two. They were initially applauded for being willing to do an extra person's work along with their share. Then Jezibell did the math.

H3 + R(2+3) + G2 + S = 3(3) + 2

H3 - 3

R3 - 3

R2 - 2

G2 + S = 3

Fantastic. Patil and Brown would love this.

"Professor!" Hermione protested, having made a similar mental equation. But when she twisted her neck around to face her new compadre at the back of the class, something stopped her hand. Maybe she thought he would get his Slytherin roommates to make her life hell for humiliating him, or perhaps she thought Burbage might force their cooperation anyway and she wanted the sentence on her terms. Either way, the hand of fate went down and Hermione, Jezibell and Theodore were stuck. Their topic was muggle television and radio. As the class left for lunch, Theodore made a swift bargain.

"I won't tell, if you won't," he muttered covertly to Jezibell, ignoring Hermione and her martyred expression. Deal.

The three only saw another during Muggle Studies classes to plot and went their separate ways for production once outside. In the classroom, the three of them never met as a proper group to dissuade the Ravenclaws. It usually went that Hermione have an idea and Jezibell would messenger it to Theodore, but when Hermione figured out Jezibell wasn't reliable for this position she started passing notes to him herself. It took a bit to work out a strategy because Hermione, despite her already staggering amount of responsibility, wanted all the main work. She didn't trust Theodore with a Supersketch or Jezibell with composition. It took Jezibell much coaxing and conniving to convince her into letting them handle the library research, but Hermione still insisted in being the one writing on the clear plastic paper and formulating the response. She did have the neatest handwriting.

Hermione and Jezibell were on the last leg of it now, the compare and contrast between how radios worked for muggles and wizards. Jezibell took notes on towers set up by muggles to communicate 'signals' in waves while Hermione used them to construct bullets marching down the plastic. They didn't speak, except for Hermione asking Jezibell to translate her chicken scratch. A Hogsmeade notice went up around six and Hermione paused for ten seconds, clenching the lent marker so tightly it would have crushed a quill. So pens were good for something.

The guys returned not long after that and their eyes went immediately to the crowd around the bulletin board. Their faces lightened with the prospect of a trip. They sat next to Jezibell, Ron already making plans for Harry's next adventure. Hermione was too.

"Harry, if you go into Hogsmeade again, I'll tell Professor McGonagall about the map!"

The Christmas spirit was long gone. She and Ron argued fiercely a few moments, culminating in Hermione once again storming to the dormitory with Crookshanks, not before finishing the bullets. Ron proceeded to go on about Zonko's. Harry said he'd bring his invisibility cloak.

"Wait," Jezibell interrupted this latest reveal, "You have an invisibility cloak. This explains much."

"Does it mean you're with us?" Ron demanded a choice.

"My schedule's open," Jezibell set the books aside with a slight shrug. She was determined maintain neutrality in World War Three, but didn't think it begrudged Hogsmeade trips.

Neither did Ron, apparently. He continued planning, saying they'd be sure to visit the Shrieking Shack and the post office was worth a look too. Jezibell turned to Harry.

"What did Hagrid say?"

"Nothing," Harry sighed wearily at her asking, "nothing at all."

Nothing at all, he doth protest too much. Intrigue? Surprisingly, no. Jezibell did not care in the least about Harry's latest problem. It wasn't about her.

The presentations for Muggle Studies came the day after next, but as Jezibell's group was slated to go last they were bumped to Friday. This was the good news. The bad news was Burbage made a ruling on Wednesday, stating each person had to speak a whole sentence at minimum to receive more than half credit. As the lucky spokesperson was already decided in most groups, this made for some last minute changes. Green and Red was no exception.

"Jezibell, I know Theodore and you only want to speak for your quota, so, Jezibell, you can say what I wrote here about televisions verses wizarding moving pictures. You researched that, right?"

"No."

"Oh, well, it'll do anyway. Theodore can take this bit in the middle regarding radio signals –"

"Hate to interrupt your great plans, but what if I don't want this bit?" Theodore sulkily entered the monologue for the first time.

"Erm," Hermione had trouble addressing the Slytherin directly, "You can have the part at the beginning with -"

"And if I don't like that either?"

"You've got to do something or you're not going to get the credit!"

"I know, and it just breaks my heart," He rolled his eyes and Hermione turned a flamingo pink. Part of Jezibell wanted very much to add her two bronze, but she kept it in her pocket.

Hermione gave Jezibell an it's-like-reasoning-with-Peeves look. She managed that before.

"Don't want to help us?" Jezibell asked him, "Help yourself. If you can't pick and deliver a line, then by breakfast tomorrow everyone will know how… friendly you and Hermione got during production."

"What?" Hermione squawked, understanding exactly how Jezibell was blackmailing him. "Don't I get a say in this?"

Jezibell ignored her.

"You wouldn't," Theodore dared her, but she sensed a bluff. Theodore was overly concerned with his public character. It was a manner of self-preservation against the wasps of his house, by mimicking them, no one questioned his decidedly unconventional behavior. Being a loner, showing up for makeup work, taking Muggle Studies and actually doing his share of research on the project. The only thing that kept him from being ravaged for the latter was his message on the board the first day. The slander had spread throughout the school by lunch and earning him a fast reputation both in and outside the classroom. For what seemed a matter teenage prejudice it was actually a very shrewd move. Acting out of impulsive hatred, rather than the usual strategy of kissing up to the professor who dislikes you, would have been suicidal in any other circumstance. Contradictory, by not behaving as a Slytherin Theodore proved he was. What's more, it proved to Jezibell she could make him behave.

"Choose," Jezibell handed him the plastic paper. But he didn't, really.

The Hogsmeade trip came Saturday and Harry had it all planned. Armed with the invisibility cloak and map (which he now referred to as "the Marauders") he waited patiently inside the entrance to wave Hermione and the third year goodbye, made clear he would see them WHEN THEY CAME BACK and walked purposefully up the staircase to Gryffindor tower. Ron gave the most ostentatious conspiratorial wink in the history bumbling sidekicks and Jezibell stomped on his foot.

"Youch!" Ron stumbled on his trainers, disrupting the loose line and causing Hermione to radiate such distain it was felt five people down, "What was that for?"

"Birds were about to start pecking your other eye, thinking somebody got to the first."

"Alright, the wink was a bit much, but you didn't have to crush half my toes to say so. Your boots are hard."

He quit whining once they reached the Dementors, but kept a slight limp until they were past the gates. Maybe stomping was tad overkill. Per usual they went to Honeydukes first, this time not only for the free samples, but to kill time until Harry showed. Or didn't show, as it were. Jezibell had yet to witness the invisibility cloak in action. Harry let her handle the shimmery fabric beforehand. It wasn't defined in shape and compactable, easily stuffed in a pocket. More of an invisibility bed sheet. Jezibell pictured three tweens reasonably concealed under it while they ran around Hogwarts secret passage ways in witching hour. She'd been speculating on how Harry found those, having never showed him any.

The duo browsed the sweet shop, alert for a shoulder tap or ear whisper, but after a while even Ron grew bored of watching the butterscotch fountain renew itself. Sticking to the back corner didn't work as Hermione was stalking them from behind the peppermint toads. Ron ignored her admirably, but lingering where Harry arrive aroused suspicion. They exited the shop, Jezibell breathing fresh air with relief, and mooched around in the front, unable to leave without the third party member.

"So…" Ron's brow crinkled as he hunted for topic of common interest, "Which Quidditch team do you favor?"

"Traditionally, my family backs the Tornadoes," Jezibell kept an eye on the door, waiting for an opening without anyone leaving, "As the season goes on, we go with who's winning. Yours?"

"Chudley Cannons, all the way," He said with the name with the reverence of a devotedly deluded fan.

"The ones who slogan is 'let's just cross our figures and hope for the best'." The sad thing is this was true.

"Now that's just a bit of slump, they'll pull out –"

"A hundred year slump," Jezibell paraphrased.

