NOTE

Warnings: sexual content, and mentions of grief and depression.

61. Professor Weasley

A thin rain pattered against the high windows of the great hall on the evening of the first of September. The ceiling above mirrored the ash-grey clouds in the sky, and the flames of the hundreds of floating candles trembled in fear of the raindrops which magically disappeared just above their yellow tips. The hall was full of voices; the students, second-years and above, had lately come through the doors of the castle, walked into the great hall, and taken their seats at their house tables. From my chair at the elevated staff table, I surveyed their faces earnestly.

Some looked elated to have returned fully into the world of magic, but some others were wary. A few looked numb. Most of the students in the hall had been at Hogwarts during the final battle. The castle was surely tainted by memories of the panic which had ensued once the forcefield had gone up, and we were all trapped together. Awaiting the evil which loomed outside, preparing to attack.

Reunions seemed to have already taken place on the train, and the laughter and conversation among groups of friends were filling the hall with a tentative warmth, a tentative hope. But I noticed one boy who sat quite silent and alone at the Gryffindor table. Light red hair, dark brown eyes and a slight frame.

Dennis Creevey.

I recalled seeing his older brother Colin among the dead in this very hall, one year and four months ago. The prefect's badge which now glinted against Dennis's black robes would never make up for such a tremendous loss.

"Tell me again, what does this hat do?"

I was pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of Matthias Favre's voice. He was the new transfiguration assistant from Switzerland, and had been looking forward to witnessing the sorting ceremony all day. He was seated on my left, and Neville on my right.

I had not yet spoken to Favre but for a short introduction earlier, but had heard him speak enough to know that "tell me again" was his way of starting off any question. A polite habit which lingered from his English language lessons.

Tearing my eyes away from the sadness of Dennis Creevey, I looked at Favre. I guessed he was about twenty-five. He had very light brown hair, and green eyes.

"Well, in short, it reads your mind," I said with a smile. "You'll have to wait and see. No explanation could do it justice."

He shook his head with a chuckle. "At Beauxbatons we shoot a silver arrow, and the sparks are the colour of your house. A hat that reads your mind…"

His wonder made me laugh as well. Despite the grief which hung in the air, the mounting excitement of the students as they waited for the first years to enter made me feel nostalgic for my own sorting.

I caught Severus's eye from down the table and smiled. I was wearing my new robes for the first time this evening, and he hadn't stopped gazing at me for more than a minute at a time.

The days following the threat he'd made in the potions storeroom had been tense. But by the morning of the sorting, I had managed to overcome the initial panic which had clutched my heart at his words. Surely Pansy had been speaking from her own resentment, rather than a knowledge of some plan that Lucius had to seek revenge after serving his year in Azkaban. Though I knew that Severus's vow had not been made lightly, I had no room in my mind, heart, or body to worry about such a nightmare coming true. So I let it go.

Severus's gaze slid to the young wizard beside me, his face unchanging, and then returned to me. His eyebrow was raised very slightly. I didn't know what he meant by it, but only had time to frown before the doors of the great hall opened, and the first years entered two by two, led by Flitwick, who held the scroll of names and the sorting hat in his hands.

Minerva, who had always done the honours before, was now seated in the tall, peaked golden chair in the centre of the staff table, surveying the scene.

The old wooden sorting stool sat before the staff table, and Flitwick carried the sorting hat up to it, setting it down respectfully. The chatter and applause which had filled the hall at the entrance of the first years died down as the hat sat still, waiting for silence.

The rip at the brim opened slowly, the many old wrinkles creasing, and then the deep, wise voice issued forth into the hall.

Hogwarts is a school of fame

Indeed, it has a worthy claim:

Its students have been known to fight

When times have turned away from light.

All of you sat here tonight

Have known the pangs of peril and strife.

If together we face the year ahead

It will be free of troubles and dread.

So with your schoolmates make close friends

Regardless of your houses,

And celebrate the better times

Our victory announces.

The applause of the students was strong, and Neville had to speak up over the sound. "He didn't say anything about the founders!" he observed.

I shrugged. It was my instinct to think it was for the best. But I couldn't help noticing that some of the students at the Slytherin table weren't clapping. The hat's proclamation of our victory had surely put them off it. Not everyone saw the triumph over Voldemort as a good thing. Even if they were relieved to be rid of the Dark Lord himself, the damage which had been caused to many pureblood families after the war was extensive. Many of the Slytherin children had parents in Azkaban. Many of their families had been stripped of the luxuries and privileges they'd grown up expecting.

But the applause from the other three tables was overwhelming, and it was some time before they noticed Flitwick conjuring a plush Ravenclaw-blue footstool, stepping onto it, and making it grow to the same height as the sorting stool.

He unrolled the scroll of names, lifted the hat, and called out, "Adesina, Ameze."

Ameze was a small girl, wearing a vibrant orange head tie. The hat was lowered onto her head, and after a moment shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

I heard Favre exclaim "Ah!" under his breath as he vigorously joined in the applause.

"Baddock, Brodie" followed, and was sorted into Slytherin, where his older brother Malcolm greeted him with a sharply approving nod.

The ceremony went on, and I did my best to begin connecting names to faces as the first years walked up to the sorting stool one by one.

"Elson, Phoebe" was sorted into Ravenclaw, and I gave her a covert smile as she sat down at her house table.

"Zeller, Daisy" was the final name, and Flitwick vanished both stools and the Sorting Hat as she took her seat beside her sister Rose at the Hufflepuff table.

