Previously…
i "Cor," Ron Weasley breathed in wonder, staring at her. "You really are taking them to a vampire colony!"
"Not 'them', Mr. Weasley," the DADA teacher corrected him, "You will be coming as well. You are a sixth year, after all. Your older brother Bill will be coming as well to help keep the peace, so I'm quite certain your parents should have little problem with you going on a small field trip." The gangly boy paled beneath his freckles, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of meeting vampires. "Harry, the Headmaster has taken it upon himself on behalf of your guardians to provide permission to come on the trip. Miss Granger, as I understand it, will reach her majority before then, and will not need parental permission, so I fully expect to see all three of you to sign up for the trip." Harry nodded thoughtfully. /i
And Now…
The entire school was in an uproar over the news. Once the plans for the trip were announced during Brethany's classes, word spread throughout all seven years and four houses. Brethany herself was swamped with students, all questioning her about the trip and her sanity, sometimes only the latter. After the first few days of utter chaos in both her classroom and office, she simply refused to talk about the trip to those who asked about it, stipulating that they read the flier that she had posted on the bulletin board. Though there were still three months left before the trip, there were already over a dozen names posted on the list to go, and almost as many Howlers from parents.
Yes, the parents had not initially been very fond of the idea. Most of the scathing letters were from horrified mothers who were reacting to excited letters from their children, letters which had contained almost no valid information for the parents to go on. At last, Brethany had gone to the Headmaster, asking for the names of all the parents of the sixth and seventh years, so that she could send information packets to the families of all those eligible to go on the trip. It took some time, and some correspondence between herself and a few of the more horrified parents, but the hubbub eventually died down to a dull roar, and her Defense classes went back to normal.
Normal, currently, was dueling, using primarily the 'household' charms they had learned in first year. It was chaotic, and loud, and a lot of fun for the sixth year Slytherin-Gryffindor class. Brethany had paired the students up according to their desk-mates, a system which was fairly normal for them by that time, and there were almost two dozen teenagers duking it out in the center of the room.
"Mr. Zabini! Keep your eyes on your opponent, not on anyone else! Miss Parkinson, don't be afraid to use embarrassing charms on Miss Granger! Mr. Weasley, use something other than the levitation charm, for Merlin's sake! I know you know other charms, so be more creative! Mr. Malfoy, I won't take off points if you honestly try to disarm Mr. Weasley. Use i Inflamare /i ! Mr. Weasley, put it out with a water charm! Very good, you two! Keep going! Mr. Thomas…" and so it went. Each pair of students was given individual advice and encouragement, and occasionally, they were called upon to demonstrate some particular set of charms for the rest of the class. At the end of the class, Ron Weasley was asked to explain one way to defeat a troll using only a simple i Leviosa /i charm, a story which caused several impressed looks, although well hidden from the Slytherins.
Immediately after that class, Brethany ran into her office for a bolstering cup of tea before her first years' class, which that day involved the wonderful art of the disarming spell and the most basic shields involved in defense. Much as she loved teaching, sometimes she just wanted to frighten the little brats until they cried for their mums. No, not brats, not really…well, they were just as much brats at that age as she herself had been, anyway. They weren't really all i that /i bad. When in small amounts. For very short time periods. And after they'd had the i Silencio /i hex put on them. Preferably, they would only appear when their hormones had not taken over their measly little brains, and even then only after she herself had consumed a half dozen cups of coffee. i Why /i had she taken this teaching position, when she could be an Auror, chasing felons around the U.S. with a tracking charm, in the pouring rain, using relatively useless invisibility charms while trying to avoid the more disreputable parts of the country? Ah, yes, right. The bad pay, the bad hours, the bad company, the bad coffee, and the horrible management. Merlin, she really hated bureaucracy at work.
Briefly, Brethany wondered what was causing her bad mood, but was forced to drag herself back into the classroom before she could examine her thoughts more closely. Two class periods later, she finally permitted herself to collapse at her desk, irritated with herself, her students, her fellow staff members, and the world at large. For a long moment, the young woman simply slumped there, then groaned as she forced herself to sit up.
"Merlin hang it all, I hate this," Brethany muttered to herself as she stumbled into the office. Distractedly, she looked at herself in the mirror on the wall, then halted in shock. "Merlin, I look like crap." It was true; her eyes were bloodshot, she had bags under her eyes, and her face was pinched and pale. In truth, she looked like a hippogriff had chewed her up and spit her out without any regard to where she landed. Dully, the young teacher shook her head; she was sick, and she knew it. There was no getting around it. "I suppose I need to go see Poppy," she told her reflection, and examined her face once again. "You really do look like crap," she repeated with shallow humor. "And Merlin, do I feel like it, too."
"You look like something the dog dragged in!" came the mirror's helpful response. Brethany growled, but had to agree.