"The Cannons held the best in the league for ten years before that! In 1892 they blasted World Cup from the Australians after defeating the leading Gorodok Gargoyles. Now that they're working on a trade with the Slavs, this might be the year for a comeback!"

There were many flaws to that assumption and Jezibell would love to point out a few, when she noticed feetless tracks materializing in the debris littered February slush before them.

"What kept you?" Ron asked the last set of prints.

"Snape was hanging around," Harry's voice explained vaguely. Experimenting, Jezibell held her palm up to air about where the top of his head should be. The gesture was passable as testing for snowflakes, though ridiculous, given the mild temperature. She could feel the silky thread of the broad cowl, but saw nothing even when rubbing it slightly between her fingers.

"Are you done?" Harry's voice asked tersely after a few seconds of probing. Jezibell withdrew her hand, a bit embarrassed as she never would have reached out if she could see him.

"Not a bad cloak."

Ron laughed, "'Not a bad cloak', she says! Did you here that, Harry? I think we may have witnessed the rare compliment. Next thing you know she'll be smiling and doing slapstick comedy."

Harry received the full tour of what he missed the first time; from the Post Office to Zonko's Joke Shop. Ron talked with Harry mostly and Jezibell found it best to keep a steady pace and shut mouth. Harry was better than she had hoped at being invisible, almost too good. She recognized how some of the other third years perceived her and Ron without the rest the gang. Enjoying a day in Hogsmeade, Weasley and Malfoy just the two, as a passing Patil and Brown happily pointed out.

As visualized beforehand, Ron did endeavor a trip to the Shrieking Shack. He filled Harry and Jezibell in on all its fascinating history on the hike up the muddy hill. The time the twins tried to get in, the times they tried to get Prefect Weasley in and tales of the ghosts that supposedly haunted it. Jezibell considered asking when was the last time anybody saw these spirits when not inhaling others, but thought better of it.

Away from the welcoming atmosphere required in a tourist town, the dejected little hovel had an unexpected lonesome air. It couldn't even be called house, the word implies a sustaining premise. Jezibell could see how it scared some with windows nailed shut and a garden too wild for even the most enthusiastic caretaker to brave. It's solitary existence up so high gave her a very personal impression of the site. Whatever had or did dwell here, it couldn't appreciate the school children leaning against its fence, daring each other to pry, to touch, to go a little closer. She felt like a trespasser.

"We saw it," Jezibell broke the silence around the dark hollow building, "Now -"

She left off when she heard a fellow explorer jabbering faintly behind them. Multiple laboring steps were ascending the opposing side of the hill. The person was going on about his father at a hearing about an arm and making bad jokes at Hagrid's expense. A hippogriff, good as dead. It was no big reveal when Draco came into their line of vision accompanied by Scab and Boil.

"Jezibell and Weasley? Fancy meeting you two up here," He jeered, "Shopping for your dream home, are we? Though I suppose to Weasley here, this place really does look prime. The kids might even get their own rooms."

It was difficult to say which was redder – Ron's hair or Ron's face. Jezibell thought several nasty things at her brother before forcing her mouth into a wide Cheshire grin. Scab and Boil cringed.

"Actually, we were wondering when the Shrieking Specter would show."

Draco paused, taking a longer look at the most haunted estate in the United Kingdom. His pink cheeks from the climb paled.

"You can't scare me, Jez! Its day-time, stupid," Draco gave Boil a cuff on the shoulder, prompting him to laugh, "Trying to tell ghost stories in middle of the afternoon. Ha! Who does she take us for? Longbottom."

Jezibell just kept smiling, muscles tensing a little at the effort. Come on, Harry. Take the golden opportunity. Draco was still protesting too much when the first mud ball hit the back of his head.

It was a glorious few minutes. Draco and his goons spent them enduring the Skrieking Spectre's merciless mire filled wrath. Playing up the namesake, war cries erupted from thin air. A few Jezibell was sure made Draco wet himself. The cloak really was well made. Harry packed together and threw the mud without revealing his hands or gathering splotchy residue on the fabric and judging by the distance between attacks, he was running rings around the Slytherins without it coming loose. Jezibell wondered why he didn't pull stunts like this more often.

Running out of options for how to deal with this new threat, Scab barreled toward Jezibell and Ron and suddenly tripped over nothing. Until Harry's alarmed head popped into existence four feet or so above him. Harry had the sense to recover the hood, but not before Draco had seen. Jezibell watched mutely as her brother screamed and made a beeline to the castle gates followed by a befuddled Scab and Boil. So that explained it.

"fxysmirkisss!" Harry's voice was horrified as he cursed, "I've got to get back before he finds Snape!"

And then he was gone, presumably off to Honeydukes. Ron and Jezibell successfully exchanged the universal look for "Oh crap" before skidding down the hill after them. Draco had a head start, but it would take him a bit to find his head of house. Meanwhile, Jezibell and Ron could find their own sympathetic teacher. Lupin would work if he wasn't out sick again. Jezibell didn't think many of the staff knew about Harry's cloak. Snape couldn't or he would have confiscated it long ago. What was the penalty for sneaking into Hogsmeade anyway? Detention? Expulsion? Rap on the knuckles?

"Jez," panted Ron as they neared the castle gates, "We forgot about Filch! It'll take forever to pass him and the Dementors."

Jezibell focused ahead of them at the caretaker scouring rust perceptible to him alone and breathed in the icebox air. She did not have time for forever.

Jezibell drew her wand, muttered a hex and jabbed Ron sharply in the stomach. Immediately he doubled over, hands on mouth and eyes furious with betrayal, stopping in his tracks. She grabbed a handful of his sleeve and dragged him over to Filch.

"Sir, my friend needs the hospital wing," Jezibell pushed Ron forward and he promptly unloaded a rainbow of Honeydukes' finest on the caretaker's boots, "Too many sweets."

"Eurgh!" The reply came, which Jezibell took as a yes. They walked freely through the oak front doors, Ron still retching, while Filch busied himself with his chosen career. Once inside Ron wiped his mouth and shook his head in disbelief.

"I dunno whether to thank or curse you for that. It was brilliant; Filch'll be there all day with the Magical Mess Remover. But why'd it have to me?"

"It didn't."

"Ok, cursing it is. Hang on, why are we going up to Gryffindor Tower? Malfoy's in the dungeons, tattling to Snape."

"Harry. Needs. An alibi," Jezibell explained shortly between stairs, "I. Know where. To find one.

Neville Longbottom was in the Gryffindor common room, idling on an essay for Lupin. He'd likely gotten it out with the idea he'd be able to catch up on homework while his classmates enjoyed Hogsmeade, but now didn't know what to do with it. McGonagall banned him from the village since he misplaced a list of passwords to Gryffindor tower. Sirius recovered and used this same cheat sheet to sneak into the boys' dormitory with knife, nearly killing Harry along with the other roommates. But now Neville was the only person in the tower with an ideal excuse to save the peer he almost condemned. In a backwards way, Neville's memory failure was stroke of luck.

"LONGBOTTOM!" Jezibell barked in McGonagallesque tones as she and Ron burst through the portrait hole. Neville jumped in his chair and she returned to normal volume, "If any teacher – especially Snape – comes asking if you've seen Harry, tell them you both have been working on Lupin's vampire essay all afternoon. You can copy off mine so it will look like you've accomplished something."

He nodded slowly. Jezibell knew she wasn't very nice in her requests, but there were bigger butterflies to stomp. Draco had probably found Snape by now and unloaded the entire incident onto him. Whether the shrewd professor connected the dots on the invisibility cloak and map or not, he'd still wring every drop of consequence from this. Assuming Neville could hold his position as alibi someone would still have to go find Snape and convince him to check for it to be affective. But running down to the dungeons in panic would be good as a confession. Jezibell pressed her pounding forehead to a wall, thinking too hard about thinking what to plan. What did she need? An invisibility cloak and a complete moving map of Hogwarts at her disposable would be nice. Or how about a Time-Turner and a couple of parselmouths? Surely she could find some use for them. The sarcasm did not help.