Flitwick joined the other teachers at the staff table, and Minerva stood from her chair to deliver her speech. She began by introducing the new professors, starting with Professor Reed from America, then Professor Favre, followed by Neville and me. The polite applause abated, and the sound of the rain could be heard as Minerva's tone grew more serious.

"We have all been through a terrible ordeal. I trust that, as we move forward, we will all support each other, regardless of houses and family backgrounds. Empathy is a skill we can all improve, and it is far more vital than those which will enable you to pass your exams."

The faces of the students looked at her with eyes that were much too old.

"Now," Minerva said, expertly concealing the tremor in her voice, "I am sure we are all ready to eat… Tuck in!"

The feast magically appeared upon the tables, and the mood changed as golden plates were filled and talk started up again amongst the students. As Neville, Favre and I eased our way into conversation, I felt that this was going to be a good year.

After the meal, Minerva stood to send the students off to their dormitories. I found myself watching Dennis Creevey again as he helped to gather the Gryffindor first years and lead them out of the hall to their common room. Neville had enticed Favre into going outside to see the greenhouses, despite the hour and the rain, so I was alone when Severus swept over to me.

"That boy couldn't keep his eyes off you," he said in a low voice. It took me a moment to realise he meant Favre. I had indeed noticed one or two appreciative glances, but sensed they were nothing to be concerned about.

"Neither could you," I replied with playful coolness. But there was a possessive hunger in his eyes that made my insides coil and grow hot.

He followed me closely from the great hall, and my skin burned with awareness of his nearness as we turned as one into the tapestry corridor. In a hidden corner his hand reached out and grabbed my waist, quick and violent as a shadow, and I let myself be pulled into a deep, hard kiss. Shivers of desire raced down my spine as he pulled me flush against his body and his fingers slipped into my hair, loosening the braids. When his hand slid lower a tiny gasp slipped through my lips. I pulled away and we looked at each other, eyes glinting in the semidarkness.

"Like them that much, do you?" I breathed.

His gaze moved downward, from my eyes to my lips to my neck. He touched his fingertips to my skin and slid them beneath the collar of the robes.

"Very much," he murmured.

My eyelids fluttered at the sensation of his soft touch, but I reached up and took his hand, trapping his fingers before they could wander towards my breast.

"No," I whispered. "We both need sleep tonight."

His face drew nearer and his lips brushed against my forehead, begging me to reconsider. My grip on his hand loosened slightly. "If we continue, we'll be up for hours…"

He obviously heard the weakness of my conviction, because he gave a soft groan which vibrated through my skull, his hair whispering against my temple. His free hand ran over my belly and up to cup my breast. The mere touch of his palm made my nipple harden, and when it did his finger circled it slowly. I felt my mind numbing and my mouth fell open, dry and needy.

"Alright!" I said, surrendering with a trembling gasp.

Severus didn't need to hear it twice. His hand earnestly clutching my own, he led me further down the corridor to the storeroom door, which he opened with a wave of his hand. He pulled me inside and shut the door, and I wasted no time in throwing myself against him, his back against the solid wood, my hands roaming over his chest. We kissed ravenously, and I revelled in the taste of him, the quickness of his breath against my skin. His hands slipped beneath my wide sleeves, seeking out more of my skin. His tongue found mine and I stifled the moan that splintered inside of my throat. What if someone were to walk by the door?

Severus understood the meaning of the sound, and broke away long enough to cast "muffliato" on the door. Then his lips took mine again with warm ferocity, and the loud moan I released was echoed, rippling, in his own chest. I pulled him backward, leaning against the strong black ladder and settling my heel onto one of the lower rungs. Severus's hands slid up my thighs as the fabric of my robes fell aside. Impatient fingers found my pleasure and pressed into it. I cried out and buried my fingers in his hair to bring his face closer, kissing him eagerly as my other hand went to his trousers. I undid the buttons and he came free. My legs trembled at the sight of him, my desire quickly pooling between my legs. His lips parted, about to ask, but I interrupted. "Yes! Now!"

He slid upward into me with divine ease, and we both groaned loudly at the unmatched sensation of filling and being filled. My heartbeat stuttered, overwhelmed by the heat of our bodies, the smooth wet firmness of our connection. One of my hands went above my head to grasp the ladder for dear life. The heel which wasn't braced against the second rung had lifted off the ground, and my leg was quaking from the effort of remaining on my toes. Severus wrapped his hand around the back of my knee and brought it up to hook around his waist. I arched my back, trembling from the effort, and he penetrated deeper.

Satisfaction rolled over me as he lost himself to a steady, unyielding rhythm, groaning with every thrust. My free hand stroked the silk cape of his robes, finding the spot just below his neck which I'd recently discovered. He gave a guttural groan and his thrusts quickened. "You're so good," he praised, his voice full of heat and breath.

We weren't together for more than a minute before I felt my body straining towards its crest. My head fell back in rapture, knocking against the wood of the ladder. "Fuck! Severus! Please!"

He murmured indistinctly and slid himself against my folds as his hips rolled against my own. One thrust, another, and my voice and body shuddered as I came suddenly and completely undone.

He followed after from the feeling of me tightening around him, and we stayed there, frozen and burning, shaking and panting.

With his help I slowly got down from the ladder, magically cleaned myself, and righted my robes. He was dishevelled from our sudden desire, his hair wild and his face hot as he tucked himself back into his trousers and lifted his eyes to me. I could only imagine how I must have looked. My blood was humming with the adrenaline of what we had done, my heart pounding, my body throbbing and flaming.

No words could follow what our bodies had voiced to each other. And if we touched even one more time, there would be no sleep. We would do it again, and again…

Blushing deeply, I held Severus's sweltering gaze for a moment before I pushed open the door. I went down the corridor, smiling like a fool at my inability to walk straight. This was going to be a very good year indeed.

