sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-07 01:58 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-07 01:58 pm
Entry tags:
Laocoon's Children, Year Two, 6 - 7
If any Muggles had been paying particularly close attention -- and if Remus' concealment charms hadn't been so good -- a blue Ford Anglia could have been seen lifting off from the car park near King's Cross station, accompanied by an old but serviceable motorbike. As it was, some very odd noises, rather like the shouts of several excited children, were heard soaring over the heads of pedestrians at around eleven-fifteen that September first.
Once they'd passed the cloud cover, with Sirius pulling his riding leathers up around his face and muttering warming charms to keep from getting frostbite, Remus released the charm and saluted out the window at Sirius.
"That was brilliant," Harry breathed, from the honoured front seat. In the back, Neville and Padma were plastered to the windows, staring out, while Draco, trapped in the middle, looked like he was going to be sick.
"All right back there?" Remus asked, adjusting the mirror so that he could see the backseat, as there was little danger of being tailgated at this altitude, except by attitudinous ducks.
"Are you sure this is all right?" Padma asked. "Move over, Harry, I want to see the view from the front."
"Well, so long as we get you to Hogwarts on time, I don't see that it matters how you get there," Remus replied, though he looked a trifle uneasy. "Don't open your windows, we don't want you falling out if I have to make a sudden turn."
"I'm going to dip down every once in a while," Sirius called, "And track the train, all right?"
"Sounds fine," Remus answered. "Remember your concealment charm."
"Where's the fun in that?" Sirius laughed, and ducked below the clouds. Remus sighed and continued north by the dashboard compass, until Sirius popped up far away on their left and beckoned them over.
"Found the tracks!" he shouted. "Hit a goose, I'm afraid!"
"Beware of falling poultry," Remus muttered with a grin, dutifully signalling before angling the car towards Sirius.
They caught up to the train around twelve-thirty and, having established that it ran through a small Muggle village on its way to Hogwarts, landed just outside the sleepy little town and drove sedately through until they found a place to stop for lunch. Sirius ran across the road to buy a map book, and over fish and chips the two men studied it carefully.
"Now I don't expect the railway line to be on here," Sirius said, "but Hogwarts is here," with a stab of finger on paper, "right, or hereabouts?"
"I think it's a bit more north, really," Remus answered.
"Well, anyway, if we head in this direction we're more or less on the right path. So we don't have to follow the train if we don't want to, and this way we'll get there just as everyone's coming up from the station. Grand entrance," Sirius declared. Harry and Neville cheered.
"Do you think that's really wise?" Remus asked.
"We've already stolen a car," Sirius pointed out.
"Borrowed."
"Oooh, I bet Arthur was furious," Sirius mused. "Hope he got home all right."
"Well, without a dozen children and trunks to chaperone, I imagine he could find a nice quiet loo to Apparate from," Remus said, reassuring himself as much as Sirius.
"Well, anyway, we'll fly northwest, yeah? We can cut across where the train takes a bit of a detour, and we'll pick it up near Hogsmeade again. You lads up for another few hours of flying? And lady," Sirius added hastily, glancing at Padma.
"Can't I ride on the motorbike?" Harry asked.
"Two more years," Sirius promised. Harry sighed. "Tell you what, you take the map, and you can navigate."
"All right," Harry said. "But when I turn fourteen you'd better not have sold the motorbike."
"Promise," Sirius said with a grin. "I'll pay up, I think I've still got some Muggle cash on me -- "
"No using Obiliviate to cheat the pub out of a meal, Sirius."
"I never would, Prefect," Sirius sing-songed, while Remus began to herd the children back towards the car.
The rest of the trip went more or less smoothly, except for the somewhat expected stir-craziness on the part of the children. Trevor also made a spirited bid for freedom that would have ended the career of the world's first skydiving amphibian with a resounding splatter if Padma hadn't caught him at the last minute.
They still hadn't found the train tracks again by early afternoon, and Remus breathed a sigh of relief when Draco spotted the familiar spires of Hogwarts castle, almost dead ahead.
"Look down," Remus ordered, as they soared over Hogsmeade. "Pretty little place from the air, isn't it?"
"It looks like a toy village," Padma exclaimed, just before they left it behind and began skimming the treetops of the Forbidden Forest.
"Time-check, Harry?"
"Train ought to be just pulling in," Harry replied. "Look -- there it is!"
The Hogwarts Express was standing empty at the platform, and the carriages that took the students from the train to the castle had just disgorged the last of their passengers as the Anglia flew over, low enough for them to see the surprise on the upturned faces watching them. Remus circled the castle once, looking for a decent place to land, before angling low and flat over the grassy hill just past the Quidditch pitch.
"Seat belts, we're about to land," he announced, and the children had just settled in when there was a resounding thump, and the car skidded to a stop on the grass, leaving a muddy track behind it.
"Not the most comfortable landing, but not bad for a first timer," Remus declared, as Sirius brought the motorbike to a perfect two-point landing next to them. "Everyone out, Hogwarts Mini-Express has reached the end of the line."
A swarm of house-elves appeared almost immediately, screeching in shock at the long streaks of uprooted grass Remus had left behind him while landing. Some of the others took control of the trunks, and had soon vanished with them. Denbigh, head of the Kitchen elves and a particular friend of theirs, started to shoo the children towards the door.
"Masters and mistress are so very late!" he squeaked, all but shoving them in the direction of the castle. "The feast has begun! Minerva McGonagall is in a state, sirs and miss!"
"We can't be that late," Remus said. "We saw them going up as we landed."
"Minerva McGonagall is having a letter special express from a Wheezy," Denbigh continued. "About the bloody flying automobile, she is saying. Mistress Padma Patil is being searched high and low for!"
"Bum, we're in for it now," Sirius said, in Remus' ear. "I didn't think about the Patils. Do you suppose we've caused a national wizarding panic?"
"Sounds about your style, yes," Remus answered.
"I didn't drive the car!"
"It was your idea."
They were passing through the front corridor now, towards one of the side-doorways to the Great Hall. Denbigh put a long green finger to what counted, on house-elves, as his lips, and opened the door just enough for them to slip through. They ended up behind a banner at one end of the Ravenclaw table just as McGonagall, a murderous gleam evident in her eye, began wrathfully calling names for the Sorting Hat.
"Well, buck up," Sirius said quietly. "At least if there's hell to pay we'll take the blame. Reckon you can get to your seats without attracting too much attention?"
"Padma can," Harry said, indicating a nearby empty seat. "And Draco and I ought to be able to. Gryffindor's way at the other end though; bad luck," he added to Neville, who gulped. "Look, there's Oliver, you can ask him to move over."
The two adults watched carefully as the children crept into their seats while the last of the names were being called. Sirius pointed out Tonks, who had keenly noticed Neville sharing half a bench-space with Oliver; if Dumbledore had noticed, and he probably had, he gave no sign.
The Headmaster was just standing to give his usual welcoming speech when Sirius' focus shifted.
"Hang on, where's McGonagall got to?" he asked, and Remus followed his gaze towards the high table.
"Look, they're missing Snape, too."
"Maybe the bastard finally got himself fired."
"Maybe he's not quite well yet," Remus said more charitably.
"Maybe he's waiting to find out why four of his students vanished from King's Cross, only to be seen lunching in the company of two disreputable-looking men and a blue Ford Anglia," said a chilly voice behind them.
"Bugger," Sirius said with emphasis.
"Maybe he's not the only one," came another voice, this time in McGonagall's distinctive brogue. Both men turned to see the two Hogwarts professors, arms crossed, faces masks of annoyance and, in Snape's case, a hint of smug superiority.
"My office," McGonagall snapped. "Now."
"Aren't we a bit old for detention?" Sirius asked. Her mouth tightened into a thin, hard line. "Right, your office. Just seeing the children safe into the Feast," he added, as they turned to walk down the corridor, towards the stairs.
McGonagall was silent as she led the three men up to her office, and even Snape looked a little nervous about being in a small, enclosed space with an enraged Deputy Headmistress. Once the door was closed she waved them curtly into chairs and went to the fireplace, kneeling on it and tossing some floo-powder in. They heard her speak briefly to Sara Patil, who sounded relieved.
"Now that's settled," she said, withdrawing from the fireplace, "I should like to know how two grown men, who give every impression of having finally learned how to behave like responsible members of society, could kidnap four children, steal an automobile, fly willy-nilly across the English countryside, and expect that they'll be able to simply sneak the children into the feast as if nothing had happened?"
Sirius shifted uncomfortably. Remus cleared his throat.
"Well, we didn't exactly fly...willy-nilly," he began. "I mean, we knew where we were -- "
"Not a word to the Patils about where their daughter had gone, not even a note left for Arthur Weasley about that -- that -- "
"Blasted flying car?" Snape suggested, calmly.
"Well, it was the fastest route, and we didn't want the children to be late," Sirius began.
"In that case, Mr. Black, I suggest that next time you get to the platform in a prompt fashion."
"We did try," Remus said, spreading his hands. "The platform portal closed on us. We couldn't very well leave the children there, and flying them seemed the most logical thing to do." He paused. "Now that I come to actually say it...."
"You're supposed to be on my side!" Sirius hissed.
"Do you two actually have any idea how much trouble you've caused? Beyond throwing the Patils into a panic and forcing Arthur Weasley to report his illegal flying car -- "
"He's a very safe driver -- "
"Mr. Black, when I am talking, you are not, is that understood?" McGonagall snapped. Sirius hung his head like any scolded third-year.
"Yes'm," he mumbled.
"We were forced to contact Mr. and Mrs. Tonks, as well, who I may say were less than helpful," McGonagall continued. "Andromeda Tonks in particular didn't seem to think there was anything to worry about."
"There wasn't," Sirius muttered rebelliously. "Good for her."
"In addition," said Snape, in a somewhat silky, predatory voice, "there is the newspaper to consider."
He tossed a Muggle paper onto the desk in front of them. Remus pulled it towards him.
"UFO sighted over Yorkshire countryside," he read aloud. "Well, at least they don't know what it is."
"Nevertheless, several people had to be...handled by the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office after reporting that this 'alien spacecraft' appeared to highly resemble an antique motorbike."
"Told you to use better concealment charms," Remus muttered, over Sirius' enraged "Antique! It's called classic, thanks."
"What's this nonsense about not being able to get onto the platform?" McGonagall continued. "If that's what inspired this mad and reckless behaviour, I should like to hear about it, considering I have spent my entire afternoon hearing about how Padma Patil has been kidnapped and what I ought to be doing about it."
"We arrived in plenty of time to catch the train," Remus said slowly, once it became evident he wouldn't be snapped at for speaking. "I even went through, onto the platform. When Sirius and the children didn't follow, I came back out, and couldn't get in again. We thought it was some kind of prank," he added. "We were concerned that the children would miss the Feast, so we took Arthur's car and flew them here. They were never in the slightest danger; the car has excellent child-safety locks."
