OPHELIA FAIRFOREST AND THE HOT WEREWOLF PROFESSOR

A continuation of Ophelia Fairforest and the Weirdass School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in which Professor Fairforest continues to find muggle solutions to magical problems, and falls in love with a werewolf.

Content warning: mild language, stronger implied language

CHAPTER 1: In which Professor Fairforest meets the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Surely, I thought, compared to last year, this next year would be a breeze. That's what everyone tells you about your first year of teaching, anyway. I had managed to establish myself as the only muggle professor in the wizarding world, at the Weirdass School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This time I had actual lesson plans, instead of scrambling to come up with something the night before. I had managed to rake up one of my old study-abroad friends and we had a lovely time tramping around Scotland. As much as I love the magical world, there is something strangely comforting about hanging out with people who use the internet and go to Aldi. But I didn't feel normal, exactly. It was like a veil had been lifted. We would hike out to standing stones, and now I could sense the magic in them, see the wizards poorly disguised as muggles standing in awe of the stones and their known history. And I was bursting to say " you know Wendelin the Weird erected these stones as an intensification of her enchantments?" "the Loch Ness monster is real. Magic is real, Sophie. didn't you know?"

But there I was, back on the Hogwarts express. The other professors don't travel on the train. Adult wizards have more efficient means of travel, like teleporting. I found a cozy compartment and settled in to read Enchanted Encounters by Fifi LaFolle, the wizarding world's most popular romance novelist. McGonagall had recommended her. I had read nonfiction wizarding books voraciously last year and had decided to allow myself a little treat. I learned just how popular she was when the lady who pushed the trolley came down the corridor. "Is that a Fifi LaFolle?" she asked excitedly.

"Uh, yeah," I replied, glancing back awkwardly at the book's cover. Like muggle romance novels, this one had a fantastically lurid painting of a shirtless man and a woman clinging to him as her gown slid off her shoulders. Unlike muggle books, however, these pictures move. The effect was rather like those kiss gifs that float around Pinterest—getting to a point of diceyness, and the reverting back to the beginning.

"Ooh I love those! You should read Wonderings With Werewolves next—it's my favorite. You can't get them at the Hogwarts library, but you can get them at the little library down in Hogsmeade."

"Thanks," I said. "I will."

The little library down in Hogsmeade is right next to the Three Broomsticks and staffed by an unusually friendly librarian who allows people to bring drinks in, so people often go get a pint and then get a book.

"In fact, there's a Fifi LaFolle book club that meets every second Tuesday. You should join us!"

"Oh! Thank you," I said, startled. "I will." I had never been to a romance novel book club, let alone in the wizarding world.

After surviving a literature PhD, it was nice to read about people having sex and actually enjoying it. I returned back to my corner laden with Pumpkin Pasties and a steaming cup of tea, and reopened the book:

Her bosom heaved and her heart beat wildly as she stared up at the tall, muscled form of Mithras McDreamy. He pinned her against the wall and leaned down to kiss her.

"No, Mithras," she gasped, trying to pull away. "I—I gave you a love potion! I'm sorry, I should never have done it. This isn't you, this is—"

He covered her mouth with his huge but gentle hand. "I know," he said. "I took the antidote." His sapphire orbs fixed upon hers. "Did you really think I needed a love potion to want you?" He removed his hand from her mouth

"Oh Mithras," she breathed as he pressed himself against her.

"I'm going to make sure you never doubt me again," he said.

My reading was interrupted at that moment because the train slammed on the brakes and jolted violently to a halt. My book flew out of my hands and slammed into the wall on the other side. The lights flickered, and went out.

"Oh shit," I muttered.

Anxiously, I glanced out the window, but I was in the middle of the train, so I couldn't see much. Nothing in the immediate vicinity was on fire, at least. Unfortunately, we were stopped on a bridge, with no way to get off. I snatched up my book and my purse, got up and went to look out in the corridors. All along the train, students were doing the same thing.

"Professor?" asked Cornelia Flibbertigibbet. She had been one of my best students last year. "What's happening?"

"I don't know," I said. "Wait here. I'll go find out."

I made my way cautiously up the train car in the dark. It was cold—an icy, damp cold, like when the wind blows from the Firth of Forth in Edinburgh in the winter. As I crossed into the next train car, I found myself face to face with a demon.

I don't know if I can convey to you the kind of fear that you feel when, despite Rev. Hopkirk's repeated assurances that magic is not inherently Satanic but is, in fact, deeply sacramental, you find yourself face to face with what is surely your divine comeuppance for having abandoned the Straight and Narrow, namely, a demon who is about to drag you straight to hell.

I made the sign of the cross automatically. The words that came out of my mouth, however, were not an eloquent, heartfelt plea for divine mercy. Instead, what I said was "F—k off, demon!"

I'm pretty sure Jesus said this at least once.

If faceless, black, hooded figures can convey surprise, this one did.

Sensing a momentary advantage, I took a step forward, put my hands on my hips (mostly to keep myself standing) and said, "You heard me! Get the f—k off this train! Go back to the pit from whence you came!" Then I threw my book at him (I find it statistically more likely to assume that threatening beings are male). It was a hardback anthology edition, so it packed a pretty good punch.

I half expected it to go straight through him, but it hit him squarely in the middle and bowled him over like a cheap Halloween decoration. He let out a screech so piercing that it made me drop to my knees, and fled back down the corridor.

I walked over to the book. It lay on the floor, burnt and smoking, and then suddenly crumbled into dust.

"Oh no!" I gasped. "I borrowed it from McGonagall!"

"Professor?" said a voice from behind me. It was Cornelia Flibbertigibbet, back again. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, everything is okay now," I said, although I had no idea if this was true or not. Were there more of these bastards? I turned to look at her. "Have you been there the whole time? Are you okay?"