The first classes of the year commenced ten minutes after breakfast the next day. I waited in the Potions classroom, the windows all open to the cool September light. I could see the students with Care of Magical Creatures first walking down towards Hagrid's cabin, where Luna stood waving, her hair flowing in the breeze. Soon I heard voices gathering outside the door, the nervous whispers of first year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. It had been Severus's habit to keep the door closed until the last second, but I decided to open it earlier and let the students trickle in at their leisure.

The faces of those already gathered in the dungeon corridor looked up at me nervously when I opened the door. "Good morning," I said warmly. "Come in."

They sat down at the desks, some of them already in established pairs; the beginnings of lasting friendships. I asked for their names one by one and marked each of them for attendance. As the last minute ticked by, they seemed to grow more comfortable in the room, turning around in their chairs to look at the tall tables where the potions were brewed, and whispering about the strange things which stood on the shelves in jars. The hands of the clock came around directly to ten minutes after nine, and I furrowed my eyebrows–missing one student.

"Does anyone know the whereabouts of Mr. Yarrow?" I asked.

A nervous looking boy with a mousy face raised his thin hand. Ewan Cowan. "Yes, Mr. Cowan?" I asked.

"B-Byron got s-stuck on the stairs," he said. I hadn't even considered that the first years might not yet know about the trick step leading down to the dungeons, and wished I'd put a warning sign there.

"And you left him?"

"He told me not to be late, Professor."

"I understand," I said gently, seeing that he was a bit afraid of me. "But no student who is kept a minute late to my class by helping one of their peers will be punished for it. Run along and help him out, and hurry back. Just give him a good tug."

The boy nodded vigorously and hurried out of the classroom. There were soft giggles among some of the other students, while a few were looking straight forward, seeming tense and nervous. This was completely different than how it had felt to introduce the students' parents to the classroom. With other adults, it had felt easy to answer their questions and explain certain processes. But these eleven-year-olds were completely new to potions, and to the school. They were relying on me to ease them into their first day.

"I'm sure you're all a bit nervous," I said. "But I can assure you that by the end of the week you'll be feeling right at home. The castle is very friendly once you warm up to it. And don't worry, we'll be taking it very easy to begin with in this class."

One young boy's hand shot up. "Yes?" I prompted.

"What's the first potion we'll make?" he asked eagerly.

I felt a spark of excitement in my mind. "Have you brewed potions before?"

"Yes, professor. My father lets me use his cauldron at home."

Some of the other students had turned in their desks to look at him.

"Then you'll be able to help your fellow classmates when the time comes. I'm sorry to say that we won't be brewing anything until Thursday–"

The door opened and Mr. Cowan stumbled into the room, followed by Mr. Yarrow, who was pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "All in one piece, Mr. Yarrow?"

"I'm so sorry professor!" he squeaked.

"Not to worry. Just remember, everyone, the fifth step from the first landing is the tricky one! Now…"

I started off with a description of the class, assuring them that the safety rules were not in place because of a lack of trust in their abilities, but because every advanced potions expert worked by them, and it was best to start safe practices now.

They were all slightly fidgety, or otherwise extremely still. Only one or two students looked comfortable, and I couldn't help but wonder if I was doing something wrong.

I asked them to copy the main rules from the blackboard, and after a minute of scratching quills, a hand rose carefully into the air. I recognised the young witch as Miss Adesina, the first student to be sorted into Gryffindor.

"Miss Adesina? Do you have a question?"

She lowered her hand slowly and asked in a quiet, accented voice, "Did you fight in the war?"

The sounds of writing stopped and silence fell over the class as the students looked up at me, waiting to hear the answer. Though my heart seized up to see how anxious they were, I was relieved that their nerves were not my own fault. Of course they were all wary of fully entering the magical world as fledgeling witches and wizards, when said world had been almost torn apart just over a year ago.

I clasped my hands in front of me, sensing the weight my answer would hold.

"Yes, I did."

There was a heavy silence, and then a girl I recognised as Daisy Zeller, Rose Zeller's little sister, raised her hand. "What was it like?"

I hadn't expected this question, and felt a lump rising in my throat, but held it down.

"It was very difficult, and many people died."

"Did you know anyone who died?"

"Yes. I knew many. And one who was very close to me."

She looked a bit guilty to have asked, and another silence fell before Mr. Yarrow spoke up. "Is the school safe?"

"Absolutely," I promised. "The best of the teachers have been here since last year, making sure of it."

A young girl spoke up, her voice high, caught between fear and curiosity. "My mother says they let in werewolves! Is it true?"

Every eye in the classroom widened slightly. I focused on the facts, rather than the painful emotions which threatened to well up in my chest. "Hogwarts has only ever had one werewolf student, as far as I know," I said carefully. "He later returned to be a professor. He posed no danger and was one of the best wizards I have ever met."

"But how could he pose no danger?"

"Because of a potion, in fact."

Looks of alarm changed to interest.

"It's called Wolfsbane, and it allows a werewolf to keep their human mind when they transform. That way they don't hurt anybody. It's very difficult to brew, and only the most advanced can manage it successfully."

Interest changed, in turn, to awe, and looking at the faces of the class I decided a change of plans was in order. Another hour of note taking would simply not do. "Come on," I said, my tone brighter. "Up on your feet, everyone. I'd like to show you how to make a simple boil cure."