McGonagall looked as though she'd like to take issue with what was obviously a flippant finishing statement, but Remus had not been a Prefect for nothing; his delivery was deadpan serious, and it was hard to tell if he'd been joking at all.
"Sorry about the lawns," Remus added. "I'll pay for the grounds repairs. And we'll return the Anglia to Arthur, of course."
"It's being impounded," Snape said smoothly.
"What?" Sirius demanded. "You can't -- "
"It is illegal to enchant a car to fly without a permit. Or a driver's licence," Snape interrupted. "Arthur Weasley has neither. It's out of our hands, I'm afraid."
"You bastard, you didn't have to TELL anyone," Sirius snarled.
"Didn't have to tell anyone that you abducted my students?" Snape asked, pushing himself away from the table he'd been leaning on. "I didn't have to inform authorities that they were being carried without their consent hundreds of miles above the air in an illegal flying vehicle? I'm sure that would have gone over well with the Patils. Yes, Mrs. Patil, we're unaware of your daughter's whereabouts, but we suspect she's in a flying Ford Anglia bound for Hogwarts, and we don't think it's necessary to inform the authorities. Brilliant plan, Black, as usual."
"Are we finished?" Sirius asked McGonagall, doing the one thing that could enrage Snape more than anything else -- ignoring him. "Or am I going to have to scrub Professor Snape's chalkboards?"
"The Headmaster," McGonagall said, choosing each word with care, "has intervened on your behalf, and I understand that, seeing as you did escort the children without harm to their destination, other than the impounding of the automobile no punitive measures will be taken. Unfortunately, in my opinion," she continued, "your motorbike is specially licensed, although you will be required to pay a fine for being seen by Muggles, even if you were taken for an alien spacecraft. What these Muggles imagine they're seeing..." She sighed then, and shook her head. "I believe you should be grateful to the Headmaster for his handling of the situation, and to your cousin Mrs. Tonks for certain strings she has no doubt pulled to keep your motorbike licence from being revoked."
Sirius was opening his mouth to say something, probably something stupid, when there was a high-pitched squeal outside, and McGonagall turned to look out the window.
"Merciful Merlin," she said, as Snape and the other two joined her.
Below, they could see the Anglia's landing-tracks, and in the floodlight from a Lumos Maximus charm, several Aurors in a loose circle around the car. A few of them were pushing themselves up off the ground. All four of the car's doors were open, as well as the trunk and hood, which seemed to be bobbing up and down -- rather like mouths, really. One of the Aurors stepped forward, cautiously, and the car --
The car moved on its own, jerking forward, feinting at the Auror, who backpedaled quickly. There was a revving noise, and the motorbike drove itself into the fray, settling firmly in front of the Anglia's front fender. Sirius swore.
"What on earth...?" Remus asked, as an Auror approached from the back of the car, only to be thrust rudely away. The Anglia's tyres squealed in place, throwing up mud, and its headlamps flashed threateningly.
"It knows what's going on," Sirius said. The Aurors had managed to get some kind of net over its hood that was anchoring it to the ground, but the Anglia wasn't going to give up without a fight.
"It's a car, it doesn't know anything," Remus replied.
"Nobody charmed it to do that," Sirius said, as one of the doors thumped an advancing Auror soundly. "Look, it's the perfect defensive makeup -- it can see you coming from any direction with those mirrors, and if it can't run you over it can thwack you with its doors."
"I'm not interested in the biology of the common Muggle car," Snape growled. "Why don't they just -- "
"Look at it go," Remus said, pointing. The Anglia had shaken off half the net and was now doing circles almost in place, back tyres anchoring it while the front ones rolled furiously. The Aurors took cover from the sheets of mud and water it was flinging up, and the occasional defensive dodge by the motorbike. When a sufficient swath had been cleared, the motorbike's engine revved, and the Anglia took the hint -- off it went, bumping over the grass and occasionally managing to soar a few inches off the ground before thumping down again. By the time the Aurors had regrouped enough to give chase, it was nothing more than a fading pair of brake lights in the Forbidden Forest.
There was stunned silence for a moment.
"Guess it didn't want to go," Sirius said solemnly. The motorbike's headlamp flashed a few times, proudly, and then went out as it fell back on its kickstand.
***
The Flying Car Incident was the talk of the dormitories that night; Draco, painfully shy in the spotlight, hid in the kitchens until lights-out to avoid the attention of his classmates, while the girls who shared a room with Padma all wanted to know how it worked and if she'd been allowed to drive. There was also a significant amount of talk about dashing Mr. Black and his clever valet Mr. Lupin, and how romantic it must be to soar above the clouds in a blue Ford Anglia. Padma ignored it, for the most part, as she arranged Elmo's jar in a little altar next to her bed and made sure he was comfortably stocked with peppers.
Neville was asked to tell the story over and over again, and while Neville was not a gifted storyteller, it didn't really need much embellishment -- especially after Percy Weasley came up to the Gryffindor common room with news that the Anglia had made a daring solo escape into the Forbidden Forest, and the Aurors had given up the chase. Mr. Black was going to have to pay a very large fine, and in addition pay their father back for the car. Ron said it was worth it, and he wished he'd been late too so that he could go with them, and Ginny said wasn't Harry Potter's godfather cool, and the general consensus was that nobody would ever be as cool as Sirius Black, and of course he was a Gryffindor, because that was the sort of brave, cool thing Gryffindors did.
In Slytherin it was a slightly...different story.
Harry Potter had stolen the glory of the new Slytherin first years, had once again consorted openly with other Houses, and -- most importantly -- had gotten to ride in a flying car, which bred jealousy like nobody's business. The older students envied him and hated themselves for envying him, while the newest students talked unsubtly about how they were going to be the best Slytherin class ever, much better than the last one. Harry finally escaped to the dormitory, where Theo Nott and his hoodlums Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles menacingly while he unpacked his clothes and hid his old soft toy, Frog, in the secret bottom compartment, lest there be talk of Baby Harry and his Stupid Teddy Frog.
The only Slytherin who didn't have some kind of grudge against Harry was, apparently, a small, mousy-haired boy called Creevey, whom all the other Slytherin first-years were pointedly ignoring. Word had gone around that he was Muggle-born, though they didn't use quite so nice a term for it. No-one wanted to associate with a runt who had no family and could not be separated from a camera that was bigger than his head.
The next morning, with the rest of the House sleepy and yawning, was at least a little better; Harry was up before most of them, and was gratified to find Draco and Padma waiting for him in the dining hall for their usual early-morning breakfast. Dora was there too, sitting at the high table, and she winked at Harry over her oatmeal.
"I went past Gryffindor, but Neville said he couldn't find his shoes and I ought to go on without him," Padma said. "Thank you, Denbigh," she added, as the house-elf set a plate of fried bread near her elbow.
"He needs some kind of charm," Draco said thoughtfully.
"Who, Denbigh?"
"No, I mean Neville. Something that just somehow attaches everything he owns to him. There's got to be some kind of 'find-it' spell. How do you lose your shoes?"
"You put them in a very safe place," Neville sighed, hurrying up and sliding onto the bench next to Padma. "Sorry. Is there any sausage -- oh, there it is," he added, helping himself to some of Harry's with a grin. Harry mimed stabbing his hand with a fork.
They were just finishing up their meals as other students began to appear and they were forced to go their separate ways; Padma took a book out of her bag and began to read at one end of the Ravenclaw table, while Draco joined a group of Hufflepuff second-years who were racing tarantulas. Harry sauntered over to the Slytherin table, sitting near the door so that he could be off once he got his morning owl post and class schedule.
A flashbulb popped just as he sat down, and the world was full of purple splotches for a moment; when his vision cleared he found himself confronted by the Creevey kid from the night before.
"What'd you do that for?" he demanded, reaching out to take the camera from the boy. Creevey jumped back.
"I like taking pictures," he said uncertainly. "And you're Harry Potter, aren't you? I hear you can get them developed so that they move, is that true?"
"Not me in particular," Harry scowled, then grabbed the camera when Creevey raised it to take another picture. "There's no picture-taking in the Great Hall, all right?"
"Really?" Creevey asked, wide-eyed. Harry had no clue whether picture-taking in the Great Hall was allowed or not, but a Slytherin takes his opportunities where he finds them.
"Not at all," he said promptly. "Not in the dormitories either. Might catch someone naked, you know."
"Gosh."
"Or in classrooms," Harry said, handing the camera back. "You take a picture of Professor McGonagall and she'll bite you."
Creevey looked terrified and scuttled away.
"Oi, Potter, didn't you know only fourth-years and up are allowed to terrorise the firsties?" said a voice, and Harry grinned as Oliver passed on the way to the Gryffindor table.
"I thought that rule was about bullying Gryffindors!" he called after Oliver, who offered the two-fingered salute over his shoulder. McGonagall, passing out class schedules by table, caught the older boy by the ear and led him along for a few paces before releasing him.
Owls began to swoop in through the windows, carrying letters, packages, newspapers, magazines, and various other odds and ends for the students. Hedwig landed in front of Harry, looking as though she'd flown all night, and dropped a slim envelope addressed in Remus' handwriting on the table before flapping off to the Owlery. Harry, intrigued, slit it open and shook out a letter and a newspaper article inside.
Dear Harry, the letter read, Good luck on your first day of classes. We're thinking of you. Thought you'd enjoy this article from the early edition. If Sirius ever stops getting into trouble, we'll know he's died. We're home safe -- we took the train -- so write and let us know how you are. Love, Remus.
Harry flattened the folded Prophet article, and began to read.
***
NEWS OF THE NATION -- HOGSMEADE
WP -- Rumours abound that Sirius Black, the last male heir to the Black family legacy and debonair wizard-about-town, has been accused by Aurors of several criminal acts. Sources report that Black has been charged with Operating a Magically Altered Muggle Artifact; Detection by Muggles, Grade Three; and Illegal Use of Muggle Airspace. His companion, Remus J. Lupin, has also been charged with a lesser count of Operating a Magically Altered Muggle Artifact in connection with these events.
If convicted, both men face fines totalling nearly a hundred Galleons, and a maximum of thirty days in Azkaban prison. It is unlikely, however, that Sirius Black, a well-connected man highly capable of paying even the most severe fine, will see the inside of Azkaban Prison anytime soon. Mr. Lupin, facing a lesser charge, may have his case dismissed for lack of evidence, the "uttomobile" having been hidden from Auror detection for the moment. Apparently the owner of the Muggle "uttomobile" involved, Mr. A. Weasley, has declined to press charges of theft.
The department of Magical Law Enforcement declined to comment on the likelihood of locating the uttomobile.
***
"Psst! Harry!" Padma said, leaning back across the aisle. "What're you reading?"
"Nothing," Harry answered, folding up the article and stuffing it into his pocket. "Just a letter from Remus."
"Get your schedule yet?"
"Yeah -- what've you got next?"