She nodded. She looked shaken, but unhurt.

"Okay, I want you to go back to your compartment. I'm going to go speak to whoever's in charge here."

I stalked up the train corridors, my anger rising within me as I went. The lights flickered back on. I didn't encounter any more demons, but I checked in with each compartment as I passed. The students were terrified, but no one seemed to have sustained any major injuries. Then I sighted the conductor. "Just what the hell is going on here? I demanded. I was distantly of someone else approaching in the background.

The conductor straightened. "Miss, we had to allow the Azkaban guards on board to search for—"

"Are you saying that you let them on here? Are you out of your goddamn mind?" I hollered. "What makes you think it's a good idea to allow DEMONS on a TRAIN filled with CHILDREN?"

"I couldn't agree more," said a voice from behind me. I glanced backward to see a man striding towards us. His voice was somewhat quieter and, with his accent, more refined sounding, but you could hear the anger in it all the same. "The Dementors of Azkaban are prison guards, not law enforcement! These are children, not criminals! The dementors nearly killed a boy, just now! The very boy they're supposed to be protecting! What the bloody hell were you thinking, ordering them to stop the train?"

The conductor threw up his hands. "It would be denying the ministry of magic!"

"F—k the ministry of magic!" I said. At this, the conductor really did look shocked. "Do you realize that if children had died, you would be responsible?"

At that, his face, which had been growing purple with anger under the weight of our onslaught, suddenly grew pale. "I…I must have a word with the engineer," he said, and fled.

We watched him go. "Well, he won't forget it, at least," said the man grimly.

I turned to look at him. He was tall and lanky, with a long, pale face and nose to match, and was wrapped in a long, earth-colored cloak and tall motorcycle boots. He had fluffy, voluminous dark-brown hair that reached down to his shoulders and a short beard. When he turned to look at me, he presented a rather intimidating figure. I was startled to see scars slashed across his face, like great cracks in the earth or streaks of lightning. But the eyes that looked out at me were kind. It was difficult to tell how old he was. His hair was streaked with gray, and he looked like he hadn't slept in a week.

I felt my heart beating fast.

He held out his hand. "Remus Lupin. I'm the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Well. He certainly looked more promising than the last one.

"Ophelia Fairforest. I'm the Muggle studies professor."

I feel like I should mention at this point that I don't really look like a Muggle. One of the great perks of working in the wizarding world is that I can fulfill my desire of dressing like Florence Welch, in long shimmery velvet gowns with plants and stars embroidered on them.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You're the muggle studies professor? I mean the muggle one. I mean the one who—oh God—that sounded—" He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. "Forgive me."

I brushed my hair back behind my ear and shrugged. "It's all right. Everyone acts weird about it at first."

He looked away for a moment, and then back at me, and his eyes were filled with so much warmth and understanding that I thought I might just die on the spot. "Professor McGonagall speaks very highly of you," he said.

"She does?" I said, surprised. Now it was my turn to feel flustered.

"Yes," he said.

"She spoke well of you too," I said. "Well, what she actually said was, 'Thank God we'll finally have someone competent around here.'"

He laughed.

I glanced down the corridor, back the way we had come. "Guess she was right. What did you call those things?"

"Dementors," he said, following my gaze back down the corridor.

"I thought for sure they were demons," I said.

"You're not far off it." He turned to look at me. "Wait. You were here before me. You got past them?"

And then the strangest thing happened. As I remembered the Dementors, a terrible feeling crept over me. You know that feeling you get when it's just before your period and things aren't going super great already? Like the world is going to end and you are going to die and your efforts have been meaningless and everyone despises you? Or like when you've heard some terrible piece of news, so terrible that you can't see anything? It was like that, but worse, as if all the suffering in all your life was happening now.

I must have fallen, because I was vaguely aware of someone catching me. The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the floor of the train car, in the corridor, with my back propped against the wall. Lupin had placed a hand on my head and was murmuring some unfamiliar spell. I have got to stop fainting on the first day, I thought. It's a wonder I have any dignity left.

I'm not sure I actually asked Lupin what was happening or just looked at him and croaked "what?"

"I think you've had a delayed reaction to the dementors," he said. "Here, eat this." He pressed a bar of what smelled like chocolate in my hands. "It happens sometimes if you've got a very strong will." He sat back on his heels. "What surprises me is that you're still standing at all."

I looked around at the strange view of the train compartment as seen from the floor. "I'm pretty sure I'm sitting on the ground." Several students had emerged from their compartment to investigate.

"I mean if you confronted a dementor without any defenses, you should be, well…" He scratched the back of his head.

I chewed the bar of chocolate mechanically and pondered the end of that sentence. Dead? Unconscious? Writhing on the floor in screaming pain?

A high-pitched voice piped up. "She saved us," said Cornelia. "She threw a book at it and told it to f—k off, and it went away," she finished, with obvious relish at being able to swear with impunity.

He blinked. Then he turned to stare at me, utterly flabbergasted, for what seemed like a good ten minutes, until I was fully conscious and thoroughly embarrassed. Then, smiling as if he couldn't help it, he said "I think that we should get to know each other better."

"I…yes. I'd like that," I said, dazed.

He helped me to my feet, and installed me in the nearest compartment. "I'm sorry—there's a student I need to go check on, but I'll be back."

Twenty bucks it's that Potter kid, I thought. I watched him go as if I couldn't get enough of him.

I glanced at the four girl students sitting across from me, took another bite of the bar. And then I said out loud, "Bother!" causing the students to jump.

"What is it?" asked Cornelia.

"Now I'll never find out what happened to Mithras and Pandora," I said.

"Oooh," said Cornelia. "I can tell you!"

"Don't spoil it!" said the girl next to her.