"Jez?" Ron spoke behind her carefully, "If I know Snape, the first thing he's going to do when he finds Harry is to make him turn out his pockets. The Marauder's map is safe, it'll look like old parchment if Harry wiped it right, but he'll find the Zonko's stuff. Wait, that's it! Zonko's! I'll go down and tell Snape about Doctor Dervishes Delirium Dust! I'll tell him I threw some at Malf – Draco's face as a joke. He won't believe me, but any other professor will."

"Delirium Dust?" She didn't remember seeing a label on the flamboyant shelves, "They have that?"

"No," Ron admitted, smirking, "but they could."

Brilliant genius.

"Ron Weasley, you're quite the deviant," Her praise was entirely genuine. "Go, now."

He went, leaving the newly restored Fat Lady grumbling behind him.

"Jezibell?"

She turned around, to find Neville still watching her, "Right, vampire essay."

It took few seconds of rummaging to find the paper, and she handed it off, trying to think of any particularly bad patches of handwriting she should warn him about.

"Thanks," he took it, "But that's not what I meant for. Hermione ran up to the girl's dormitory not long ago. She looked pretty upset."

This came as little surprise. Hermione was in a constant state of aguish lately. Jezibell could think of several reasons why, and she had been avoiding Hermione because of this. She made a point to leave distressed people alone, knowing that's what she would want if it was her. But it would seem rude to do nothing after being told.

Jezibell found Hermione sitting on her bed, Crookshanks upon her lap and turned from the door. She wasn't crying, at least not loudly, but there was a tremor in her voice when she spoke.

"Back so soon?" The comment was meant to be indifferent. This would the moment when a friend would hug and cry too or at least say something half genuinely nice, but Jezibell knew none of them.

"What's in your hands?"

Parchment crackled as Hermione's grip tightened on whatever she was holding, "I don't know if it would matter to you any, but…but, oh, it's over! Hagrid lost his trial and Buckbeak is going to be executed! He sent me a letter, here!"

She hurled the parchment at Jezibell. It fluttered as a one winged butterfly, alighting in the gap between them.

---

Hermione Granger

Immediately after throwing the letter, Hermione felt exceedingly silly. Melodramatic, naïve and all the other things she knew she wasn't, but often felt in Jezibell's presence. Jezibell bent down slowly to retrieve the letter, plucking with one hand and proceeded to read in a half-crouched position. She must be taking in all Hermione had. The sad brevity and Hagrid's grief so great the marks were jagged as his quill shook. The tear stains that bore holes in the paper and the blunt truth cleaving Hermione like an ax. She worked so hard for it not to make a difference in the horrible matter. Jezibell had too. Maybe not for the same reasons, but she put just as much effort into winning, into saving. And now, folding up the letter crisply, she didn't even look slightly perturbed.

"You knew all along, didn't you?" Hermione set Crookshanks aside and he stalked off to wherever cats go when they don't want to be around, "You knew we would fail."

Jezibell had no answer or if she did, didn't feel like sharing with the class.

"I'm going to tell Harry and Ron."

"Wait a minute," Jezibell said it very matter-of-a-factly, but Hermione was learning to be suspicious. There was no reason for Harry to be anywhere else than with Ron hearing about the day in Hogsmeade. Unless…

"Why were you back so soon?"

"Ron had an upset stomach," Jezibell answered without pause, looking directly at Hermione. Hermione had read somewhere that when people lie they will avoid eye contact. It was usually true, often she would be able to catch Harry and Ron when they were making things up by this method, but she had a feeling Jezibell read that book too.

"You know honesty is best policy," Hermione remarked.

"That was the truth," Jezibell smirked, "Some."

"Jezibell."

She shrugged, "I'm neutral. Harry came with us into Hogsmeade. And got caught -"

"Serves them right -"

"- By Draco."
"Oh no! What did he do? Professor Snape's interrogating Harry right now, isn't he? Why aren't you with them?"

"Ron has a plan. Though Harry's as good as expelled, then."

"You'd be surprised," Hermione retorted defensively. Ron could be plenty brilliant, when he wasn't acting like an obtuse cat-hating maggot.

Jezibell cocked her head to the side, "I was."

"You were? How so?" Hermione demanded, not entirely sure what she was arguing at this point. How was Jezibell surprised by Ron?

"Don't we have a speedy delivery?" Jezibell avoided the question as if it were toxic and left the dormitory with the letter. Hermione had little choice but to follow.

They found the boys as they were returning from the dungeons. Ron's plan evidently worked. Ha! Harry was thankfully not expelled, but the Marauder's Map had been confiscated by Professor Lupin. The latter Hermione didn't see it as such a bad thing, but she made no comment on it. Because when Jezibell presented the letter, Hermione spelling it out to them why it was hopelessly over, Ron did the best thing ever. He said he would help. That she wouldn't be alone this round and they would make the appeal work.

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione hugged him tight, feeling so grateful that he would be with her and so sorry she was angry at him over Scabbers. Of course Crookshanks hadn't done it, but how could she be mad at him for thinking a cat ate a rat? If a pet of hers had ran away leaving blood behind, what would she have thought? He accepted her apologies, though she could tell it was as hard as it was for her to say them.

Pulling back, she could see Harry clutching the letter and speaking quietly to Jezibell. He was accusing her of something and Jezibell simply held up her palms in mock defense, which made Harry angrier.

"I hope you two aren't going to start again," Ron jokingly folded his arms, "I don't think I can handle any more catastrophic events today."

Harry and Jezibell exchanged an amused glance and even Hermione appreciated the irony.

"No, we're not," He looked to Jezibell sternly, "But try any games like that again and –"

"And what? Bricks will be levitated?"

"You better believe it."

"Harry, this is what you want. Are you really angry about my means to its end?"

"I suppose not," he grumbled, then looked back to the letter and sighed. Hermione didn't know what Jezibell did this time, but if it happened a second Harry wouldn't let her off easy, bricks or no. The only reason he was still friends with her was that, despite how amoral she was she still, without a thought to herself, saved his life. This one action put her irrevocably in league with Ron, Hermione and Dumbledore, in his mind anyway. "Come on, we've got to see Hagrid. Got to tell him, they can't do this. I won't let them."

But of course they couldn't go see him. Not alone as they needed, due to curfew and lessons. This was problematic as other students who already lacked confidence in their teacher would over hear his tragedy if they spoke in public. One of the times they tried talking to Hagrid Draco Malfoy overheard and began his usual campaign of obnoxiousness after class. Hermione, in a fit of childish anger, hit him for it. Her palm stung afterword and she could only hope his face was worse. It was the first time she'd – no, there was a younger cousin she remembered giving a smack once when he wouldn't stop pulling her curls. An insufferable child, but Hermione had been the one receiving the brunt of the scolding. Hitting was a foolish way to deal with problems. It accomplished little and usually caused you more trouble than the reprimand was worth. If Hermione wanted to prove she was on top of things, she should use her head not her hand. Now go to your room and stay there until supper.

Her violence this time wasn't met with immediate punishment, but karma caught up to her in Ancient Runes. Daphne Greengrass commented on Draco's version of the incident, which made Hermione so angry and embarrassed that she had to go to the bathroom to wash up afterword and forgot – forgot – about changing time for Charms. This had a domino effect on her schedule as she now had to accommodate an entire class period worth of work along with everything else she needed for exams. So was it any wonder when she walked out on Professor Trelawney's utterly worthless crystal-gazing? She considered apologizing once cooled down but it wasn't worth the time. How were smoke-filled orbs going to help her education? They had opposite effect, taking away from the time she needed to translate the moderate-level paragraph of runes. She was horrified with herself because she still didn't know the archaic language by heart and needed a dictionary every other sentence.