"Potions. You?"
"Defence Against the Dark Arts. Astronomy with you, night after tomorrow," Harry answered.
"Telescope partners?"
"Sure," Harry grinned. Padma matched it before turning around to copy her schedule onto a notecard for her pocket.
It was good to be back.
***
Neville caught up with Harry on their way to Defence class, the two boys walking democratically between the Gryffindors, shoving and rough-housing behind them, and the Slytherins, slouching along disdainfully ahead. Theo Nott had decided to lead the rest of the Slytherins, but Harry didn't need to be in front; he could afford to let Theo think he was number one until he needed to prove otherwise.
"You think it's going to be weird?" Harry asked, over the shouts of the other students.
"What, having Dora as a teacher?"
"Professor Tonks."
"Right, right," Neville looked determined, as though remembering to call his foster-sister Professor was a major hurdle to overcome. Knowing Neville's memory, perhaps it was; Harry saw the Remembrall bracelet on Neville's wrist, mostly hidden under his sleeve, and grinned a little. "I guess it might. She's always bossing me around at home, though, so I don't think it'll be all that different."
Harry laughed. "Think she'll be any good?"
"Sure, why wouldn't she?" Neville asked defensively.
"No reason, Longbottom, don't get all upset," Harry said, as they ducked into the classroom. He looked away from Neville, eyes scanning the room for Dora -- Professor Tonks -- but she was nowhere to be seen.
Professor Snape was standing at the front of the class instead, scowling at the Gryffindors as they poured noisily inside. The Slytherins smirked at each other and took seats in the front rows. The Gryffindors barely hid their dismay as they piled into the back rows, and Harry got separated from Neville by Crabbe, who wanted to sit next to Snape's favourite.
"Silence, please," Snape drawled, eyes scanning the classroom. They settled on Harry for a minute, and Harry looked at Neville suddenly; Neville's face was split in a hugely amused grin.
Snape's eyes were the wrong colour.
"If you do not stop fidgeting, Longbottom, I will deduct ten points from Gryffindor," he snapped, and Neville tried his hardest to put on an appropriate poker face. "Professor Tonks, regrettably, cannot attend to her duties today. You find that funny, Mr. Potter?"
"No, sir," Harry replied, promptly wiping the smile from his face as well.
"Good. Now -- "
Snape paused in apparent surprise. The class was staring. One lock of his short black hair had turned bright pink.
There was a slow titter of laughter from the Gryffindors as another, on the other side of his head, popped up vivid purple. The crown of his head suddenly turned blond.
"What on earth -- " Snape stuttered, as his hair became a rainbow of garish bright colours. "LONGBOTTOM!"
Neville had broken down into laughter. He tried to pretend to cringe as the rainbow-haired Snape bore down on him, but it was useless; as Snape ordered him out of his seat, the rest of the Gryffindors and most of the Slytherins were laughing, and Snape's face had turned choleric red.
"LONGBOTTOM, STOP THIS INSTANT!" Snape roared, as his nose began to change. "If you do not CEASE THIS AT ONCE I shall -- "
All of a sudden his voice was softer, much more feminine, and his face had changed dramatically. Nymphadora Tonks stood before Neville, laughing helplessly herself as her hair returned to a sober auburn shade.
" -- be forced to reveal who I really am," she finished, with a grin. "All right, you lot, settle down," she added, as the Slytherins began to grumble and the Gryffindors laughed among themselves. She made her way back to the front of the room, still wearing Snape's usual dour black, though she filled it out a little differently than before.
"Good morning to you all," she said. "As you may have guessed, I am Professor Tonks," she said, as she flicked her wand at the chalkboard. A piece of chalk lifted itself up into the air and began to write her name on the board. Her last name only, Harry noticed. Not that he blamed her.
"I am your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and what I have just shown you is actually a little test for your first morning. Oh, come on now," she said, as the students universally groaned. "You're not going to be graded on it." She leaned back on the desk at the front of the classroom, and crossed her arms. "How many of you knew it wasn't Snape right before I changed?"
There was an awkward silence. They stared at her, and she sighed.
"Come on, hands up! How many of you knew? I'm not going to bite," she said sternly. Almost every hand went up, except for Crabbe, who was looking a few minutes behind events.
"All right, how many of you knew it wasn't Snape when I started berating Neville?"
Many of the hands dropped.
"And how many of you knew when my hair first went pink?"
Four hands were still in the air -- Theo's, Harry's, Neville's, and Ron's.
"Now. How many of you knew before that?"
Harry fought the overwhelming urge to drop his hand, but he kept it up. Neville, apparently taking courage from him, did the same. She nodded.
"Neville and Harry, as many of you are probably going to protest, already know me. How did you know, Neville?"
"Snape's eyes are darker," Neville stammered.
"Harry?"
"Same," Harry answered.
"Neville and Harry noticed this because they know I'm a metamorphmagus," Dora said, as the chalk wrote out the complicated term on the board. There was a rustle of paper and quills as people scrambled to begin taking notes, and she looked startled for a minute before continuing. "For those of you who don't know, metamorphmagery is a rare magical condition -- some call it a birth defect -- where a person is able to alter their body to a certain extent. This is not to say that they are perfectly able to imitate people. As Neville pointed out, I got Professor Snape's eyes wrong. I don't know most of you, so I couldn't pick on you by name as Professor Snape might have done. Not," she added hastily, eyes sweeping the room, "that Professor Snape picks on people, I'm sure."
Another quiet murmur of amusement.
"The key to detecting an imposter, as with all defence, is observing actions and identifying threats. Constant vigilance, as one of my old teachers at the Auror academy says. What I am going to be teaching you, this year, is a combination of observational skill and magical knowledge, so that when you get out in the real world you're prepared to defend yourself. Merlin forbid you have to."
Harry glanced around. The rest of the class was still watching her intently, and she looked a little anxious under the sudden focus of twenty-odd sets of eyes.
"Uhm. With that in mind," she continued, "we're going to start the class off with a little discussion of ancient defensive magic, and at the end, if there's time, I'll give you a practical demonstration. Who can tell me what an apotropaic is?"
Hermione Granger's hand shot up. Harry rolled his eyes.
"An ancient defensive amulet like a picture of a dog or a demon's head," she said, when Dora pointed at her.
"Well....yes and no. It is an ancient defensive amulet, but it took many forms. Some of which you'll be discussing when you're much older," Dora said. "Today we're going to be discussing one of the most common, which is the Gorgon. Yes, Miss..."
"Granger, ma'am."
"Miss Granger?"
"Like Medusa, professor?"
"Yes, like Medusa. Take five points for Gryffindor," Tonks said. "Who can tell me who Medusa was? Not you, Miss Granger."
Theo raised his hand. "She had snakes on her head."
"Snakes as hair, all right, what else?"
Theo looked thoughtful. "Turned people to stone?"
"And five for Slytherin."
"And she was really ugly," Theo added.
"Not always, which leads us to the lecture," Tonks said, flicking her wand at the chalkboard. It moved and stretched, as though something was pushing against it, until finally a face popped out in relief, a sad-looking woman with a broad face, rich frowning lips, heavy eyelids and thick curly hair.
"This is also a face of Medusa, from Italy, dating to probably about twenty-five hundred years ago," she began. "The Greeks hung the face of Medusa on temple walls and the gates of their homes as protection against evil..."
***
Sept. 2, 1992
Long, Draughnout, Payne & Assc.
President Andrew Wotton, Broosh & Chakle Studios:
The law firm of Long, Draughnout, Payne, & Associates have been retained to make certain inquiries into the nature of your studio and in particular all charms, spells, hexes, potions, and magical devices used in your patented Dorian Gray portraiture process. Our client, who wishes to remain anonymous, has requested information concerning their possible effects on unusual magical persons.
If you would please forward any and all information concerning the Dorian Gray process and its effects on Animagi, Werewolves, Metamorphmagi, and magical pets such as Kneazles and Salamanders, our client would be much obliged. We will of course sign any confidentiality agreements you require, understanding that you prefer to protect your business interests. We will not disclose any details of the process itself to our client, but rather make a recommendation to said client based upon the information you provide.
You are of course under no obligation to disclose any of the information requested. However, our client has authorized payment of your usual per diem consulting fee, to compensate for your expenditure of time in this matter. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me via Owl or Floo, or to arrange a meeting in person.
Yrs,
Llewellyn Payne, Esq.
***
It had been a long day for Dora Tonks. Between her first day of teaching, the many layers of the costume she'd been wearing, and the frequent body-shifts, she was nearly exhausted. It had, however, also been worth it, she felt. She'd captivated the OWLs-level classes with advanced hexes for them to gnaw on, and gotten on the good side of most of the lower years with her Snape impression. If she could just get the NEWTs students in the special Friday class to accept her...
"Good afternoon, Professor Tonks," Minerva McGonagall said, as she walked into the staff room. Dora, from where she lay sprawled in one of the squashy easy chairs near the windows, grinned and waved in greeting.
"Professor McGonagall," she said, in a carefully respectful voice with just a hint of good humour. McGonagall smiled back, which had been enough of a rarity during her school years that she was still getting used to it as a professor.
"Did you have a good first day?" the older woman asked, pouring herself a cup of tea and stirring it with her wand to warm it.
"Brilliant," Dora answered, enthusiastically. "Now if I could just get up the energy to move..."
McGonagall settled into a chair nearby, and sipped her tea. "It is a little wearing at first. You'll get used to it in time. I heard about your opening lectures from many of my students -- quite a brilliant stroke, a good practical lesson."
"Good," Dora said, "because I'm going to be impersonating you in all of tomorrow's lessons."
McGonagall chuckled into her tea. "I shall have to lend you a hat appropriate to the occasion. I hope you didn't do anything unseemly in the guise of Professor Snape."
"Nothing worse than berating Neville, which I hear he does enough of," she answered. "And I've signed an agreement with Dumbledore not to change while I'm here, except in the cause of education."
"Well, I can't say I blame him. A less scrupulous person might go about collecting gossip and making trouble in the guise of other people. You were always a very honest young woman, however, and I'm certain -- "
She was interrupted by the door to the staff room banging against the wall as someone threw it open rudely. Severus Snape, normally sallow face pale with rage, loomed in the entryway.
"Oh, do come in, Severus," McGonagall said. "Young Dora and I were just -- "
"I beg your pardon, Deputy Headmistress, but would it be possible for Professor Tonks and myself to have a word in private?" he asked, voice tightly controlled. McGonagall gave Tonks a "better you than me" look as she stood.
"I'm not certain I ought, Severus," she answered. "You look rather -- "
"We aren't children, and we don't require a babysitter," he snapped. His gaze fell on Dora. "One of us isn't, anyway."
"Now, Professor Snape -- "
"Professor McGonagall, with all due respect, this is not your concern."