I explained each step as I set up the cauldron over the flame, and had students retrieve the simple ingredients from the cabinet which stood in the corner of the classroom. I also allowed three students to volunteer their help by preparing the ingredients, and stirring the cauldron after I had demonstrated how to do so. Those too shy or nervous to volunteer gathered around, taking turns reading off the directions so that the whole class could track the colour of the potion and the steam that rose from it.

The end of the lesson came right on time, and the students left the classroom looking far more at ease than they had done coming in. I let them go without homework, and a lingering call of "See you tomorrow, Professor Weasley!" made my chest swell with happiness.

My next class was made up of seventh years, and there were only ten of them. It had been two years now since they'd had a fully normal year, but their postures were hunched and tense when they entered the classroom, on instinct expecting the class to be miserable. They looked surprised to see me standing there rather than Severus or Slughorn–clearly, they hadn't had Defence Against the Dark Arts yet. I knew I was only three years older than they were, so felt a bit odd being in a position of authority. But they seemed to respect me, and trust that I was good enough to be teaching them.

I opened the class with an important reminder. "Because of the dangerous nature of the potions we will be studying, it is vital that no recipes used in this class make their way into the hands of younger students."

I'd decided to have them brew Polyjuice Potion over the course of the first month of term. It was advanced, but not so much so that those who hadn't stood over a cauldron for a year would be incapable of making it correctly.

"Will we actually get to use it, Professor Weasley?" one of the boys asked me, testing to see whether I would prove to be like Severus after all, deducting points for nothing and assigning obscene quantities of homework.

I hadn't considered this before, and found myself thinking of what Remus's response would have been. "I don't see why not, Adams. Alright, those of you who wish to do so may take the potion with the hairs of a consenting classmate at the end of the month."

Adams looked thoroughly surprised.

As the seventh years exited the classroom I heard one girl say, "I've always been good at potions, but I had no idea this class could be fun."

I stayed behind to ensure that the cauldron of Polyjuice Potion was secure before going up to lunch. I passed by the tapestry corridor on my way to the great hall, and came across two Gryffindor boys walking out of the storeroom. They froze when they saw me, and I noticed that they seemed to be concealing ingredients in the pockets of their robes.

"What have you got there?" I asked, amused rather than upset by the pilfering.

One of the boys stuttered. "I remember you from Gryffindor! You won't tell Snape, will you?"

Clearly they had also yet to realise that Severus no longer taught potions. "Unfortunately, that storeroom now belongs to me," I said.

They looked at each other, mortified. Then they slowly took the ingredients from their pockets: a small jar of boomslang skin, two vials of fox fur, and what looked like horklump juice. "What were you planning to use these for?"

"Well," one of them said, shrugging. "Nothing, really. We just wanted to get under Snape's skin."

"If you ever have need of an ingredient, you need only ask and I will be happy to provide it. But seeing as you don't really need these, please put them back where you found them."

They nodded, with quiet mutters of, "Yes, professor," and carefully replaced the ingredients on the shelves, after which I told them to run along to lunch.

I realised only after they'd disappeared down the corridor that I probably should have taken some house points. But in the moment they'd reminded me too much of Fred and George for me to think of it. I saw the same two third years in my first afternoon class, but I treated them no differently than the others. They deserved a fresh start.

The week progressed, and I found myself having some of the greatest fun of my life. The combination of being in the midst of young people learning, whilst also being the keeper of the keys of knowledge, was one I realised I loved. The seventh years soon warmed up to me, and worked with a deep and quiet focus which was palpable in the room. The first years were rambunctious, but I knew it came from a place of excitement, and they always quieted down when it was time to listen.

I had Phoebe in a double potions class with Ravenclaw and Slytherin students. She had a natural aptitude for potions, and seemed to have already devoured the textbook.

On the first Wednesday I caught three second years pulling Puking Pastilles out of their pockets beside the door of the transfiguration classroom. "Bit early in the term for that, isn't it?" I whispered as I passed, but didn't stop them. That evening I penned a letter to George, letting him know that the scheme, as he and Fred had initially called it, was still alive and well in the school.

The corridors were jubilant and loud, full of friendly chatter. Those who had joined Flitwick's chorus practised their harmonies as they walked between classes holding their books to their chests. The general high spirits also meant more pranks and more magic in the corridors, but I took it as a good sign. The school had been so dark and dreary after Umbridge, and to know that the students felt safe enough to make a bit of mischief was a relief.

The wolves were not allowed in the castle anymore, so I went down to Hagrid's cabin to see them every morning before breakfast. The weather was consistently foggy and cold at that early hour, and the leaves were just starting to change; a haze of yellow and scarlet in the treetops.

By the end of the first week, I had students greeting me in the corridors and waving at me when they entered the great hall for meals. Severus seemed confused by my way of relating to the students, but I did note that I hadn't heard a single student complain about him all week, which meant he must have stopped terrorising his classes.

Teaching was not easy work, but after such a long time without any real sense of purpose, I felt wonderful.

On the first weekend, Severus and I went to visit Andromeda in London, and also attended a meeting of the Order, which was held in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Though there had been no new information or progress to do with the beings or Andromeda's condition, it was good to see the faces of Teddy and my family.

Severus stayed for dinner.

"It's not as though they're Dementors or Chimaeras or anything."

"Yes, but can't you see how they're more dangerous precisely because they blend in? You could sit down in a pub with one and you'd never know it."

"The point is, you wouldn't know it, because they aren't dangerous."

"Tell that to Lavender Brown, Pritchard."

"Well, he was different."

"I say he was a fair representation of what they all are, deep down. My father says Shacklebolt's a fool for proposing a change."