The trip up to the infirmary was dreadful. Brethany's mouth tasted of cardboard, and her head persisted in spinning at inopportune times, causing her balance to seriously deteriorate on the stairs and through the halls. It was not until Minerva McGonagall suddenly appeared at her side with an expression of concern that Brethany realized that she had been standing motionless, staring stupidly at the infirmary door for quite some time.
"Brethany? Are you well, dear?" If Brethany had contained the energy needed to jump in surprise, she would have, but as it was, all she could do was loll her head back to look at the older woman with glazed eyes. "Oh, dear, you look dreadful."
"Thank you for that stunning bit of…" Brethany ran out of air half way through the sentence, inhaled in embarrassed hurry, then finished, "observational skill. Hello, Minerva, how are i you /i ?"
"Better than you, I dare say," the Transfiguration teacher spoke dryly, pulling the younger woman upright. "You were going to see Poppy, of course?" Barely waiting for a response, she hustled Brethany into the infirmary and onto an empty bed. "Poppy! i Poppy /i !"
"Goodness gracious, Minerva, what's happ-" the matronly nurse stopped short when she saw Brethany on the bed. "What's happened here, then? Not an accident in class, I hope?"
Brethany chuckled wearily. "No, just a good old-fashioned sick day, Poppy. I don't know what I've got, or where I got it from, but it's meaner than Professor Snape before he's had his coffee."
"And precisely how would you know what such a state would be like?" Brethany groaned at the cool question, shutting her eyes against the glare she knew would be directed at her.
"Professor Snape, I wasn't aware you were there," she muttered dully, feeling horribly like a naughty child.
"Obviously not," came the chilly reply. There was a short pause. "What have you done with yourself, Miss Lewis? You look like something Filch's infernal cat dragged in." Brethany groaned again, turning to bury her face in the bed.
"Don't know," the muffled answer came. "Tired all day; couldn't eat the noon meal; stupid first years couldn't get the shield spell right, and gave me a headache; looked in the mirror and it laughed at me. Stupid mirror. Stupid students. Stupid school. Stupid, stupid sickness."
The other staff members exchanged glances. "I'll go warn Albus that he'll likely need to find a replacement for tomorrow's DADA classes," McGonagall said quietly. "Brethany, don't worry about a thing. I'm sure that Poppy will have you fixed up in no time." The Transfiguration teacher gave the other woman a long glance. "Tie her to that bed if you have to, Poppy. I know what Dragonpox looks like, and she shouldn't be up for at least a couple days."
Brethany groaned from the bed, her face now flushed and damp. "Oh, I am going to scream," she muttered. "Poppy, I refuse to stay in this bed for two days; you can't make me! It's just a headache and some dizziness. I probably haven't eaten enough today, and it caught up with me. Of course that's it. Not enough food. What else would it be? Can't be Dragonpox, I'm not old enough. Why's it called Dragonpox, Poppy? Did I catch it from a real dragon, or does the virus itself look like a dragon? I know! It makes the people who catch it be as grouchy as a dragon! Or-"
" i Silencio /i !" Severus Snape smirked slightly as he put his wand away. "It is most assuredly Dragonpox, Miss Lewis. No other illness that I am aware of causes a relatively intelligent person to turn into a witless babbler." The young DADA teacher blinked in silent consternation. Through the haze that had taken over her brain, Brethany grinned in sudden pleasure. Snape had said she was intelligent...sort of.
"Severus, don't torment the poor girl," Poppy scolded the man. "You know that anyone would have a difficult time thinking while sick with the Dragonpox. If I remember right," she leveled an amused glare at the Potions Master, "You were quite the talker yourself when you caught it several years ago. Went on for hours about the pretty colors of the ceiling and how you were going to make a potion the exact same color." She grinned as the man scowled in denial. "Oh, yes, you did, Severus. You can ask Albus; he was the one who brought you in to see me, with you singing the major ingredients for common potions to the tune of 'Danny Boy'." Minerva snorted with laughter as the male teacher huffed and whirled out of the infirmary. "Oh, dear, I think I may have insulted his pride," Poppy said airily, then sniffed. "It won't hurt him to have it deflated slightly."
"Yes, Poppy," McGonagall chuckled, then sobered. "See what you can do with her. Albus and Severus can take over Defense for tomorrow and possibly a few days next week, but it would be easier all around if you can get her back on her feet and functional as soon as possible. Dragonpox is not catching to children, thank Merlin, so we are likely not in danger of an epidemic. She will be receiving quite a few visitors, I'm certain." Both women looked down at the teacher on the bed. "She has done well," Minerva spoke quietly, "Better than any of us, except perhaps for Albus, ever expected. She will be irreplaceable when she leaves."
"She is the only Defense teacher that Severus ever expressed approval of," the school nurse nodded, awe plain on her face. "Don't worry, Minerva. She'll be on her feet in no time."
"Good. I hate to think what her class will do without her there to mediate. We will have our hands full."
Word Count: 1851