McGonagall set her tea down and put her hands on her hips. "I'm not sure you're quite old enough yet to tell me what is and is not my concern, Severus. It's clear -- "
"It's all right," Dora said, finally finding her voice in the face of Snape's towering wrath. She'd lived through seven years of it when he was her professor, and now that she had a certain right to talk back to him, as a colleague, she found she was itching for the chance. "Professor Snape and I can discuss things like civilised human beings, I'm sure."
McGonagall looked slightly surprised, but she picked up her tea, nodded at Dora, gave Snape a warning look, and brushed past him, closing the door behind her as she left. There was a moment of painful silence.
"How dare you?" he demanded finally. "I had my reservations about your appointment to this position long before you arrived, and now I see them fully justified. Impersonating a professor -- "
"I am a professor," she answered, not rising from her chair.
"Impersonating another person for the purposes of amusing your classes is an outrage to the dignity of this institution!" he roared.
"It wasn't a comedy routine -- "
"Oh? It wasn't? The entire school discussing me with ridiculous -- pink -- hair!" He could barely get the words out, his dignity was so affronted. "I suppose that wasn't intended to be amusing at all?"
"It was intended to prove a point, and if you haven't even bothered to ask why I did it, you shouldn't go poking your nose in -- "
"Outrageous child!" he shouted. "How dare you impersonate me without asking permission?"
"I wasn't aware I had to have my lessons plans checked by -- "
"A person whose face you're wearing? Are you really so incredibly idiotic?" His voice dropped. "No. Of course you aren't. You knew precisely what the effect on those children would be, and you didn't ask me because you knew I would say no."
"I didn't think you'd care!" she blurted. "Professor McGonagall thought it was clever!"
"So I am now the laughingstock of the staff as well as the children?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well done. You've succeeded where a generation of schoolchildren have failed. This isn't Twelve Grimmauld Place," he continued, before she could get a word in edgewise. "This is Hogwarts, and while we are here I am not your parents' friend. I am a professor, senior to yourself by many, many years, and I deserve the respect of that position. I do not deserve to be mocked behind my back!"
"I wasn't mocking you! I was making a point!" she retorted.
"Yes, and a fine point you've made," he growled. "Stay out of my way, and if you so much as colour your hair black, I will ensure that you are removed from your position for irresponsible negligence."
"Professor -- "
He was gone too quickly for her to explain or even apologise. She realised she was shaking, and cursed herself; she'd taken on warlocks a lot tougher than Severus Snape, but they hadn't been her professor or the quiet, sardonic man her parents had over to dinner every few weeks. She'd thought he might be amused; she was used to his dour demeanor, but he did smile once in a while, and she hadn't hoped for anything more emotional than a tight-lipped smile and a nod of acknowledgement over dinner.
There was a soft click as McGonagall let herself back into the staff room. She resumed her seat across from Dora, and waited patiently for the younger woman to gather her wits about her.
"I could have stayed," the older woman said finally.
"No, then he would have just shouted at me with witnesses," Dora answered. "I didn't think he'd be so angry."
"To be frank, neither did I, and I know him much better than you do," McGonagall replied. "As much as he confides in anyone, I suppose, he confides in me. It's his pride, you know. I think he's terribly afraid the children will realise someday that he's not omnipotent, and when they do, he won't be able to control them." She smiled. "I remember when he started teaching his greatest fear was that he'd be like old Metterley -- Metterley taught Defence Against the Dark Arts, you know, when Severus was a student. He wasn't good at keeping his classes under control -- he wasn't a very bright man, really, and Severus, unfortunately, was. He ran circles around most of his professors."
"Not you, I bet," Dora said with a small smile.
"Certainly not me," McGonagall agreed.
"So I guess I should stick to impersonating famous people, and keep away from professors?"
"I certainly don't mind. I've always wondered what I'd look like with purple hair," McGonagall said, and Dora couldn't help grinning.
"Come by my class tomorrow after breakfast and find out," she replied.
At least if she had to get shouted at on her first day of teaching, it hadn't been Professor McGonagall.
***
Sept 4, 1992
Broosh & Chakle Studios
Dear Mr. Payne,
I have been appointed by President Wotton to address the inquiries your client has made through your offices and forward all information you have requested. I am enclosing a standard confidentiality agreement signed by all clients before they undergo the process. However, I can provide some preliminary information to you at the moment.
The process has not been known to work on magical creatures at all, to discount the second part of your inquiry; usually, if the client requires that their beloved Fluffy be included, it is added in regular magical paint after the portrait is completed. It will show all the signs of a normal magical painting, but will not age nor will it preserve the magical pet in question.
To the best of my knowledge, as a portraitist with the Studio for a number of years, we have never attempted a portrait with an Animagus; as I'm sure you know, they are quite rare. In 1962 we did successfully handle a Metamorphmagus, although they were required not to shift their features or bodies at all for the duration of the sittings, which your client may be aware takes several weeks. An inconvenience, perhaps, but not impossible. I would imagine the same restriction would apply to an Animagus, as the conditions are remarkably similar according to my research.
Having confirmed these two items with the studio's records, I can also report that we have never knowingly dealt with a Werewolf in this particular process. Werewolves being more common than either Animagi or Metamorphmagi, it is possible that we have done so unknowingly; however, as they have distinctive differences in their transformative qualities, I can name three or four issues with completing the portrait right off the bat. None are insurmountable, especially with the assistance of the Werewolf in question.
I must admit that I would be terribly excited to work with any of the abovementioned Magical Persons, and if required could handle the portrait myself, without disclosing their particular unusual status in the Studio's recordkeeping; we pride ourselves on the discretion we employ. Especially if your client is a werewolf, I would like to arrange an interview with him or her. To that end, I have included a mutual nondisclosure clause in the document, ensuring that I, as the artist, will not betray your client's magical status. All the usual punitive damages and magical punishments apply.
If you require more information on the process itself, I have been authorised to answer any and all questions you may have, by owl or in person, upon receiving the return of the signed confidentiality form.
Sincerely,
Helena Broosh
Senior Journeyman Portraitist
Broosh & Chakle Studios
***
Sirius was never comfortable in his solicitor's office; Llewellyn Payne was a kind, elderly man, an incongruous choice for his parents, but beneath that twinkling eye and wispy-hair lurked the mind of a criminal genius and a chess master rolled into one. Still, he was the soul of discretion and tact with his clients, and Sirius wouldn't have had a clue how to go about finding a new solicitor anyway.
"Ah, Mr Black," Payne said, taking a large black portfolio out of his bottom desk drawer. "I imagine you'll be wanting to see your quarterly investment numbers? I've had your accountants -- "
"Uh, no, actually," Sirius said, hesitantly. "I made the appointment for another reason entirely."
"Oh? I hope you've not landed yourself into some new legal trouble. My clerks have had quite the time dealing with your little automotive mishap," Payne chuckled.
"No, I...ah...well, I didn't actually make this appointment under my own name," Sirius admitted.
"I beg your pardon, Mr Black?"
"I, um, made it under another name. I'm the one, Mr. Canis, I owled you anonymously with the inquiry about Broosh & Chakle studios."
Payne stared at him for a while, blinking, before composing himself.
"I see," he said. "Are you perhaps planning on a gift for your young cousin? Miss Tonks, I believe, the Metamorphmagus?"
"Well...listen, I know all about legal confidentiality," Sirius said, leaning close. "And there's privileged information, and then there's Privileged information. I've seen a lot of people slip things out without seeming to."
Payne smiled at him. "Mr Black, not to be crude, but there is a reason lawyers are often compared to a certain class of working woman. It has always been my policy that I am paid to be intelligent, tactful, and silent. My loyalty to those who do not pay me is bought with friendship, but my loyalty to those who keep me on retainer is absolute. If you are a werewolf, Mr Black, the one person in the world you may be sure will never betray your confidence is sitting before you."
"Oh -- Merlin -- no," Sirius stammered. "I mean, I am asking about werewolves, but I'm not one personally."
"I see."
"I'm...are you sure you can't tell anyone if I've committed a crime?"
"I dearly hope you haven't murdered anyone, Mr Black, but even if you have -- "
"I'm an unregistered Animagus," Sirius blurted. Payne raised a white eyebrow. "I've never been authorised to even conduct the ritual required for the transformation."
Payne pursed his lips. "Yes, I believe that breaks -- "
"Eight separate Ministry laws, I looked it up once."
"Nine, if you count the law passed last year against impersonating animals in public. Presuming you have," Payne said thoughtfully. "Ranging in penalties from small fines through imprisonment in Azkaban, if I'm not mistaken. Is this a recent development?"
"Er...no. It happened when I was fifteen."
For the first time in all the years he'd known Payne, the solicitor looked astonished. Sirius stared down at the desk as if he'd been chided. Closing his mouth with an audible click, Payne shuffled papers on his desk while he gathered his thoughts.
"Well, certainly -- you've read the letter, I forwarded it on to the address that you, er, Mr. Canis gave me -- certainly you could approach Broosh & Chakle without revealing your unique status. Although you would not be allowed to become...a...?"
"Dog," Sirius muttered.
"A dog, good heavens, I expected a panther or something," Payne said. Sirius suspected he was being teased.
"There's, um, more."
"Mr Black, are you attempting to give me a heart attack?"
Sirius grinned at him. "Um, my friend, Remus Lupin -- "
"Oh, yes, I believe we've met once or twice. Tall, brown-haired man?"
"That's him. Listen, if I tell you something about him, is that confidential too?"
"I shall be silent as the grave," Payne assured him.
"He's a werewolf."
"Ah. That does muddy the waters," Payne said, after a contemplative moment. "Would he be willing to meet with the studio representative to discuss options?"
"I haven't actually told him I've made the inquiry yet."
"And you'd like my advice?"
"I...I guess, yes."
Payne steepled his fingers, thoughtfully. "Clearly you're contemplating a portrait for Mr Lupin as well as yourself."
"I thought one together, perhaps."
Payne lifted one eyebrow. Sirius flushed.
"You're rather full of secrets, Mr Black. It must be a relief to get a few of them off your chest."
Sirius was silent.
"In that case," Payne continued, "I would certainly advise you to speak with Mr. Lupin before taking further steps. Under the confidentiality contract, he would be protected, and Ms. Broosh certainly seems to be of a tolerant disposition, but ultimately the decision to admit to someone -- anyone -- that he is a werewolf rests with Mr. Lupin. I would not," he added, "inform him that you have shared that information with me."
"No, you're right," Sirius murmured. "Thank you for your time."
"You pay for it," Payne pointed out with a smile. "If I may, Mr. Black -- as I recall your current will entitles Mr. Lupin to the vast majority of your estate, with significant portions also going to Ms. Tonks and her family. May I suggest a specific clause stating that your young ward, Master Potter, is to be placed in his custody in the event of your untimely death? With a subclause stating that no infirmity, condition, or legal infraction shall prevent the letter of the will from being carried out? Otherwise, of course, young Master Potter becomes a ward of the Tonkses, which may in some ways be preferable."