I gritted my teeth silently as I walked among the fifth-year students on Tuesday of the second week. The conversation was between two Slytherins, Graham Pritchard and Malcolm Baddock. The subject was obviously Kingsley Shacklebolt's proposition to a change in legislation pertaining to werewolves, which had been announced in the Prophet that morning. He'd changed a few minor laws just after the war, for instance making the ingredients of wolfsbane more accessible. But the recent proposition had been to completely repeal the anti-werewolf legislation, which had made it so difficult for people like Remus to hold down a job for any length of time. I, of course, was proud of Kingsley, and wanted nothing more than for his proposition to be approved. But clearly Malcolm Baddock felt different.

"Keep focused, please," I called, keeping my voice light.

The warning kept them quiet for a minute, but soon they'd begun to argue again, only this time in whispers.

"It's very distracting, Baddock," said another voice. In surprise I looked over at Dennis Creevey, who had yet to say a single word in any class.

Baddock's face twisted into a sneer. "What do you know about it, Creevey?"

Dennis kept his face relaxed and his head down, focusing on evenly cutting his stargrass. "I think you have no argument. Fenrir Greyback is in Azkaban."

Some of the other students had begun to look up from their books and cauldrons.

"We're not just talking about Fenrir Greyback," Baddock continued. "They're all dangerous. You remember the scandal with that one, Lupin, don't you? I don't know about you, but my father would have sent me to Durmstrang if they hadn't sacked him. Can you imagine? A werewolf professor?"

"Mr. Baddock," I said, raising my voice but keeping it steady through tremendous effort. The Slytherin boy looked at me with an innocent look on his face, but his eyes were full of malice. "You may have this conversation elsewhere. My class is not the place for it. Please get back to work."

"Sorry, Professor."

After that there was silence.

I tried once or twice to catch Dennis Creevey's eye, grateful that he had spoken up when he sensed injustice. But he kept his head lowered and his eyes downcast as he worked.

I noticed that the Baddock boy continued glancing at me from time to time, a smirk on his face. I was certain that this morning's edition of the Prophet wasn't the only one he'd read, and that he'd brought up the subject of werewolves in my class because of Rita Skeeter's article.

Part of me wanted to throttle him, and had I still been a student I would have done. But, being a teacher, I had to settle for taking five points from Slytherin when, at the end of the lesson, the state of his potion was so poor that it would have been suspicious if I hadn't.

I was kept up late that night by the echoes of Malcolm Baddock's words. Whenever there was a moment of hope, someone like him had to wipe their dirty fingers all over it. I knew that the harshness of his views were likely the result of his upbringing, but the knowledge didn't help my anger.

"Can you imagine? A werewolf professor?"

Tired of tossing and turning, I got out of bed and went to sit in the chair by the desk. My hands moving of their own will, I unlocked the top drawer, slid it open, and touched the folded parchment which I kept inside and very rarely took out. Lifting it to my face, I inhaled its age and its history, and then tapped my wand to the centre crease. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The sight of the ink slowly spreading over the parchment had the effect of a lullaby. I returned to the bed, spreading the map on the sheets beside me, planning to let the familiarity of the object, and its ties to the two people I had lost, ease me into sleep.

Just as my eyelids began to droop, however, I sensed movement on the paper. I sat up to examine the map by the thin light of the half-moon coming through the window.

There was no movement for another few moments, so I didn't immediately spot the two ink footprints labelled Dennis Creevey.

He seemed to be walking very slowly along the fourth floor corridor, pausing for seconds at a time between steps.

What was he doing?

Slipping my dressing gown over my pyjamas, I left the bedroom and the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with the map in one hand and a lit candle in the other, making my way quietly through the halls and stairways. The candlelight cast itself on the walls and the portraits, gentle and warm enough that none of them woke. After a few minutes I turned the corner into the fourth floor corridor.

He was standing in the cold white light from the large windows, dressed only in his pyjamas. I realised, from the slowness of his body, and the strangeness of his posture, that he must have been sleepwalking. Blowing out my candle and clearing the smoke, I approached him slowly.

"Mr. Creevey?" I whispered.

There was no response. He seemed to be floating underwater, somewhere distant.

"Dennis?" I tried.

I very gently touched his arm, but still he did not stir. My grip tightened just enough so that I could guide him down the corridor to the hospital wing.

All the beds were empty, and apart from the silvery moonlight in the narrow windows, there was only the throbbing light of a lamp coming through the frosted glass of Poppy's office door. The door opened at the sound of Dennis's slow, shuffling footsteps, and Poppy emerged, squinting.

"He's sleepwalking," I whispered.

Poppy nodded her understanding, disappeared for a moment and emerged from her office with a vial of white powder. She uncorked it and waved it under Dennis's nose. He woke up at once, and immediately sneezed.

A look of confusion entered his eyes. "You were sleepwalking in the corridor," I explained to him.

"I apologise," he said. His numb and downcast look had returned.

"You're not in trouble, Mr. Creevey," Poppy said. A small vial of dreamless sleep drifted from her office, and she placed it in Dennis's hand. "Take this once you're back in bed. Now hurry back to your dormitory."

"Sorry to disturb you," I whispered to Poppy, as Dennis turned and left the hospital wing.

"Not at all, Wilma," she said. But she did look concerned. "I would keep an eye on him."

"I will."

He was lingering in the corridor outside, staring out at the grounds, bathed in pale moonlight. The numbness in his face made me shiver. "Mr. Creevey?"

I thought there were tears in his eyes, though it may have been a trick of the light. "Did I say anything?" he asked.

"You didn't," I assured him. He nodded. "Try to get some sleep," I said. "I'll see you in class tomorrow."