Blessed Easter came, as a lovely opportunity for her to catch up with work and sleep. The teachers had other plans. Some being; a five paragraph essay for transfiguration, Cheering Charm practice (for some reason this particular spell was proving difficult for her. She must be missing something vital from the class), more translation practice, completing an arithmetic calendar for April, Potions, oh Potions! Snape hated her; Hermione knew that, and the essay he wanted on the one brew that she hadn't already practiced felt intentional. And Buckbeak's case. Can't forget that, though Hermione rather wished she could. If it was truly done for as Jezibell believed, than spending time on it was just as pointless. Harry and Ron were trying to help as they said, but were similarly swamped with work, Quidditch practice and anti-Dementor lessons. She wished it could just solve itself. Wasn't Lucius Malfoy's wrath satisfied yet? Hadn't Hagrid suffered enough?

Someone had forgotten to shut the window. Hermione could hardly blame them, the spring breeze was delightful after breathing the stagnant castle air all day, but the fluttering curtains weren't helping her sleep. She nuzzled into her pillow, beseeching her mind to shut off for a few hours. This shouldn't be such a problem. All her homework was done and she had read eight chapters in the Moderate Translation Guide to boot. It had taken a lot of consolidating to insure that she had time for at least seven hours of sleep each day. Sleep was worth it. Sleep was important, vital for a healthy mind and body. Want to lose weight? Sleep. Want to be prepared for a long run? Sleep. Want to relieve stress? Sleep! Need a sharp mind for exam practice? Sleep! Sigh.

Hermione got up and took two hands on the window doors to shut them firmly. Latch and good. A mummer came from the closest four-poster and Hermione worried that she may have disturbed the occupant, but a rolling snore resumed. Jezibell. She still hadn't forfeited the window bed.

It was twelve fif – one a.m., by the magical light of Jezibell's watch. Hermione was still depending on her for the time of day, having not received the fervently wished for Christmas present. It wasn't inconvenient as they shared most of their classes, save Ancient Runes, and Hermione sat in plain view of the clock in that one. Jezibell didn't mind. In fact Hermione had the impression the reserved girl rather liked being depended on. She always wanted to pay for things and was true to her word in keeping Hermione's secret. One of them, anyway. The clouds drifted lazily across the dim light of a crescent moon.

But the werewolf wasn't her secret to tell. She may dangle invisible carrots before Harry and Ron to cut them down a size, but Hermione knew that if Professor Lupin didn't think the information mattered he would have been open with them from the start. From what Hermione had read when she first figured it out, werewolves were the most prejudiced group in wizarding society, save muggleborns and half-giants. If Hermione hadn't also known about the Wolfsbane potion, she too would be sick with worry that a horror movie monster was loose on the grounds once a month. So it was best to hold her tongue and protect the good-natured Professor from his legacy. So far, this was disappointingly easy. But as the year went on and Professor Lupin's absences became more regular, someone might put it together. Jezibell had been asking before the holidays about him having dog and Hermione did her best to support this speculation. Hopefully, that was as close as suspicions would go. After all with Sirius Black's mysterious entries, the sickly professor was the least of anybody's concerns.

The moon rose, the watch ticked, and Hermione after some trepidation lit a candle and opened an Arithmancy textbook. She woke five hours later, her forehead pasted to a flow chart.

Giggles greeted her for breakfast. Hermione ignored Parvati and Lavender and buttered her toast. Brooding over her porridge, Jezibell was one of only a few people at the Gryffindor table. In fact most of the Hogwarts population was elsewhere.

"Where are Harry and Ron?"

"Take a wild guess," Jezibell said. She was referring to the Quidditch pitch, of course. The match that would decide if the cup went to Gryffindor or Slytherin was tomorrow, so Captain Wood wanted his team in peak condition. Harry had been practicing mornings and evenings every day, save for Wednesday when Professor Lupin taught him how to fight Dementors. His absence really was no mystery and Ron and the other Quidditch enthusiasts were likely with him. Hermione knew that. She was just making conversation.

Lavender, a few seats down, broke suddenly into full-fledged laughter. "And when – when, we saw her this morning, she was snogging a textbook –"

"Talk about having your nose in book, ha -"

"I'm not even kidding here, no, really! I think she was up all night buried in the thing. Wasn't even this bad in first year when she'd –"

The girls caught sight of Hermione then and Lavender clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Bu-sted," sang Padma Patil from Ravenclaw.

"Shush up!" Lavender choked out, her face turning pink, "Erm, good morning, Hermione!" she squeaked out before dissolving into hilarity.

"How did you sleep?" Parvati smiled broadly.

"Like a lullaby," Hermione told her. A lullaby played by Sir Nicholas's birthday orchestra. The girls laughed in a bubbling fountain of acid rain, "It was quite refreshing, after all the work I've been completing for exams. I haven't seen you studying much, are you sure you're prepared?"

"I've been studying plenty!" Parvati abruptly flushed angrily, "I just like to have a life outside of the library. We can't all be Wonder Girl, you know! Some of us loosen up once in a while to have fun with friends and bother to do something with our hair in the morning. When was the last time you touched yours?"

"Likely around the same time Malfoy wore something besides that boring old hairband," Lavender chuckled.

"She doesn't wear it to please you," Hermione scowled, "And for your information, I have a life with friends."

"You mean Ron and Harry? Has Scabbers come back to life yet?"

"Ron and I settled that!"

"How about the Firebolt," Parvati jabbed, "I heard you wanted to have it stripped down when Harry first got it. You're such good friends, but you're not even going to watch him practice before the biggest game of his life."

"It's only practice, and I just woke up," Hermione floundered.

"We were about to go watch 'just practice' until lessons started. Care to join?"

Hermione didn't want to spend any more time in their company while Parvati was in this cutting mood and besides needed to recheck with Professor Flitwick that she was getting the Cheering Charms completely right, so declined. Both parties left the Great Hall, Lavender still snickering. Jezibell went back to Gryffindor tower and Hermione made for the Charms teachers office, trying not to dwell on Parvati's remarks. She was just annoyed that Hermione brought up her study habits. Nothing she said was meant.

The Professor confirmed Hermione's suspicion that she had motions and vocals spot on but didn't fully understand the intention behind the charms, "There are some spells that require more mental effort than simply waving your wand around. You have to be in a certain state of mind for them to operate. Cheering Charms are a basic introduction to this variety as the emotion is not terribly complex. You are trying to make somebody happy. You can't do that and be in foul mood yourself, now can you?"

"So, to overly simplify, you want me to go to my happy place?" Hermione asked a little incredulous. This was school, not therapy.

"That's one to think; though positive empathy is how I'd phrase it. Yes, you have to be happy but you also have to see someone else as happy. If you want to challenge yourself for the exam I would suggest a stoic personality as a subject," He chuckled to himself, "Your friend Miss Malfoy, for instance, if she would oblige. Incidentally, she is doing quite excellently with the spell herself. I have a class of sixth years in minutes; perhaps you should carry your concerns over to her. Hmm?"

Hermione thanked him and left for her first period classes. Jezibell was doing excellently with Cheering Charms. Cheering Charms. Cheerful and its synonyms were not words typically associated Jezibell Malfoy, at least not without an emphatic not between. Hermione kept quiet on the Professor's suggestion during the walk with Jezibell to and from Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, still unable to picture her giving serious advice on anything much less how to be happy. Hermione decided to wait until evening into the common room to ask.

This plan quickly proved mission impossible upon returning to a Gryffindor Tower in the middle of celebration for the earthshattering match tomorrow. Everybody took turns assuring the Quidditch team they'd beat the Slytherins as always. Harry accepted their confidence with his eyes round as galleons, twitching in his seat. The Slytherin team operated a no-holds-barred policy under normal circumstances, and with the Cup at stake they would be positively ruthless, particularly to the opposing seeker with a Firebolt advantage. Hermione would be sure to bring her wand.

"EEEEEAaaaugh!"

A shriek came from the right side staircase, quickly followed by a traumatized Parvati and Lavender running into the common room. For a few minutes they were unintelligible.

"It's horrible – I just went up for my –"

"Disgusting thing –"

"All browny-gray and staring –"

"My bed! It's on my bed! I can't sleep in there –"

"Calm down," Katie Bell put a hand on Parvati's shoulder, "What's on your bed?"