Sirius nodded eagerly. "I, ah, oh yes -- I'll have to get his permission -- I'm sure he'll agree."
Payne smiled and began shuffling paper again as Sirius let himself out, barely looking where he was going until he was back on the street again.
Well, he'd told Payne and hadn't died. Perhaps, if this artist Payne was in contact with could keep a secret...
To the Next Part
Once they'd passed the cloud cover, with Sirius pulling his riding leathers up around his face and muttering warming charms to keep from getting frostbite, Remus released the charm and saluted out the window at Sirius.
"That was brilliant," Harry breathed, from the honoured front seat. In the back, Neville and Padma were plastered to the windows, staring out, while Draco, trapped in the middle, looked like he was going to be sick.
"All right back there?" Remus asked, adjusting the mirror so that he could see the backseat, as there was little danger of being tailgated at this altitude, except by attitudinous ducks.
"Are you sure this is all right?" Padma asked. "Move over, Harry, I want to see the view from the front."
"Well, so long as we get you to Hogwarts on time, I don't see that it matters how you get there," Remus replied, though he looked a trifle uneasy. "Don't open your windows, we don't want you falling out if I have to make a sudden turn."
"I'm going to dip down every once in a while," Sirius called, "And track the train, all right?"
"Sounds fine," Remus answered. "Remember your concealment charm."
"Where's the fun in that?" Sirius laughed, and ducked below the clouds. Remus sighed and continued north by the dashboard compass, until Sirius popped up far away on their left and beckoned them over.
"Found the tracks!" he shouted. "Hit a goose, I'm afraid!"
"Beware of falling poultry," Remus muttered with a grin, dutifully signalling before angling the car towards Sirius.
They caught up to the train around twelve-thirty and, having established that it ran through a small Muggle village on its way to Hogwarts, landed just outside the sleepy little town and drove sedately through until they found a place to stop for lunch. Sirius ran across the road to buy a map book, and over fish and chips the two men studied it carefully.
"Now I don't expect the railway line to be on here," Sirius said, "but Hogwarts is here," with a stab of finger on paper, "right, or hereabouts?"
"I think it's a bit more north, really," Remus answered.
"Well, anyway, if we head in this direction we're more or less on the right path. So we don't have to follow the train if we don't want to, and this way we'll get there just as everyone's coming up from the station. Grand entrance," Sirius declared. Harry and Neville cheered.
"Do you think that's really wise?" Remus asked.
"We've already stolen a car," Sirius pointed out.
"Borrowed."
"Oooh, I bet Arthur was furious," Sirius mused. "Hope he got home all right."
"Well, without a dozen children and trunks to chaperone, I imagine he could find a nice quiet loo to Apparate from," Remus said, reassuring himself as much as Sirius.
"Well, anyway, we'll fly northwest, yeah? We can cut across where the train takes a bit of a detour, and we'll pick it up near Hogsmeade again. You lads up for another few hours of flying? And lady," Sirius added hastily, glancing at Padma.
"Can't I ride on the motorbike?" Harry asked.
"Two more years," Sirius promised. Harry sighed. "Tell you what, you take the map, and you can navigate."
"All right," Harry said. "But when I turn fourteen you'd better not have sold the motorbike."
"Promise," Sirius said with a grin. "I'll pay up, I think I've still got some Muggle cash on me -- "
"No using Obiliviate to cheat the pub out of a meal, Sirius."
"I never would, Prefect," Sirius sing-songed, while Remus began to herd the children back towards the car.
The rest of the trip went more or less smoothly, except for the somewhat expected stir-craziness on the part of the children. Trevor also made a spirited bid for freedom that would have ended the career of the world's first skydiving amphibian with a resounding splatter if Padma hadn't caught him at the last minute.
They still hadn't found the train tracks again by early afternoon, and Remus breathed a sigh of relief when Draco spotted the familiar spires of Hogwarts castle, almost dead ahead.
"Look down," Remus ordered, as they soared over Hogsmeade. "Pretty little place from the air, isn't it?"
"It looks like a toy village," Padma exclaimed, just before they left it behind and began skimming the treetops of the Forbidden Forest.
"Time-check, Harry?"
"Train ought to be just pulling in," Harry replied. "Look -- there it is!"
The Hogwarts Express was standing empty at the platform, and the carriages that took the students from the train to the castle had just disgorged the last of their passengers as the Anglia flew over, low enough for them to see the surprise on the upturned faces watching them. Remus circled the castle once, looking for a decent place to land, before angling low and flat over the grassy hill just past the Quidditch pitch.
"Seat belts, we're about to land," he announced, and the children had just settled in when there was a resounding thump, and the car skidded to a stop on the grass, leaving a muddy track behind it.
"Not the most comfortable landing, but not bad for a first timer," Remus declared, as Sirius brought the motorbike to a perfect two-point landing next to them. "Everyone out, Hogwarts Mini-Express has reached the end of the line."
A swarm of house-elves appeared almost immediately, screeching in shock at the long streaks of uprooted grass Remus had left behind him while landing. Some of the others took control of the trunks, and had soon vanished with them. Denbigh, head of the Kitchen elves and a particular friend of theirs, started to shoo the children towards the door.
"Masters and mistress are so very late!" he squeaked, all but shoving them in the direction of the castle. "The feast has begun! Minerva McGonagall is in a state, sirs and miss!"
"We can't be that late," Remus said. "We saw them going up as we landed."
"Minerva McGonagall is having a letter special express from a Wheezy," Denbigh continued. "About the bloody flying automobile, she is saying. Mistress Padma Patil is being searched high and low for!"
"Bum, we're in for it now," Sirius said, in Remus' ear. "I didn't think about the Patils. Do you suppose we've caused a national wizarding panic?"
"Sounds about your style, yes," Remus answered.
"I didn't drive the car!"
"It was your idea."
They were passing through the front corridor now, towards one of the side-doorways to the Great Hall. Denbigh put a long green finger to what counted, on house-elves, as his lips, and opened the door just enough for them to slip through. They ended up behind a banner at one end of the Ravenclaw table just as McGonagall, a murderous gleam evident in her eye, began wrathfully calling names for the Sorting Hat.
"Well, buck up," Sirius said quietly. "At least if there's hell to pay we'll take the blame. Reckon you can get to your seats without attracting too much attention?"
"Padma can," Harry said, indicating a nearby empty seat. "And Draco and I ought to be able to. Gryffindor's way at the other end though; bad luck," he added to Neville, who gulped. "Look, there's Oliver, you can ask him to move over."
The two adults watched carefully as the children crept into their seats while the last of the names were being called. Sirius pointed out Tonks, who had keenly noticed Neville sharing half a bench-space with Oliver; if Dumbledore had noticed, and he probably had, he gave no sign.
The Headmaster was just standing to give his usual welcoming speech when Sirius' focus shifted.
"Hang on, where's McGonagall got to?" he asked, and Remus followed his gaze towards the high table.
"Look, they're missing Snape, too."
"Maybe the bastard finally got himself fired."
"Maybe he's not quite well yet," Remus said more charitably.
"Maybe he's waiting to find out why four of his students vanished from King's Cross, only to be seen lunching in the company of two disreputable-looking men and a blue Ford Anglia," said a chilly voice behind them.
"Bugger," Sirius said with emphasis.
"Maybe he's not the only one," came another voice, this time in McGonagall's distinctive brogue. Both men turned to see the two Hogwarts professors, arms crossed, faces masks of annoyance and, in Snape's case, a hint of smug superiority.
"My office," McGonagall snapped. "Now."
"Aren't we a bit old for detention?" Sirius asked. Her mouth tightened into a thin, hard line. "Right, your office. Just seeing the children safe into the Feast," he added, as they turned to walk down the corridor, towards the stairs.
McGonagall was silent as she led the three men up to her office, and even Snape looked a little nervous about being in a small, enclosed space with an enraged Deputy Headmistress. Once the door was closed she waved them curtly into chairs and went to the fireplace, kneeling on it and tossing some floo-powder in. They heard her speak briefly to Sara Patil, who sounded relieved.
"Now that's settled," she said, withdrawing from the fireplace, "I should like to know how two grown men, who give every impression of having finally learned how to behave like responsible members of society, could kidnap four children, steal an automobile, fly willy-nilly across the English countryside, and expect that they'll be able to simply sneak the children into the feast as if nothing had happened?"
Sirius shifted uncomfortably. Remus cleared his throat.
"Well, we didn't exactly fly...willy-nilly," he began. "I mean, we knew where we were -- "
"Not a word to the Patils about where their daughter had gone, not even a note left for Arthur Weasley about that -- that -- "
"Blasted flying car?" Snape suggested, calmly.
"Well, it was the fastest route, and we didn't want the children to be late," Sirius began.
"In that case, Mr. Black, I suggest that next time you get to the platform in a prompt fashion."
"We did try," Remus said, spreading his hands. "The platform portal closed on us. We couldn't very well leave the children there, and flying them seemed the most logical thing to do." He paused. "Now that I come to actually say it...."
"You're supposed to be on my side!" Sirius hissed.
"Do you two actually have any idea how much trouble you've caused? Beyond throwing the Patils into a panic and forcing Arthur Weasley to report his illegal flying car -- "
"He's a very safe driver -- "
"Mr. Black, when I am talking, you are not, is that understood?" McGonagall snapped. Sirius hung his head like any scolded third-year.
"Yes'm," he mumbled.
"We were forced to contact Mr. and Mrs. Tonks, as well, who I may say were less than helpful," McGonagall continued. "Andromeda Tonks in particular didn't seem to think there was anything to worry about."
"There wasn't," Sirius muttered rebelliously. "Good for her."
"In addition," said Snape, in a somewhat silky, predatory voice, "there is the newspaper to consider."
He tossed a Muggle paper onto the desk in front of them. Remus pulled it towards him.
"UFO sighted over Yorkshire countryside," he read aloud. "Well, at least they don't know what it is."
"Nevertheless, several people had to be...handled by the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office after reporting that this 'alien spacecraft' appeared to highly resemble an antique motorbike."
"Told you to use better concealment charms," Remus muttered, over Sirius' enraged "Antique! It's called classic, thanks."
"What's this nonsense about not being able to get onto the platform?" McGonagall continued. "If that's what inspired this mad and reckless behaviour, I should like to hear about it, considering I have spent my entire afternoon hearing about how Padma Patil has been kidnapped and what I ought to be doing about it."
"We arrived in plenty of time to catch the train," Remus said slowly, once it became evident he wouldn't be snapped at for speaking. "I even went through, onto the platform. When Sirius and the children didn't follow, I came back out, and couldn't get in again. We thought it was some kind of prank," he added. "We were concerned that the children would miss the Feast, so we took Arthur's car and flew them here. They were never in the slightest danger; the car has excellent child-safety locks."