But I did not. The hands of the clock moved from ten past nine to eleven, the rest of the class came and went, and Dennis Creevey did not appear. "Amott?" I called, catching one of the other Gryffindors before he left the room. "Did you see Mr. Creevey this morning?"

"No," the boy answered. He looked hesitant to continue, but he did. "I think he might be sleeping."

I was walking across the transfiguration courtyard in the middle of lunch when I saw his face in one of the small blue windows overhead. I passed under the oak tree and found my way through a small stone doorway, which led to a small spiral staircase. I ascended slowly, and soon came into a tiny nook, where Dennis was curled up reading by the window. He had turned to see who was coming, gripping his wand behind his book.

"I thought I knew every secret place in this school," I said. "But you seem to have found a new one."

I saw his fingers loosen around his wand, and wondered who he'd been expecting.

"I'm sorry I wasn't in class," he said. "I didn't wake up."

"The potion will do that," I said.

"I'm sorry if I made it worse yesterday. I know how Colin loved Professor Lupin. Said he was the best teacher he ever had. Didn't feel right for Baddock to be talking like that."

"You did the right thing, and I appreciated it."

He gave a small nod, looking out the window.

"Dennis?"

He didn't move, but his eyes seemed to glaze over as he anticipated what I was going to say. "If you ever need to speak to someone about your brother… I can understand."

"Thank you," he said. "But I'm fine by myself."

I nodded slowly and almost went away before I stopped, considering something.

"The potion Madam Pomfrey gave you puts a stop to somnambulism, but it can also stop nightmares, if you have them."

"Dreamless Sleep," he said. "I know it. My parents gave it to me over the summer, but there's no supply here."

"I would be happy to teach you to brew it yourself. I use it as well, and it's just about time for me to make a new cauldronful. Would you like that?"

Relief entered his eyes. "Yes," he said.

"How about this evening? Six o'clock, if you don't mind being a bit late to dinner?"

He nodded. I watched him for a moment before choosing to go.

"I'll leave you to your reading. And this secret spot is safe with me."

I grew closer to Dennis over the following days. He was much more attentive in class now that he was getting proper sleep. He also seemed to take to his role of prefect with more pride. I figured that he hadn't slept much–or at all–for the entire first week of school, which was why he'd crashed from Poppy's vial that night.

I also continued to be fond of Phoebe, who was the most voracious learner in any of my classes, in any year. On Friday evening of the second week of term, I sat in the staff room reading her very long and enthusiastic paper on the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and chuckled with enjoyment.

"Whose is that?" Neville asked, seated across the table. We had made a habit of meeting every other evening to discuss students, mark homework, and share in the experience of being first-time teachers. The only other people in the room were Favre, who sat by the fireplace marking Transfiguration homework for Minerva, and Professor Sinistra, who was trying to fix a small golden telescope.

"Phoebe Elson," I said to Neville.

He nodded in recognition. "She's brilliant. Loves Herbology."

"I think she loves everything."

"Well, she's a Ravenclaw."

We sat in silence for another few minutes, and I absentmindedly massaged my temples as I read. I found myself thinking of the list of things I had to do. Finish this massive pile of papers… check on the Polyjuice Potion…

"Stressed?" Neville asked.

"A bit," I laughed.

"So am I."

"I've got to go and check on the seventh years' Polyjuice Potion every hour or it might explode. I s'pose you could say that's how I'm feeling."

A thoughtful look entered Neville's face. "Why don't you have them check on it themselves? That's what I've got my seventh years doing with the Venomous Tentacula."

A cool wave of relief washed through me. "You're brilliant, Neville."

He flushed lightly. "Not really. I could never teach something as impossible as potions."

A fierceness welled up in me, from an unexpected place. I was sure Neville might have developed a skill for potions in school. But a certain someone's constant lack of faith in his abilities had made him doubt himself. "That's not true," I said. "You know, I'm sure you'd have been really good, if–"

The staff door opened, and Severus himself strode in, carrying the homework from his own class. I noted that the pile was significantly thicker than either mine or Neville's. I felt immediately guilty for what I'd been about to say, but I still gave Neville a meaningful glance, and he seemed to understand.

Severus stood over me with a guarded look. "May I join you?"

"Of course," I said.

He sat one chair down from me, placing his heavy stack of parchment on the table. Then he picked up the last potions paper I'd marked, examining it. It was Daisy Zeller's, and I'd given it eighty-five points. I watched him, wondering what he was doing.

After a minute he looked at me, his eyebrow raised. "I'd have given this seventy at most."

I looked at him pointedly. "I know," I said.

I took the paper back and moved the whole pile to my other side, out of his reach. He grunted, but I noticed that he was smiling, the slightest bit. Neville had put his hand to his cheek, and was hiding his own expression of amusement. I chuckled, and then we all got stuck into reading and marking, the silence surprisingly comfortable.

An hour later all of the teachers gathered in the staffroom for an end-of-week meeting. The air outside the windows was cold and pale, and it felt cosy in the long staffroom with the fireplace blazing at the far end. We all made reports on how our students were progressing, and brought up any problems we thought needed addressing. Flitwick made mention of the pranks and magic in the corridors, but even Minerva agreed that as long as no danger was posed and students reached their classes on time, there was no need to inhibit a bit of fun.

After the meeting officially ended, many of the teachers broke off into separate conversations. Neville had brought some kind of hovering plant to show those who were interested, and he, Hagrid, and Grubbly-Plank were soon in throes of fascination over a group of what looked, at a distance, like floating orange gumdrops.