"The worst, most hideous thing," Parvati's words became clearer now that she had the whole tower's attention.

"Sirius Black?" Neville skydived to conclusions.

"Worse," Lavender moaned.

"How about you take me up and show me," Katie Bell offered kindly. Parvati and Lavender lead her up the stairs, Katie giving a probably-just-a-cockroach-or-something look to their audience.

Harry, Ron and Hermione promptly looked to Jezibell for an explanation. Jezibell looked to Emmy. Emmy licked her paws and Hermione's curiosity inflamed. She ventured to the girl's dormitory.

What was sitting on Parvati's bed wasn't a cockroach or Sirius Black. It appeared to be world's largest dust bunny. And the most ghastly. A coppery hollow mass of fur in a vague broken form rested on a pillow. It had a head. A spade shaped mold with hollow sockets where the eyes should be that was partially detached from the rest of the structure, a figure uncannily familiar. A ghostly cat formed of shed hair. Hermione could hardly blame Parvati for crying out.

"Oh, Merlin," Katie looked a bit green at the sight and Lavender was shaking, "I'll get rid of… this. You go back downstairs. Tell them its roaches. Just a couple."

The Weasley twins were disappointed.

"A few bugs, that's it?" Fred asked Hermione, "Like to confirm it for ourselves, but we'd hate to disrespect the lady's privacy –"

"As if that's ever stopped you before," smirked Angelina Johnson.

"We were curious," George shrugged, unashamed.

"Team!" Captain Wood broke the banter when Katie Bell reappeared, still on the nauseous side, "Bed!"

Harry and his mates trooped to their dormitories obediently, Ron and most of the common room soon to follow. A few self-conscious students remained to clean up the pre-match candy wrapper and toasting stick mess. Jezibell resumed her reading by the fire. This would be the ideal time for Hermione to finish up that homework without distractions, but there was a more pressing matter at hand.

"Why did you have Emmy do that?" Hermione stared down at Jezibell's bowed head.

"I didn't," Jezibell said indifferently with her eyes on the novel, "Emmy does what she likes and she usually leaves her castings by the greenhouses. I'm just as surprised."

That was a blatant lie; Jezibell did not look remotely startled. Playing a prank on Parvati wasn't something Emmy could or would do on her own. Jezibell settling her score with the girls she so despised made sense, but there was no reason for her to have waited until today. Nothing was significant or ironic about April the fifteenth that she would find amusing. Except. This morning Parvati gave Hermione grief and now was punished in the most brutal and, dare Hermione admit it, hilarious way available. Jezibell was, in her backhanded way, being nice.

"You should say sorry to Parvati even so," Hermione offered after a pause, knowing full well her suggestion be ignored on principle, "I'd like to ask you about something else too. It's the Cheering Charms, I'm positive they're going to come up in the exam and I'm still having trouble with the spell. Do you think you could help?"

Jezibell described to Hermione in detail how she cast the spell. In the moment after the wand movement and before the incantation, she said she cleared her mind of whatever emotion she thought was bothering the subject. Bliss is the absence of problems, so worry was often the dispensable feeling. At first, Hermione found this method counterproductive. It was the exact opposite to what she had been doing, forcing a sentiment instead of discarding an unwanted one. After a while it became easier, almost meditative. Perhaps this was how Jezibell handled everything so coolly detached, by systematically removing emotions she deemed distracting. She'd convinced Emmy to be a guinea pig and after a few rounds, a dopey glazed expression came upon the hybrid. Hermione herself was elated.

"I got it! I think I've got it!" She crowed, experiencing the unfamiliar joy of achieving what was thought to be impossible.

"By George," Jezibell muttered disinterestedly rubbing Emmy between the ears. Hermione knew that Jezibell must be happy for her too, or at least glad she was now at liberty to go to bed.

"Thank you, really. That eradicated lot of pointless chapter reviewing out of my schedule. If there are any classes you're having trouble with, I'd be happy to help," Hermione meant it completely this time, "Herbology, for instance, Professor Sprout's been on your case about replanting Trumpeters, hasn't she? I could show you some reference books about perennials."

"It's more the plants themselves then book work," Jezibell slid a marker into her novel, "But there is an extracurricular problem."

"Alright, what's it about?"

"Professor Lupin."

Hermione didn't answer, taken completely off guard. She thought this over with.

"Or lack thereof," Jezibell clarified, disregarding Hermione's shocked silence, "Maybe you noticed his frequent, almost scheduled, absences."

How much did she know?

"He has been out quite a lot for a professor, but Professor Dumbledore said it was a cold." Hermione worked to sound casual, "Why, do you think it's suspicious?"

"Just queer, if it were that alone. Emmy noticed other peculiarities. He smelled 'wild' especially after his sick days. I think he's been going somewhere during those times, likely through the Forbidden Forest, and doesn't want students to know. Dumbledore does, he covered for him at the feast, and possibly Snape since he was part of the excuse, but he doesn't approve. "

It took a lot of muscle control for Hermione not to let her jaw drop. Jezibell missed the target, but hit the tree squarely. Unbelievable, she had figured out everything but the most crucial detail. Hermione just needed to convince her of the same.

"That's quite a leap," Hermione acted skeptical, "Do you have any idea what Professor Lupin might be doing in the forest? Or why Snape wouldn't like it?"

"Not me, exactly," Jezibell visibly hesitated, "Hermione, I haven't been straight up. You remember when Harry was troubled about a death omen. The Grim."

"Of course I remember. How could I forget with Professor Trelawney going on about it every other class?" But what did have to do with Professor Lupin? Did she think he was an illegal Animagus?

"He said he saw it again, a few times, around Hogwarts. It must be a real dog, he isn't dead yet. It always came when Professor Lupin was out for the day and nobody else remembers seeing it. You'd think they would, being a morbid superstition, but Harry's the only one. We think this dog belongs to Professor Lupin and is stalking Harry on his command. Have you seen anything?"

"I haven't, but if Professor Lupin has a dog, it would explain a lot," Hermione answered, relieved, "He could keep off grounds and let it out when he's taking sick leave. Snape doesn't like idea of Professor Lupin having anything nice. I can completely see him telling poor Professor Lupin his dog isn't allowed. Maybe he keeps it away because he knows what it might look like to a student passing by. It gets out every now and again and really likes Harry, because what lonely dog wouldn't? How come Harry hasn't talked to Ron and me about seeing the Grim himself? I could have told him how ridiculous the whole death omen business was and Ron may have noticed something about Professor Lupin."

"He didn't want you worried. It would worry him and make him lose concentration on the match. He'll start looking after tomorow. "

That explained why Jezibell hadn't told Hermione about Harry's paranoia from the start. She didn't want to betray his confidence. Now that it was out, however, Hermione would have to act quickly and convince Harry he was barking the wrong metaphorical tree before he found out the truth. She was sure the dog in question was merely a stray that happened to really like Harry, or just Harry's overactive imagination giving him grief before the match.

"He really shouldn't be stressed about some silly superstition when facing Slytherin," Hermione decided aloud, regaining her calm, "I'll talk to him about the dog before the match."

Jezibell nodded, "I would, but you're better for it."

A genuine compliment. More evidence Jezibell could be civil when she felt like it. Perhaps Hermione was writing this off too quickly, but Jezibell seemed in a much better mood this evening than usual. That could just be the Cheering Charms, though. Hermione yawned, satisfied with her plan for tomorrow. Tonight, however, the only item on her agenda was well earned sleep.