McGonagall looked as though she'd like to take issue with what was obviously a flippant finishing statement, but Remus had not been a Prefect for nothing; his delivery was deadpan serious, and it was hard to tell if he'd been joking at all.
"Sorry about the lawns," Remus added. "I'll pay for the grounds repairs. And we'll return the Anglia to Arthur, of course."
"It's being impounded," Snape said smoothly.
"What?" Sirius demanded. "You can't -- "
"It is illegal to enchant a car to fly without a permit. Or a driver's licence," Snape interrupted. "Arthur Weasley has neither. It's out of our hands, I'm afraid."
"You bastard, you didn't have to TELL anyone," Sirius snarled.
"Didn't have to tell anyone that you abducted my students?" Snape asked, pushing himself away from the table he'd been leaning on. "I didn't have to inform authorities that they were being carried without their consent hundreds of miles above the air in an illegal flying vehicle? I'm sure that would have gone over well with the Patils. Yes, Mrs. Patil, we're unaware of your daughter's whereabouts, but we suspect she's in a flying Ford Anglia bound for Hogwarts, and we don't think it's necessary to inform the authorities. Brilliant plan, Black, as usual."
"Are we finished?" Sirius asked McGonagall, doing the one thing that could enrage Snape more than anything else -- ignoring him. "Or am I going to have to scrub Professor Snape's chalkboards?"
"The Headmaster," McGonagall said, choosing each word with care, "has intervened on your behalf, and I understand that, seeing as you did escort the children without harm to their destination, other than the impounding of the automobile no punitive measures will be taken. Unfortunately, in my opinion," she continued, "your motorbike is specially licensed, although you will be required to pay a fine for being seen by Muggles, even if you were taken for an alien spacecraft. What these Muggles imagine they're seeing..." She sighed then, and shook her head. "I believe you should be grateful to the Headmaster for his handling of the situation, and to your cousin Mrs. Tonks for certain strings she has no doubt pulled to keep your motorbike licence from being revoked."
Sirius was opening his mouth to say something, probably something stupid, when there was a high-pitched squeal outside, and McGonagall turned to look out the window.
"Merciful Merlin," she said, as Snape and the other two joined her.
Below, they could see the Anglia's landing-tracks, and in the floodlight from a Lumos Maximus charm, several Aurors in a loose circle around the car. A few of them were pushing themselves up off the ground. All four of the car's doors were open, as well as the trunk and hood, which seemed to be bobbing up and down -- rather like mouths, really. One of the Aurors stepped forward, cautiously, and the car --
The car moved on its own, jerking forward, feinting at the Auror, who backpedaled quickly. There was a revving noise, and the motorbike drove itself into the fray, settling firmly in front of the Anglia's front fender. Sirius swore.
"What on earth...?" Remus asked, as an Auror approached from the back of the car, only to be thrust rudely away. The Anglia's tyres squealed in place, throwing up mud, and its headlamps flashed threateningly.
"It knows what's going on," Sirius said. The Aurors had managed to get some kind of net over its hood that was anchoring it to the ground, but the Anglia wasn't going to give up without a fight.
"It's a car, it doesn't know anything," Remus replied.
"Nobody charmed it to do that," Sirius said, as one of the doors thumped an advancing Auror soundly. "Look, it's the perfect defensive makeup -- it can see you coming from any direction with those mirrors, and if it can't run you over it can thwack you with its doors."
"I'm not interested in the biology of the common Muggle car," Snape growled. "Why don't they just -- "
"Look at it go," Remus said, pointing. The Anglia had shaken off half the net and was now doing circles almost in place, back tyres anchoring it while the front ones rolled furiously. The Aurors took cover from the sheets of mud and water it was flinging up, and the occasional defensive dodge by the motorbike. When a sufficient swath had been cleared, the motorbike's engine revved, and the Anglia took the hint -- off it went, bumping over the grass and occasionally managing to soar a few inches off the ground before thumping down again. By the time the Aurors had regrouped enough to give chase, it was nothing more than a fading pair of brake lights in the Forbidden Forest.
There was stunned silence for a moment.
"Guess it didn't want to go," Sirius said solemnly. The motorbike's headlamp flashed a few times, proudly, and then went out as it fell back on its kickstand.
***
The Flying Car Incident was the talk of the dormitories that night; Draco, painfully shy in the spotlight, hid in the kitchens until lights-out to avoid the attention of his classmates, while the girls who shared a room with Padma all wanted to know how it worked and if she'd been allowed to drive. There was also a significant amount of talk about dashing Mr. Black and his clever valet Mr. Lupin, and how romantic it must be to soar above the clouds in a blue Ford Anglia. Padma ignored it, for the most part, as she arranged Elmo's jar in a little altar next to her bed and made sure he was comfortably stocked with peppers.
Neville was asked to tell the story over and over again, and while Neville was not a gifted storyteller, it didn't really need much embellishment -- especially after Percy Weasley came up to the Gryffindor common room with news that the Anglia had made a daring solo escape into the Forbidden Forest, and the Aurors had given up the chase. Mr. Black was going to have to pay a very large fine, and in addition pay their father back for the car. Ron said it was worth it, and he wished he'd been late too so that he could go with them, and Ginny said wasn't Harry Potter's godfather cool, and the general consensus was that nobody would ever be as cool as Sirius Black, and of course he was a Gryffindor, because that was the sort of brave, cool thing Gryffindors did.
In Slytherin it was a slightly...different story.
Harry Potter had stolen the glory of the new Slytherin first years, had once again consorted openly with other Houses, and -- most importantly -- had gotten to ride in a flying car, which bred jealousy like nobody's business. The older students envied him and hated themselves for envying him, while the newest students talked unsubtly about how they were going to be the best Slytherin class ever, much better than the last one. Harry finally escaped to the dormitory, where Theo Nott and his hoodlums Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles menacingly while he unpacked his clothes and hid his old soft toy, Frog, in the secret bottom compartment, lest there be talk of Baby Harry and his Stupid Teddy Frog.
The only Slytherin who didn't have some kind of grudge against Harry was, apparently, a small, mousy-haired boy called Creevey, whom all the other Slytherin first-years were pointedly ignoring. Word had gone around that he was Muggle-born, though they didn't use quite so nice a term for it. No-one wanted to associate with a runt who had no family and could not be separated from a camera that was bigger than his head.
The next morning, with the rest of the House sleepy and yawning, was at least a little better; Harry was up before most of them, and was gratified to find Draco and Padma waiting for him in the dining hall for their usual early-morning breakfast. Dora was there too, sitting at the high table, and she winked at Harry over her oatmeal.
"I went past Gryffindor, but Neville said he couldn't find his shoes and I ought to go on without him," Padma said. "Thank you, Denbigh," she added, as the house-elf set a plate of fried bread near her elbow.
"He needs some kind of charm," Draco said thoughtfully.
"Who, Denbigh?"
"No, I mean Neville. Something that just somehow attaches everything he owns to him. There's got to be some kind of 'find-it' spell. How do you lose your shoes?"
"You put them in a very safe place," Neville sighed, hurrying up and sliding onto the bench next to Padma. "Sorry. Is there any sausage -- oh, there it is," he added, helping himself to some of Harry's with a grin. Harry mimed stabbing his hand with a fork.
They were just finishing up their meals as other students began to appear and they were forced to go their separate ways; Padma took a book out of her bag and began to read at one end of the Ravenclaw table, while Draco joined a group of Hufflepuff second-years who were racing tarantulas. Harry sauntered over to the Slytherin table, sitting near the door so that he could be off once he got his morning owl post and class schedule.
A flashbulb popped just as he sat down, and the world was full of purple splotches for a moment; when his vision cleared he found himself confronted by the Creevey kid from the night before.
"What'd you do that for?" he demanded, reaching out to take the camera from the boy. Creevey jumped back.
"I like taking pictures," he said uncertainly. "And you're Harry Potter, aren't you? I hear you can get them developed so that they move, is that true?"
"Not me in particular," Harry scowled, then grabbed the camera when Creevey raised it to take another picture. "There's no picture-taking in the Great Hall, all right?"
"Really?" Creevey asked, wide-eyed. Harry had no clue whether picture-taking in the Great Hall was allowed or not, but a Slytherin takes his opportunities where he finds them.
"Not at all," he said promptly. "Not in the dormitories either. Might catch someone naked, you know."
"Gosh."
"Or in classrooms," Harry said, handing the camera back. "You take a picture of Professor McGonagall and she'll bite you."
Creevey looked terrified and scuttled away.
"Oi, Potter, didn't you know only fourth-years and up are allowed to terrorise the firsties?" said a voice, and Harry grinned as Oliver passed on the way to the Gryffindor table.
"I thought that rule was about bullying Gryffindors!" he called after Oliver, who offered the two-fingered salute over his shoulder. McGonagall, passing out class schedules by table, caught the older boy by the ear and led him along for a few paces before releasing him.
Owls began to swoop in through the windows, carrying letters, packages, newspapers, magazines, and various other odds and ends for the students. Hedwig landed in front of Harry, looking as though she'd flown all night, and dropped a slim envelope addressed in Remus' handwriting on the table before flapping off to the Owlery. Harry, intrigued, slit it open and shook out a letter and a newspaper article inside.
Dear Harry, the letter read, Good luck on your first day of classes. We're thinking of you. Thought you'd enjoy this article from the early edition. If Sirius ever stops getting into trouble, we'll know he's died. We're home safe -- we took the train -- so write and let us know how you are. Love, Remus.
Harry flattened the folded Prophet article, and began to read.
***
NEWS OF THE NATION -- HOGSMEADE
WP -- Rumours abound that Sirius Black, the last male heir to the Black family legacy and debonair wizard-about-town, has been accused by Aurors of several criminal acts. Sources report that Black has been charged with Operating a Magically Altered Muggle Artifact; Detection by Muggles, Grade Three; and Illegal Use of Muggle Airspace. His companion, Remus J. Lupin, has also been charged with a lesser count of Operating a Magically Altered Muggle Artifact in connection with these events.
If convicted, both men face fines totalling nearly a hundred Galleons, and a maximum of thirty days in Azkaban prison. It is unlikely, however, that Sirius Black, a well-connected man highly capable of paying even the most severe fine, will see the inside of Azkaban Prison anytime soon. Mr. Lupin, facing a lesser charge, may have his case dismissed for lack of evidence, the "uttomobile" having been hidden from Auror detection for the moment. Apparently the owner of the Muggle "uttomobile" involved, Mr. A. Weasley, has declined to press charges of theft.
The department of Magical Law Enforcement declined to comment on the likelihood of locating the uttomobile.
***
"Psst! Harry!" Padma said, leaning back across the aisle. "What're you reading?"
"Nothing," Harry answered, folding up the article and stuffing it into his pocket. "Just a letter from Remus."
"Get your schedule yet?"
"Yeah -- what've you got next?"
"Potions. You?"
"Defence Against the Dark Arts. Astronomy with you, night after tomorrow," Harry answered.