I had caught Severus's eye, trying to send a subtle signal. I wanted to be alone together, as we hadn't had much time to ourselves in two weeks, and hadn't had sex since that rushed encounter in the storeroom.

He didn't seem to understand the meaning of my gaze, so I subtly looked in the direction of the door. His eyebrow raised, and I sensed that he was about to stand, when I heard familiar whispering behind me, and turned to see Trelawney, and Amelia Reed from Ilvermorny. They had become fast friends. Trelawney was holding a deck of cards in her hands, and Reed was looking at me eagerly.

"My dear," Sybill said, "may we trouble you for ten minutes of your time?"

I knew at once what this was. We'd been taught to read tarot cards in fifth year, and by the way Trelawney was clutching her own worn and precious deck, I figured she believed their energy was calling her to use them on me. I was familiar enough with Trelawney's habits of catastrophizing to know that whatever cards came out of that deck would somehow prophesy my doom.

"I'm sorry," I said, standing up. "I'm afraid I–"

"Only a few minutes," Professor Reed said. "Sybill's told me all about you."

Her voice was sincere, and I felt suddenly guilty about my desire to escape. It seemed Sybill had passed on her theories about my having a particularly clear inner eye to her new American friend. I figured that I should at least be friendly, even if I was incapable of taking the cards seriously.

"Oh, alright," I agreed, mustering a smile.

Severus gave me a sarcastically pitying look from across the room. I wrinkled my nose at him and then went to join Trelawney and Reed in the corner by the warm fireplace. I sat down in one of three chairs around the low, flat table. Trelawney handed her deck of cards to Professor Reed, who began to shuffle, her eyes half closed.

"Empty your mind, dear," Trelawney said to me, her eyes owlish behind her glasses. "Think of one question you need answered."

"Erm… alright," I said.

I just wanted everything to be calm now that school had started up again. To move on completely from the anxieties of the war and the dark years which had led up to it. I didn't want Trelawney's predictions to threaten my feeling of stability. As I listened to the faint slapping sound of the cards being shuffled, I decided to treat it as a parlour game. Just for fun. Something to laugh about with Ginny when I next saw her.

"Are you thinking of something?" Trelawney asked.

I nodded, though my mind failed to settle on any one question.

"Breathe, dear, so Amelia can channel your energy."

It took everything I had not to snort derisively. I smiled, and kept my breathing shallow so I wouldn't burst into laughter.

The shuffling went on for quite a while, and the sound was becoming annoying. "I think they're well and truly shuffled, Professor," I said, when I could no longer stand it.

Trelawney looked at me with a slight frown, but didn't scold me for my impatience. Professor Reed stopped shuffling, and handed the deck back to Trelawney, who drew three cards from the top of the deck, placing them down on the table one at a time.

One. Two. Three.

"The moon in reverse," Trelawney said in her dreamiest voice, her hand hovering over the first card, which pictured a yellow moon shining down on a river, and two creatures howling and baring their teeth at it. "Bad dreams, dear?"

"Some," I lied, knowing how she would react if she knew I was still taking the dreamless sleep each night. Besides, part of me wanted to play along.

Reed hummed significantly, and Trealwney's hand hovered over the second card. A woman wearing a crown of stars, surrounded by wheat, forests, and waterfalls. This one was also upside-down. "The empress in reverse… strange…" Trelawney clicked her tongue. "You need to connect to your inner feminine, dear."

The third card was the six of cups in reverse. "Stuck in the past… naive…" Trelawney looked at me with a little pout that suggested pity. I examined the two children in red scarves, standing in a garden and gazing at the innocent white flower which grew out of the cup between them. Lily, my mind said, unbidden. I found myself paying a bit more attention as Trelawney drew more cards.

One. Two. Three.

The first card pictured a large red heart, floating in a grey and rainy sky, pierced through by three sharp swords. "Loneliness and abandonment… deception…" Trelawney said. "Infidelity?"

Both women's eyes seemed to grow slightly sharp at the word, but perhaps I was only imagining things. I furrowed my eyebrows to indicate that I wasn't sure this one was right, but deep in my stomach I was reminded of the guilt I had initially felt over marrying Severus so soon after Remus had left. Abandonment. Infidelity.

"And the two of cups!" Trelawney said, her voice suddenly exultant. "The card of true love." A man and a woman each held a golden goblet, the man reaching out to touch the one the woman held.

These were followed by the nine of swords. "Affliction… anxiety…" Trelawney's hand trembled over this one. It did look quite sad. I had to admit that I resonated with the image of the person sitting up in bed in the dark of the night, holding their face in grief.

"What was your question, if I may?" asked Professor Reed. She seemed to be quite curious.

I wracked my brain for something–the truth was, I hadn't come up with any question. "There's a student in my class who's struggling," I said. "I want to know what I can do to help."

Trelawney searched my face with intensity. "Sometimes the cards pick up on what lies deeper down." She bent her head to the cards again, touching them with her fingertips. "It seems as though you've lost something very precious. Betrayed… by someone very close to you. And that betrayal brought a beautiful partnership to ruin."

At this she pointed to the children in the garden from the first row of three, and then to the two of cups. The soulmate card.

I swallowed. For a moment I thought of Remus, and the day when we had placed his parent's wedding rings on each other's fingers. But I firmly pushed the association away. Just a parlour game.

"Tell me again, what are you doing?" it was Professor Favre, who had wandered over from the main table. His face was kind and curious. I looked up at him, suddenly embarrassed by how immersed I had become in the silliness of the cards.

Sybill made an irritated sound with her tongue. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice surprisingly sharp. "It's very important that you go away for the moment."