---

West Hogwarts Grounds, April Seventeenth

Hermione acted as Jezibell predicted. The morning after their telling conversation, Hermione took Harry aside from the breakfast table, presumably to reassure him that the Grim wasn't something real and he should keep his head on about the issue. Harry had returned to the table, fuming, just in time for Captain Wood to call the team to the changing rooms. Good old Wood. The following match was one of the most intense and dirty Jezibell had ever been a spectator of. The Slytherins gleefully threw whatever knowledge of the rules they had out the window when Draco decided to piggyback Harry's broom. The Weasley twins did not improve sportsmanship by repeatedly abusing the use of their bats. The game was won with an aggressive capture of the snitch by Harry, who had played the game like he was angry at someone. Not a bad frame of mind for the results, but Jezibell was fairly confident she was that special someone. Sadly, Harry did not have the opportunity to express his skills in levitating bricks as he was swept in the ensuing tide of Quidditch Cup euphoria. Now, the day after, Jezibell awaited the inevitable reckoning after Harry escaped fans and admirers from 75% of the school.

The spot she chose for this vigil was under a tree fifty meters or so from the lake, where she could feel the benefits of the pleasant mid spring sun while shaded from the glare. Legs stretched on the crisp grass shoots, Jezibell watched the other carefree students who decided they could take a day off from anxiety. Down the slope, a clutch of curious Ravenclaws were coaxing the Giant Squid to the surface with breakfast leftovers. To the north over the Quidditch stadium, a few whizzing insects enjoyed the finally freed up pitch. Jezibell would be one of them, had she not lent Ron her Nimbus to give him somewhere else to be. Hermione was already out of the way in the library and Emmy was napping in the common room. Jezibell saw no reason to put off her talk with Harry any longer. She knew she had explaining to do and would prefer presenting her case while it made sense.

Harry found her a little after she began chapter nine of the eleventh Time After Time book, Four Minutes. His dark expression contrasted the setting to the point where it was comical. He stood over her for a few moments, gathering himself. He was breathing hard, partially from having to hike up the incline to reach her and irritation of the former.

"I know you're how Hermione knew I'd been seeing the Grim again," He was more wounded than angry, "Jez, there's a reason I only told you. I didn't want Hermione going on about how it's just me being stupid or Ron saying I'm good as dead. I thought you of all people would be able to -"

He paused to reign in his temper, "I'm sure you have a reason. You always do. I just think I deserve to know the whole of it."

"You're right. I owe you," Jezibell gave in. This meeting was prearranged, but Harry didn't need to know that, "Sit down."

He remained on his feet. She began.

"I told Hermione as a cover to test a theory about Lupin."

"Why Professor Lupin?" Harry was already lost, "How – ?"

"Because shut up, I'm explaining everything. For this to make sense, I'm starting from the top. We'll get to the Grim later because it's a red herring."

"I've suspected, for a while, that Lupin has a connection to Sirius Black. Snape believes the same and Hermione knows some of it. First Snape. Remember the conversation between him and Dumbledore night of the first Black Attack?"

He nodded, "He was saying that he thought Black had help in entering the castle. Something about staff appointments, too. You think he was talking about Lupin."

"At the risk of sounding Hermione-ish, it's obvious."

"Alright, but that says nothing! Of course Snape was trying to put the blame on Lupin. He hates him and wants his job."

"Yeah, Snape hates him, but it's not just the job or the stuffed vulture trick. There are different shades of loathing and Snape didn't hate No-head this much. Lupin has the same special warrant of Snape-hate stuck to his forehead that you do. There's bad blood between them, even if it's one sided."

"Snape hates me because of my father," Harry offered, "They knew each other at school."

"Well?"

"Dumbledore said it was about as well as me and Draco."

"Hand-me-down hate."

"I guess," Harry looked as though there were more to his story but hesitated to confide, "Lupin told me that he also knew my dad from school. And Black. But that doesn't prove anything."

"Except that Lupin also knew Snape. This could be just a petty personal problem. Did Dumbledore say why Snape and your father hated each other?"

"Er…" This was the part Harry was reluctant about, "There was an incident. Apparently my dad saved Snape's life at one point. So I get hand-me-down life debt too."

"Quite the dilemma for Snape," Jezibell commented.

"Quite the dilemma for me, I got a taste of his guilt complex in first year and he's been making my life hell ever since," Harry pushed his glasses up his nose irritably, "But back to what you were saying. I'm guessing something big went down twenty some years ago at Hogwarts where Snape's life was saved by my dad. It gave him an eternal loathing to his rescuer, a deep mistrust of Lupin and probably Black was there too."

"It's guaranteed he was," Jezibell reasoned, "If Snape knew your father, he must have known Sirius and therefore Lupin. They probably felt the same towards Sirius as they did your father, as their school-day characters went hand in hand. Snape is a smart man. He would only complain to Dumbledore if he felt it legitimate. This is why. Lupin was friends with Sirius at school and Snape sees this as a close enough connection for Lupin to be Sirus's insider."

"I don't," Harry said bluntly, "Lupin has nothing to hide with Black. He said he 'thought' he knew him. What's obvious is that your theory brings us back to what I already know. Snape is trying frame Lupin because of a grudge that no longer applies."

"That would be true, if it weren't for Emmy."

"Emmy?"

"Emmy. Back in October before any of this started, I sent her into DADA class every few days to see if there was anything weird with the new professor –"

"And I thought I was paranoid," Harry rolled his eyes.

"It made sense given how the last two DADA teachers turned out and in light of what she found. She could explain it to you best. Lupin's… smell was 'wild' to her, as though he had been hanging around the forbidden forest. Canine, like a dog owner's, but stronger than it should be. Coincidentally around the same time, Emmy found your Grim."

"What?" That got his attention, "The actual dog!"

"No, the flowering shrub. Yes, the dog."

"When was this? Why don't you tell me these things? I've been looking over my shoulder for months, waiting to see it and have a near death experience again. If I'd known it was real -"

"Nothing's proven. It could be you're both dead," Jezibell smirked, "But I doubt it."

Harry's face was trying to decide which emotion was more important: annoyance or excitement, "I need see if this is true. Ask Emmy where –"

"I'm not an owl," Jezibell informed him, "If you want Emmy to tell you something, ask."

"I can do that?" Harry came up short. Apparently the thought never occurred to him. If his parseltongue worked the way he said it did, it shouldn't be a problem to talk to the hybrid. He stayed silent for a moment, tracing his scar thoughtfully with a finger, considering, and Jezibell continued.

"Emmy hadn't come close enough to the Grim-dog to smell it, so she couldn't tell the owner. As they showed up the same year and with Lupin's canine affiliation, the dog is likely his. There's a whole world of speculation as to why he might have a conspicuous dog trailing you that only you've noticed. It's the only part of the theory that I told Hermione."

"Yeah, you mentioned that. You think Hermione knows something?"

"I know Hermione knows something, we all do. She told us."

"That was just her getting back at me and Ron, she doesn't really –"

"Yet when I brought the subject of Lupin directly, she played dumb. Quite a change of tact. I offered your Grim as a reason why I was asking her about Lupin. She was immediately more open. She needed an excuse to explain Lupin's absences. Then I made it your idea and after the match you'd be more active in searching for connections. The first thing she did was run to tell you not to worry, to keep you from looking further."

Jezibell paused for a response and to rest her tongue. Harry had sat down after completing his rant and was now cross-legged beside her.

"You really can't ask a straight question to save your life, can you?" He muttered. "Or take anyone for granted. What you say makes sense, kind of, but I can't believe Hermione would be lying to us, or Lupin has been helping Black all this time trying to kill me. He's the best professor I've had, helping me with the Dementor problem and gives great advice over tea. Why would he be teaching me to protect myself if he's with Black?"

Jezibell only needed to give him a look for that one.

"Ok, stupid question. What about Dumbledore? He hired Lupin so he must trust him."

"I don't trust Dumbledore," Jezibell was being more dramatic than she felt. She respected the headmaster, but after witnessing his layered conversation with Father last year, she would never put him on a white pedestal.

"Who do you trust?" Harry asked in incredulous rhetorical, "Look, why don't you just ask Lupin about this. Even if you're right and he's faking, he'll answer to keep up the charade."