"Telescope partners?"
"Sure," Harry grinned. Padma matched it before turning around to copy her schedule onto a notecard for her pocket.
It was good to be back.
***
Neville caught up with Harry on their way to Defence class, the two boys walking democratically between the Gryffindors, shoving and rough-housing behind them, and the Slytherins, slouching along disdainfully ahead. Theo Nott had decided to lead the rest of the Slytherins, but Harry didn't need to be in front; he could afford to let Theo think he was number one until he needed to prove otherwise.
"You think it's going to be weird?" Harry asked, over the shouts of the other students.
"What, having Dora as a teacher?"
"Professor Tonks."
"Right, right," Neville looked determined, as though remembering to call his foster-sister Professor was a major hurdle to overcome. Knowing Neville's memory, perhaps it was; Harry saw the Remembrall bracelet on Neville's wrist, mostly hidden under his sleeve, and grinned a little. "I guess it might. She's always bossing me around at home, though, so I don't think it'll be all that different."
Harry laughed. "Think she'll be any good?"
"Sure, why wouldn't she?" Neville asked defensively.
"No reason, Longbottom, don't get all upset," Harry said, as they ducked into the classroom. He looked away from Neville, eyes scanning the room for Dora -- Professor Tonks -- but she was nowhere to be seen.
Professor Snape was standing at the front of the class instead, scowling at the Gryffindors as they poured noisily inside. The Slytherins smirked at each other and took seats in the front rows. The Gryffindors barely hid their dismay as they piled into the back rows, and Harry got separated from Neville by Crabbe, who wanted to sit next to Snape's favourite.
"Silence, please," Snape drawled, eyes scanning the classroom. They settled on Harry for a minute, and Harry looked at Neville suddenly; Neville's face was split in a hugely amused grin.
Snape's eyes were the wrong colour.
"If you do not stop fidgeting, Longbottom, I will deduct ten points from Gryffindor," he snapped, and Neville tried his hardest to put on an appropriate poker face. "Professor Tonks, regrettably, cannot attend to her duties today. You find that funny, Mr. Potter?"
"No, sir," Harry replied, promptly wiping the smile from his face as well.
"Good. Now -- "
Snape paused in apparent surprise. The class was staring. One lock of his short black hair had turned bright pink.
There was a slow titter of laughter from the Gryffindors as another, on the other side of his head, popped up vivid purple. The crown of his head suddenly turned blond.
"What on earth -- " Snape stuttered, as his hair became a rainbow of garish bright colours. "LONGBOTTOM!"
Neville had broken down into laughter. He tried to pretend to cringe as the rainbow-haired Snape bore down on him, but it was useless; as Snape ordered him out of his seat, the rest of the Gryffindors and most of the Slytherins were laughing, and Snape's face had turned choleric red.
"LONGBOTTOM, STOP THIS INSTANT!" Snape roared, as his nose began to change. "If you do not CEASE THIS AT ONCE I shall -- "
All of a sudden his voice was softer, much more feminine, and his face had changed dramatically. Nymphadora Tonks stood before Neville, laughing helplessly herself as her hair returned to a sober auburn shade.
" -- be forced to reveal who I really am," she finished, with a grin. "All right, you lot, settle down," she added, as the Slytherins began to grumble and the Gryffindors laughed among themselves. She made her way back to the front of the room, still wearing Snape's usual dour black, though she filled it out a little differently than before.
"Good morning to you all," she said. "As you may have guessed, I am Professor Tonks," she said, as she flicked her wand at the chalkboard. A piece of chalk lifted itself up into the air and began to write her name on the board. Her last name only, Harry noticed. Not that he blamed her.
"I am your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and what I have just shown you is actually a little test for your first morning. Oh, come on now," she said, as the students universally groaned. "You're not going to be graded on it." She leaned back on the desk at the front of the classroom, and crossed her arms. "How many of you knew it wasn't Snape right before I changed?"
There was an awkward silence. They stared at her, and she sighed.
"Come on, hands up! How many of you knew? I'm not going to bite," she said sternly. Almost every hand went up, except for Crabbe, who was looking a few minutes behind events.
"All right, how many of you knew it wasn't Snape when I started berating Neville?"
Many of the hands dropped.
"And how many of you knew when my hair first went pink?"
Four hands were still in the air -- Theo's, Harry's, Neville's, and Ron's.
"Now. How many of you knew before that?"
Harry fought the overwhelming urge to drop his hand, but he kept it up. Neville, apparently taking courage from him, did the same. She nodded.
"Neville and Harry, as many of you are probably going to protest, already know me. How did you know, Neville?"
"Snape's eyes are darker," Neville stammered.
"Harry?"
"Same," Harry answered.
"Neville and Harry noticed this because they know I'm a metamorphmagus," Dora said, as the chalk wrote out the complicated term on the board. There was a rustle of paper and quills as people scrambled to begin taking notes, and she looked startled for a minute before continuing. "For those of you who don't know, metamorphmagery is a rare magical condition -- some call it a birth defect -- where a person is able to alter their body to a certain extent. This is not to say that they are perfectly able to imitate people. As Neville pointed out, I got Professor Snape's eyes wrong. I don't know most of you, so I couldn't pick on you by name as Professor Snape might have done. Not," she added hastily, eyes sweeping the room, "that Professor Snape picks on people, I'm sure."
Another quiet murmur of amusement.
"The key to detecting an imposter, as with all defence, is observing actions and identifying threats. Constant vigilance, as one of my old teachers at the Auror academy says. What I am going to be teaching you, this year, is a combination of observational skill and magical knowledge, so that when you get out in the real world you're prepared to defend yourself. Merlin forbid you have to."
Harry glanced around. The rest of the class was still watching her intently, and she looked a little anxious under the sudden focus of twenty-odd sets of eyes.
"Uhm. With that in mind," she continued, "we're going to start the class off with a little discussion of ancient defensive magic, and at the end, if there's time, I'll give you a practical demonstration. Who can tell me what an apotropaic is?"
Hermione Granger's hand shot up. Harry rolled his eyes.
"An ancient defensive amulet like a picture of a dog or a demon's head," she said, when Dora pointed at her.
"Well....yes and no. It is an ancient defensive amulet, but it took many forms. Some of which you'll be discussing when you're much older," Dora said. "Today we're going to be discussing one of the most common, which is the Gorgon. Yes, Miss..."
"Granger, ma'am."
"Miss Granger?"
"Like Medusa, professor?"
"Yes, like Medusa. Take five points for Gryffindor," Tonks said. "Who can tell me who Medusa was? Not you, Miss Granger."
Theo raised his hand. "She had snakes on her head."
"Snakes as hair, all right, what else?"
Theo looked thoughtful. "Turned people to stone?"
"And five for Slytherin."
"And she was really ugly," Theo added.
"Not always, which leads us to the lecture," Tonks said, flicking her wand at the chalkboard. It moved and stretched, as though something was pushing against it, until finally a face popped out in relief, a sad-looking woman with a broad face, rich frowning lips, heavy eyelids and thick curly hair.
"This is also a face of Medusa, from Italy, dating to probably about twenty-five hundred years ago," she began. "The Greeks hung the face of Medusa on temple walls and the gates of their homes as protection against evil..."
***
Sept. 2, 1992
Long, Draughnout, Payne & Assc.
President Andrew Wotton, Broosh & Chakle Studios:
The law firm of Long, Draughnout, Payne, & Associates have been retained to make certain inquiries into the nature of your studio and in particular all charms, spells, hexes, potions, and magical devices used in your patented Dorian Gray portraiture process. Our client, who wishes to remain anonymous, has requested information concerning their possible effects on unusual magical persons.
If you would please forward any and all information concerning the Dorian Gray process and its effects on Animagi, Werewolves, Metamorphmagi, and magical pets such as Kneazles and Salamanders, our client would be much obliged. We will of course sign any confidentiality agreements you require, understanding that you prefer to protect your business interests. We will not disclose any details of the process itself to our client, but rather make a recommendation to said client based upon the information you provide.
You are of course under no obligation to disclose any of the information requested. However, our client has authorized payment of your usual per diem consulting fee, to compensate for your expenditure of time in this matter. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me via Owl or Floo, or to arrange a meeting in person.
Yrs,
Llewellyn Payne, Esq.
***
It had been a long day for Dora Tonks. Between her first day of teaching, the many layers of the costume she'd been wearing, and the frequent body-shifts, she was nearly exhausted. It had, however, also been worth it, she felt. She'd captivated the OWLs-level classes with advanced hexes for them to gnaw on, and gotten on the good side of most of the lower years with her Snape impression. If she could just get the NEWTs students in the special Friday class to accept her...
"Good afternoon, Professor Tonks," Minerva McGonagall said, as she walked into the staff room. Dora, from where she lay sprawled in one of the squashy easy chairs near the windows, grinned and waved in greeting.
"Professor McGonagall," she said, in a carefully respectful voice with just a hint of good humour. McGonagall smiled back, which had been enough of a rarity during her school years that she was still getting used to it as a professor.
"Did you have a good first day?" the older woman asked, pouring herself a cup of tea and stirring it with her wand to warm it.
"Brilliant," Dora answered, enthusiastically. "Now if I could just get up the energy to move..."
McGonagall settled into a chair nearby, and sipped her tea. "It is a little wearing at first. You'll get used to it in time. I heard about your opening lectures from many of my students -- quite a brilliant stroke, a good practical lesson."
"Good," Dora said, "because I'm going to be impersonating you in all of tomorrow's lessons."
McGonagall chuckled into her tea. "I shall have to lend you a hat appropriate to the occasion. I hope you didn't do anything unseemly in the guise of Professor Snape."
"Nothing worse than berating Neville, which I hear he does enough of," she answered. "And I've signed an agreement with Dumbledore not to change while I'm here, except in the cause of education."
"Well, I can't say I blame him. A less scrupulous person might go about collecting gossip and making trouble in the guise of other people. You were always a very honest young woman, however, and I'm certain -- "
She was interrupted by the door to the staff room banging against the wall as someone threw it open rudely. Severus Snape, normally sallow face pale with rage, loomed in the entryway.
"Oh, do come in, Severus," McGonagall said. "Young Dora and I were just -- "
"I beg your pardon, Deputy Headmistress, but would it be possible for Professor Tonks and myself to have a word in private?" he asked, voice tightly controlled. McGonagall gave Tonks a "better you than me" look as she stood.
"I'm not certain I ought, Severus," she answered. "You look rather -- "
"We aren't children, and we don't require a babysitter," he snapped. His gaze fell on Dora. "One of us isn't, anyway."
"Now, Professor Snape -- "
"Professor McGonagall, with all due respect, this is not your concern."