Favre looked sorry, and murmured an apology as he did as he was told. Once the young man was at a safe distance, I heard Sybill muttering something about 'masculine interference.'

"One more round, I think, Sybill," Reed said.

Severus was loitering by the door, watching with amusement, and I caught his gaze momentarily before returning my eyes to the cards.

One. Two. Three.

"The knight of cups," Trelawney sighed. It seemed Favre's interruption had truly upset her, and the previous dreaminess of her voice took a few moments to return. I studied the card, a man in silver armour sitting proudly on his white horse, cup outheld. "The card of romance… someone loves you deeply, my dear." Trelawney reached out to pat my arm tenderly, and her eyes seemed to well momentarily with warmth and gladness.

I felt Severus's eyes.

"The queen of wands… fertility… strength… purity… That's better."

"That's like the empress upright," Reed explained, tapping the upside-down empress in the first row of cards, and seeming to approve of the queen of wands' presence.

I was surprised that Trelawney didn't mention the black cat which sat at the queen's feet.

The final card was the seven of pentacles. A young farmer waiting for his garden to grow. Trelawney looked relieved. "You will notice great progress in your life, at last, after so many trials… I am sorry about what I said earlier, dear, about your inner feminine…"

I listened to her vaguely, but couldn't help staring at the expression on the face of the young farmer. He was frowning, seemingly blind to the progress Trelawney had said the card promised. I knew how it felt to wait, with no end in sight…

"What's on the bottom?" Professor Reed prompted.

"Oh, quite right," Sybill said. "I nearly forgot!"

She took the whole deck of cards in her hand and turned it over.

A short and piercing yelp of terror sounded, and she jumped as though startled. The cards flew out of her hand and scattered over the floor. Many people looked over towards us, and away again, concealing smirks when they saw the disturbance had come from Trelawney. I felt myself blush again. Of course the whole thing was nonsense, and I couldn't believe that for a few moments I'd nearly taken the game seriously.

Trelawney was kneeling on the floor, searching amongst the fallen cards, her hands crawling over them like anxious spiders. She gave another of her startled gasps as she picked up the one I'd seen in a brief flash before the cards had scattered.

"The Tower," Trelawney whispered, her entire body trembling. She held the card up to me.

It showed a tall grey tower set aflame by a bolt of lightning, two figures tumbling off it towards the sharp rocks below. The image did evoke a feeling of instinctive fear inside of me, and I watched as Trelawney's hands hovered over the nine cards on the table. After a great deal of deliberation, her finger fell upon the two of cups, and she placed the Tower card beside it. Again, I couldn't help but think of Remus.

"My dear," Trelawney said, her whole face looming towards me. "Someone you love is in extreme distress!"

"Excuse me," I said quickly. "Thank you, but I really must go."

I stood up, shaking off the awful, shivering feeling Trelawney's words had inspired. I would not accept that there was anything to these cards. They were simply designed to prey on your innermost fears and desires. Trealwney lifted her trembling hand, seeming to search my aura with her bulging eyes, but neither she nor Professor Reed said a word to stop me as I turned and walked away.

I went directly to Severus.

"Filling your mind with nonsense, now?" he asked.

The firmness of his lack of belief in the cards' legitimacy was comforting, and I clung to it completely.

"It's no more than a pastime."

"It seems like quite a bit more to them," he said, looking back into the corner where the two witches were having a fervent discussion in whispers, Trelawney watching the two of us with dismay.

Seeing the table of cards from a distance soothed me. The whole thing had only been an elaborate trick. My mind calmed as it reentered the realm of sense.

"Are you on your way to an untimely death?" Severus asked, his voice soft and dripping with sarcasm.

His proximity rekindled my previous desire to be alone with him. "No," I said, lowering my voice and delighting in the playful darkness of his eyes. "But I'm destined to be very bad."

He raised a single eyebrow, seemingly confused. "I don't follow."

I rolled my eyes and took him by the hand, dragging him out the door.

Once we were a safe distance down the corridor I stopped and brought my body close to his. His face was bathed in the dark purple light coming through the windows as the sun went down. I lifted myself onto my tiptoes and nudged his chin with my nose. Finally he received the message and lowered his face, accepting my soft kiss.

"Oh," he said, when I drew away.

I couldn't help but laugh at his expression of genuine revelation. The laughter was hard and bubbled up joyfully from my belly. "Did any woman ever tell you that you can be incredibly thick?"

For a moment, under my laughter, I wondered if I had spoken too soon. I could too easily imagine Lily saying something similar when they were children. Had I been inconsiderate? The card with the children in the garden flashed into my mind.

I was at first unable to name the sound coming from Severus. Only after a moment did I realise it was laughter.

I had never heard him laugh in my life. I hadn't even seen him wearing a complete smile. But he was indeed laughing, his face transformed by it. Deep and free laughter to match my own.

"I believe so," he said. "Possibly. Once."

Perhaps he was remembering something Lily had once said, as I had feared. "Did I ever tell you you're incredibly thick?" But the memory was bringing him joy, rather than pain.

I glowed as he pulled me against him again, and our laughter ebbed and transformed into a kiss.

We went slowly, undoing each other's buttons, fabric whispering aside to reveal beloved skin. We softly touched each other, treasuring and savouring the places which were especially sensitive, full of patience and adoration. My body was small, entwined with his.

"Wilma," Severus whispered, his voice dry.

"Yes?" I said, trembling.

His hand had paused on its journey down my back, and his fingers lifted to touch my lips.

"Wilma, I love you."

There in his arms I slipped away on waves of bliss, entirely unaware of the faint and distant tremors which threatened the fragile balance of our world.