Jezibell wasn't comfortable approaching Lupin with anything, much less suspicions about his intentions with Harry, "It would be more convincing if you - "

"I'm not an owl," Harry echoed, thinking he was clever. He wasn't sold on the theory; if he was he would be off to Dumbledore's office this instant. Maybe it would be better if she did the asking. If Hermione had gotten in too far and was made to keep her mouth shut, they might decide to act more radically if Harry found out. Better keep part two of the theory quiet.

"You ask Emmy, I ask Lupin."

"Deal," He nodded curtly, raising his right hand slightly as if he wanted to shake on it but changed his mind, "Emmy's at Gryffindor Tower, right?"

"Fireside chair," she confirmed. They stood simultaneously, closer than comfortable for either and took a wary step back. The trust was gone, had been since the common room argument, but they would keep the unspoken alliance formed in the Chamber. She was on his side; still Jez.

---

Nemesis

She dozed quite comfortably in a sunning spot conveniently lighting her favorite chair when Harry Potter entered the common room. Emmy was warm-blooded, as Jezibell once informed her, so it wasn't vital for her to recline in the sun every day to keep it flowing, but thousands of years' worth of slithering ancestors doing the same did not disincline the habit. She ignored the kid in favor of listening to the faint buzzing of bees outside the open window, until she heard heavy human footsteps unusually close to her ear. His mouth worked for a moment, swallowing and moistening repeatedly in a state of undeniable nervousness. Intrigued, Emmy woke herself up a bit.

Harry Potter muttered something in English and then tried again, louder. On the third time he got it.

"Emmy, er, can I talk to you?"

"Evidently," Emmy hissed easily amused, "I was wondering when you'd figure it out."

"Yeah, well it wasn't my figuring, exactly," a scratching sound came that was likely him rubbing the back his neck. Humans sometimes did that when they felt awkward. For Emmy, a good shake of the tail worked fine, "Anyway, I want to talk to you about the G-, the dog you saw. The big black one."

"You know, the last time I saw that thing was months ago. Took her this long to get the word out?" Emmy imitated human laughter by purring through her hiss, "Typical."

"Tell me about it," His heart rate increased in the angry way, but upon tasting the air Emmy didn't find hostility very strong. He was fondly aggravated. Cute. "Please do, actually. The dog. Where did you see it? When? How many times? Who else was near it?"

"Near the Gamekeepers place, usually by the greenhouses. Late evening, way past your bedtime. Twice in the flesh, but a bunch of others I must have just missed it judging by the reek. Nobody's around at the time, save the Gamekeeper and the plant lady, who're just minding their business. Did I pass?"

"This is great!" He was starting to sweat slightly now, excited, "If you can see it that proves I'm not crazy!"

"May I remind you that you are talking to a cat?"

"Please," he snorted derisively, "Talking cats are least weird thing I've come across since my eleventh birthday. If I stopped to think about everything, it'd probably disappear in a puff of logic."

Kid had a point. The Hogwarts Quidditch stadium seated 1200 though there couldn't be more than 300 students, the first day of school was always a Monday and always September first and Harry Potter was speaking to her now despite never learning parseltongue. Life doesn't have to make sense, it just has to work. "So if you heard of my little encounter, you must know the rest of the conspiracy."

"Yeah," He repeated, more subdued, "Do you think Jez is right?"

"I don't think about it too much. What you said, poof of logic? Maybe she is, maybe she isn't. I can't honestly tell or care one way or the other, but I wasn't lying when I said there is something off with your precious professor. Anyway, how do you know she's not feeding you a load of toad spawn for a laugh?"

"I don't," he said quietly. Emmy opened an eye and was a little surprised to find the kid on his knees in front of her, like she was the Buddha cat or something. Not a bad arrangement. "No, she's not outright lying. Even Malfoys have standards. But I don't think she's telling everything, which is why I'm here."

"More pop-quizzes?"

"If you don't mind. It wouldn't feel like betrayal if you told me something she hadn't, would it?"

"Not particularly. I'm a cat, not a dog. Not big on loyalty. Or lying. No point, since it's not my problem."

"Er, good. I guess," Harry Potter then basically said back to Emmy what Jezibell had been telling her for months about the new professor and Sirius Black. He'd been told a lot, more than Emmy expected from her mistress, but still missed a few points.

"She hasn't told you the deal with the map, for one."

"The Marauder's?"

"Sure, the one the Weasley twins gave you. She planned a gambit to find out why they did."

"Right, she said about that before winter break when I first used it. She thinks they have some ulterior motive to stick me with a dark object, even though that map has done nothing but help me. Has she always been like that, expecting the worst of everyone?"

"Jezibell has a very different perception of the twins then you. As far as she knows, they live to put dungbombs in people's porridge bowls and biting dandelions in Valentine 's Day cards."

Harry looked at his knees, ashamed for his own contribution to the hell that was last year. Emmy didn't really aim her comment at him, though. He'd paid his debts by saving Jezibell's life and becoming her friend. Emmy decided to give him a little more than he asked for, "She also thinks that it's valuable to Lupin and Black. More than just being treasure map to where you are. There was a list of authors for it, right? Loony, Pawprint and Tongs?"

"Misers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs," he recited.

"She thinks they're nicknames or pseudonyms. She thinks they mean Lupin, Sirius, Snape and your dad."

His heartbeat skipped, "Why?"

"Best I can tell? It's a hunch. She saw the four names, and saw the four men the same age that seemed to be connected. Your dad and Black were best buds, Snape hates Lupin on deep rooted level for knowing Black on a deep rooted level."

"That's not what I asked. Why didn't she tell me? There's always something I'm not being told. You'd think that a mad theory about my dad would be important for me to know, but apparently it doesn't make Jez's list. This is just like when she didn't tell me about Black and my parents."

"I'm pretty sure that was a misunderstanding –"

"No, it wasn't!" Now he was angry, "She didn't tell me because she doesn't care and what Black did to me and my parents makes no matter to her, so why bother? It's not about her, why would it be important to anybody else? I heard what she said while I was in the dormitory. She thinks worrying for other people is a job."

"I knew you were listening. And she was sorry."

"So why doesn't she say so? Jez just doesn't get it. He was my dad's best man at their wedding, had to be just months before... Thinking you know somebody and then they go and make you miserable because someone else had a better deal is the worst, lowest thing a person can do, and she thinks it's natural and makes no difference. There was no misunderstanding. She is not sorry and never will be."

Emmy looked down at him archly until he finished, happy not for the first time that she was below human dramas, "When I said misunderstanding, I didn't mean the moral issues. Jezibell understands plenty, more than you think. More than she thinks. She'll figure it out sooner or later, and you'll get your sorrys. Trust me."

---

Defense Against the Dark Arts Study, Afternoon

Knock, knock.

"Who is it?"

It's the plumber; I've come to fix the sink.

"Jezibell Malfoy, Gryffindor third year," she added, as if he didn't know.

Pause.

"The door is open, come right in."

Jezibell entered Lupin's office cautiously. Harry came here for anti-Dementor lessons regularly for weeks and the door was unlocked, so she didn't expect anything overtly suspicious. However with recent speculations in mind, the ordinary little study was jarring. Jezibell had only seen this room once before, half-lit at the time with much larger concerns than surroundings, but the change was hard to miss. Where its narcissistic previous occupant placed self-portraits on every flat surface, Lupin had set up posters and diagrams of dark creatures. Portable book shelves lined the walls and a collapsible chest of drawers claimed a corner. It was clear Lupin lead a mobile, and by the shape everything was in, unstable life.

"No worries, you're not interrupting anything crucial. Just finishing up grades for some of my fourth year," the Professor swiveled around on a ragged chair behind his desk. He shluffed a stack of parchment to the side, reordered some other papers before him and rubbed his temples in a way that channeled Hermione and the ridiculous stress she put upon herself, "You want to talk to me about something?"

"Couple somethings,"Jezibell had the interrogation mapped out. The absences, his relations with Snape, a talk with Hermione and about the confiscated map, "Harry says you give great advice."

"I do my best," he smiled amiably sipping his tea, "Would you take a seat? I can pour you a cup, if you'd like," he added when she did.

"Black," Jezibell kept a twisted smile to herself. A spasm of emotion crossed his face, nostalgia into pain. If that wasn't confirmation, she didn't know what was. He turned quickly, busying himself with a condensed stove apparatus. Tea poured, seat retaken, the Professor leaned back on his chair to focus out the window. Jezibell sipped in silence for few moments. The tea was dirt but hot enough so it didn't matter.

"I believe know why you're here," He started, "But the Marauder's Map is not up for negotiation."

"Sir?" Maybe her mind game had been too obvious.

"You must understand the risk it was, a map that can show where Harry is in the school at any given time and all the pathways that may lead to him," Lupin looked genuinely disappointed, "I would have thought this obvious to anyone who knew Harry's situation as well as yourself."

Ah, this wasn't about his shady activity. Lupin was guilt tripping her. The irony was palpable. Jezibell threw him a bone, letting him give a good talk about responsibility and Harry's value. Gradually she worked the dialogue to other subjects, namely Snape, and Lupin admitted they knew each other from before this year, but not well. That was his first lie. When she brought up the absences, Lupin gave his excuse of being under the weather about half a month ago. Jezibell hadn't been keeping track of the exact dates, and now wondered if she should have. Lupin looked in peak condition right now, and so would likely be 'out sick' again in another half month. Meaning the absences were monthly. Interesting. Eventually, the conversation turned to herself as that's what Jezibell was supposedly here in the first place for.

"Are you getting along with the exam practice alright? I understand this is your second year taking them."

"First," She corrected, "They were cancelled last year due to - ah, complications."

"Yes, and if my sources are accurate, you and Harry were at the heart of them," He joked easily, friendly even, but kept glancing at her directly, than quickly looking back at the window. It was distracting as Jezibell stared steadily and gave the impression he couldn't look her in the eye. Well, he wasn't unique in that. "So do you think you're ready for mine? I can't tell you much, but it will cover everything you've done this year."

"I'm ready."

"Even for the Boggart?" He asked lightly.

"Yes," she punctuated the response with the tea cup, "Especially the Boggart."

"You're prepared for whatever it may show you?" There was a trace of skepticism.

"Immovably. Professor, I'm not afraid of anything," Not anything a Boggart could show her, anyway. But the comment was also layered with You-can't-threaten-me-so-don't-try.

"I see," He said, though he couldn't possibly, "I take it the Dementors also have little effect on you."

Jezibell couldn't keep a scowl from crossing her face, "I don't fear Dementors; I hate them."

"Fear and hate often keep close company," He told the window quietly, "As do hate and love."

There was silence for a bit, Jezibell brooding over the Dementors. She hated them for making her weak. For making her feel things she repressed for two years now. Helplessness, terror, pain. For showing her what she worked so hard to forget. Love never fit into the equation.

"Don't overestimate your own strength." Lupin said abruptly. He was watching her steadily now and the weary lines made his face look much older than records claimed.

"Professor?" That was odd advice for teacher to be giving, possibly a thickly veiled warning?

"I mean this as a word of advice, and I'm afraid it may be a little biased" His words cam stilted, "You remind me very much of someone else, Jezibell. Someone else, who took their tea black, caused many a complication and was an immensely valued friend. Who thought they weren't afraid of anything. I thought the same."

He thought. Like the friend he thought he knew. Sirius Black, cousin to Narcissa, mother to Jezibell. Suddenly a lot about Lupin's behavior made sense. A lot about the theory did, too. When she first put the Marauders together with James Potter and his friends, she had put Snape in their number. But by what Harry said by what Dumbledore said, this was wrong. Snape was the Draco to the Marauders' Harry, Ron and Hermione. Or, that's how Lupin saw things. Lining them up as he had, Harry to his dad, Sirius to herself, Hermione to Lupin's bookish character, she found an empty spot. There four marauders, four friends not three. So who was unaccounted for?

Jezibell stood up, "Thank you for the tea and advice, Professor. Harry didn't lie, it was helpful. I need to check with Ron and my Nimbus. See if it's still flyable."

"Of course, you should enjoy some fresh air. I might come out myself, once these papers are done," Lupin smiled.

That fat little boy who was always tagging after them at Hogwarts. Rosemerta's words came back to her from five months ago. There wasn't really a way to present it, now that she was leaving, though. You really can't ask a straight question to save your life, can you? But what if it wasn't her life that needed saving. Jezibell stopped in the doorway, "Professor, how did you know Peter Pettigrew?"

Lupin raised his eyebrows, "He was a schoolmate in my year. A good friend and often understated, then. Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity. He was the wizard who died confronting Sirius, and in the Order of the Phoenix with you. An offhand thought. Good afternoon, Professor."

She exited the office, long and fast paced to Gryffindor tower. She'd found her missing link, but things still weren't adding up with Lupin. Her logic was unaffected, but the sincerity of the professor when he spoke to her about the friend he lost made her falter. No matter right now, she had another to attend which happened to be right around the corner.

The Weasley twins ambushed her with a dungbomb incased pie with what they probably thought instigated of the element of surprise. This impression was swiftly dissolved when Jezibell deflected the projectile neatly with her impervious charmed bag. Offers to exchange information on Patil's incident for Magical Mess Remover died on the brothers' lips.

"You can have your answers, if I get mine," Jezibell let her bag drop.

The twins exchanged a glance.

"I told you we should have come from behind," One chastised the other.

"You kidding me, mate? She was ready for us. We could have dropped from the ceiling dressed as monkeys and still would be caught," said the other, who Jezibell hazarded to be George. He looked back to her, "We accept your terms, but we get ours first."

Jezibell nodded, "Try running out of mine and Filch'll hear of that dungbomb mess and who did it within four minutes."

"Can't you take anyone for granted?" Fred teased, but they knew better than to test her bluff, "Alright, what did you put on Miss Patil's bed that was so scream invoking?"

"And don't pretend it was bed-bugs, we know Katy made that up," George cautioned.

"Would you believe growth charmed bed-bugs?"

"Oh, you're more creative than that."

"A self-portrait."

"Reasonable," Fred admitted, "but you can't draw."

"Flowering shrub."

"No sell."

"Emmy's beheaded casting of shed fur and dead skin."

"That even sounds repulsive," said George.

"If the shoe fits," mused Fred, "But you're just messing with us now. And since you've already had your question I think we'll –"

"Which one of us is holding the dungbomb pack?" Jezibell threatened.

"Keep your glare on, we're not going anywhere. Now, what does the inartistic creatively repulsive young lady want to know?"

"And no, we don't give autographs to Malfoys." George put in.

Jezibell ignored him, "Does the Marauder's Map have glitches?"

They exchanged a second glance, this time wary.

"Define glitch," Fred said shiftily.

"The reason you giftwrapped Harry your Holy Grail, besides the goodness of your collective hearts." Jezibell stressed the sarcasm in 'goodness' to a breaking point, "I will be checking what you tell me (Utter bluff, but she didn't think Harry would have told them he lost it); so do put some long neglected thought into your next words."

"There are a few names that come up," George admitted, "For people that aren't there. We're pretty sure it's just students passed –"

"Who?"

"They're the names, nicknames we think, of the makers. We've seen Mr. Wormtail all the time, and this year Moony and Padfoot started showing up. Mr. Moony we thi -" His brother shut him up with a rib.

"That's the only problem we know of, and we used it for years. If Harry finds any more, it's not on us," Fred covered up his brother's slip up with a smooth disclaimer. But Jezibell had heard all she needed.

"Naturally. I'll be sure to tell him about the Misers Wormtail, Moony and Padfoot," Jezibell let them get down the corridor a good few yards before adding, "Wasn't there a fourth?"

"Prongs," answered George reflexively, "Misers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs."

An odd one out, but it was still the same four. Like the four houses, the four temperaments, four elements, four states of matter and the four friends past and present. All Jezibell needed now was to figure out how these fours applied to the future. Maybe Arithmancy wasn't such a wasted subject after all.