McGonagall set her tea down and put her hands on her hips. "I'm not sure you're quite old enough yet to tell me what is and is not my concern, Severus. It's clear -- "
"It's all right," Dora said, finally finding her voice in the face of Snape's towering wrath. She'd lived through seven years of it when he was her professor, and now that she had a certain right to talk back to him, as a colleague, she found she was itching for the chance. "Professor Snape and I can discuss things like civilised human beings, I'm sure."
McGonagall looked slightly surprised, but she picked up her tea, nodded at Dora, gave Snape a warning look, and brushed past him, closing the door behind her as she left. There was a moment of painful silence.
"How dare you?" he demanded finally. "I had my reservations about your appointment to this position long before you arrived, and now I see them fully justified. Impersonating a professor -- "
"I am a professor," she answered, not rising from her chair.
"Impersonating another person for the purposes of amusing your classes is an outrage to the dignity of this institution!" he roared.
"It wasn't a comedy routine -- "
"Oh? It wasn't? The entire school discussing me with ridiculous -- pink -- hair!" He could barely get the words out, his dignity was so affronted. "I suppose that wasn't intended to be amusing at all?"
"It was intended to prove a point, and if you haven't even bothered to ask why I did it, you shouldn't go poking your nose in -- "
"Outrageous child!" he shouted. "How dare you impersonate me without asking permission?"
"I wasn't aware I had to have my lessons plans checked by -- "
"A person whose face you're wearing? Are you really so incredibly idiotic?" His voice dropped. "No. Of course you aren't. You knew precisely what the effect on those children would be, and you didn't ask me because you knew I would say no."
"I didn't think you'd care!" she blurted. "Professor McGonagall thought it was clever!"
"So I am now the laughingstock of the staff as well as the children?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well done. You've succeeded where a generation of schoolchildren have failed. This isn't Twelve Grimmauld Place," he continued, before she could get a word in edgewise. "This is Hogwarts, and while we are here I am not your parents' friend. I am a professor, senior to yourself by many, many years, and I deserve the respect of that position. I do not deserve to be mocked behind my back!"
"I wasn't mocking you! I was making a point!" she retorted.
"Yes, and a fine point you've made," he growled. "Stay out of my way, and if you so much as colour your hair black, I will ensure that you are removed from your position for irresponsible negligence."
"Professor -- "
He was gone too quickly for her to explain or even apologise. She realised she was shaking, and cursed herself; she'd taken on warlocks a lot tougher than Severus Snape, but they hadn't been her professor or the quiet, sardonic man her parents had over to dinner every few weeks. She'd thought he might be amused; she was used to his dour demeanor, but he did smile once in a while, and she hadn't hoped for anything more emotional than a tight-lipped smile and a nod of acknowledgement over dinner.
There was a soft click as McGonagall let herself back into the staff room. She resumed her seat across from Dora, and waited patiently for the younger woman to gather her wits about her.
"I could have stayed," the older woman said finally.
"No, then he would have just shouted at me with witnesses," Dora answered. "I didn't think he'd be so angry."
"To be frank, neither did I, and I know him much better than you do," McGonagall replied. "As much as he confides in anyone, I suppose, he confides in me. It's his pride, you know. I think he's terribly afraid the children will realise someday that he's not omnipotent, and when they do, he won't be able to control them." She smiled. "I remember when he started teaching his greatest fear was that he'd be like old Metterley -- Metterley taught Defence Against the Dark Arts, you know, when Severus was a student. He wasn't good at keeping his classes under control -- he wasn't a very bright man, really, and Severus, unfortunately, was. He ran circles around most of his professors."
"Not you, I bet," Dora said with a small smile.
"Certainly not me," McGonagall agreed.
"So I guess I should stick to impersonating famous people, and keep away from professors?"
"I certainly don't mind. I've always wondered what I'd look like with purple hair," McGonagall said, and Dora couldn't help grinning.
"Come by my class tomorrow after breakfast and find out," she replied.
At least if she had to get shouted at on her first day of teaching, it hadn't been Professor McGonagall.
***
Sept 4, 1992
Broosh & Chakle Studios
Dear Mr. Payne,
I have been appointed by President Wotton to address the inquiries your client has made through your offices and forward all information you have requested. I am enclosing a standard confidentiality agreement signed by all clients before they undergo the process. However, I can provide some preliminary information to you at the moment.
The process has not been known to work on magical creatures at all, to discount the second part of your inquiry; usually, if the client requires that their beloved Fluffy be included, it is added in regular magical paint after the portrait is completed. It will show all the signs of a normal magical painting, but will not age nor will it preserve the magical pet in question.
To the best of my knowledge, as a portraitist with the Studio for a number of years, we have never attempted a portrait with an Animagus; as I'm sure you know, they are quite rare. In 1962 we did successfully handle a Metamorphmagus, although they were required not to shift their features or bodies at all for the duration of the sittings, which your client may be aware takes several weeks. An inconvenience, perhaps, but not impossible. I would imagine the same restriction would apply to an Animagus, as the conditions are remarkably similar according to my research.
Having confirmed these two items with the studio's records, I can also report that we have never knowingly dealt with a Werewolf in this particular process. Werewolves being more common than either Animagi or Metamorphmagi, it is possible that we have done so unknowingly; however, as they have distinctive differences in their transformative qualities, I can name three or four issues with completing the portrait right off the bat. None are insurmountable, especially with the assistance of the Werewolf in question.
I must admit that I would be terribly excited to work with any of the abovementioned Magical Persons, and if required could handle the portrait myself, without disclosing their particular unusual status in the Studio's recordkeeping; we pride ourselves on the discretion we employ. Especially if your client is a werewolf, I would like to arrange an interview with him or her. To that end, I have included a mutual nondisclosure clause in the document, ensuring that I, as the artist, will not betray your client's magical status. All the usual punitive damages and magical punishments apply.
If you require more information on the process itself, I have been authorised to answer any and all questions you may have, by owl or in person, upon receiving the return of the signed confidentiality form.
Sincerely,
Helena Broosh
Senior Journeyman Portraitist
Broosh & Chakle Studios
***
Sirius was never comfortable in his solicitor's office; Llewellyn Payne was a kind, elderly man, an incongruous choice for his parents, but beneath that twinkling eye and wispy-hair lurked the mind of a criminal genius and a chess master rolled into one. Still, he was the soul of discretion and tact with his clients, and Sirius wouldn't have had a clue how to go about finding a new solicitor anyway.
"Ah, Mr Black," Payne said, taking a large black portfolio out of his bottom desk drawer. "I imagine you'll be wanting to see your quarterly investment numbers? I've had your accountants -- "
"Uh, no, actually," Sirius said, hesitantly. "I made the appointment for another reason entirely."
"Oh? I hope you've not landed yourself into some new legal trouble. My clerks have had quite the time dealing with your little automotive mishap," Payne chuckled.
"No, I...ah...well, I didn't actually make this appointment under my own name," Sirius admitted.
"I beg your pardon, Mr Black?"
"I, um, made it under another name. I'm the one, Mr. Canis, I owled you anonymously with the inquiry about Broosh & Chakle studios."
Payne stared at him for a while, blinking, before composing himself.
"I see," he said. "Are you perhaps planning on a gift for your young cousin? Miss Tonks, I believe, the Metamorphmagus?"
"Well...listen, I know all about legal confidentiality," Sirius said, leaning close. "And there's privileged information, and then there's Privileged information. I've seen a lot of people slip things out without seeming to."
Payne smiled at him. "Mr Black, not to be crude, but there is a reason lawyers are often compared to a certain class of working woman. It has always been my policy that I am paid to be intelligent, tactful, and silent. My loyalty to those who do not pay me is bought with friendship, but my loyalty to those who keep me on retainer is absolute. If you are a werewolf, Mr Black, the one person in the world you may be sure will never betray your confidence is sitting before you."
"Oh -- Merlin -- no," Sirius stammered. "I mean, I am asking about werewolves, but I'm not one personally."
"I see."
"I'm...are you sure you can't tell anyone if I've committed a crime?"
"I dearly hope you haven't murdered anyone, Mr Black, but even if you have -- "
"I'm an unregistered Animagus," Sirius blurted. Payne raised a white eyebrow. "I've never been authorised to even conduct the ritual required for the transformation."
Payne pursed his lips. "Yes, I believe that breaks -- "
"Eight separate Ministry laws, I looked it up once."
"Nine, if you count the law passed last year against impersonating animals in public. Presuming you have," Payne said thoughtfully. "Ranging in penalties from small fines through imprisonment in Azkaban, if I'm not mistaken. Is this a recent development?"
"Er...no. It happened when I was fifteen."
For the first time in all the years he'd known Payne, the solicitor looked astonished. Sirius stared down at the desk as if he'd been chided. Closing his mouth with an audible click, Payne shuffled papers on his desk while he gathered his thoughts.
"Well, certainly -- you've read the letter, I forwarded it on to the address that you, er, Mr. Canis gave me -- certainly you could approach Broosh & Chakle without revealing your unique status. Although you would not be allowed to become...a...?"
"Dog," Sirius muttered.
"A dog, good heavens, I expected a panther or something," Payne said. Sirius suspected he was being teased.
"There's, um, more."
"Mr Black, are you attempting to give me a heart attack?"
Sirius grinned at him. "Um, my friend, Remus Lupin -- "
"Oh, yes, I believe we've met once or twice. Tall, brown-haired man?"
"That's him. Listen, if I tell you something about him, is that confidential too?"
"I shall be silent as the grave," Payne assured him.
"He's a werewolf."
"Ah. That does muddy the waters," Payne said, after a contemplative moment. "Would he be willing to meet with the studio representative to discuss options?"
"I haven't actually told him I've made the inquiry yet."
"And you'd like my advice?"
"I...I guess, yes."
Payne steepled his fingers, thoughtfully. "Clearly you're contemplating a portrait for Mr Lupin as well as yourself."
"I thought one together, perhaps."
Payne lifted one eyebrow. Sirius flushed.
"You're rather full of secrets, Mr Black. It must be a relief to get a few of them off your chest."
Sirius was silent.
"In that case," Payne continued, "I would certainly advise you to speak with Mr. Lupin before taking further steps. Under the confidentiality contract, he would be protected, and Ms. Broosh certainly seems to be of a tolerant disposition, but ultimately the decision to admit to someone -- anyone -- that he is a werewolf rests with Mr. Lupin. I would not," he added, "inform him that you have shared that information with me."
"No, you're right," Sirius murmured. "Thank you for your time."
"You pay for it," Payne pointed out with a smile. "If I may, Mr. Black -- as I recall your current will entitles Mr. Lupin to the vast majority of your estate, with significant portions also going to Ms. Tonks and her family. May I suggest a specific clause stating that your young ward, Master Potter, is to be placed in his custody in the event of your untimely death? With a subclause stating that no infirmity, condition, or legal infraction shall prevent the letter of the will from being carried out? Otherwise, of course, young Master Potter becomes a ward of the Tonkses, which may in some ways be preferable."
Sirius nodded eagerly. "I, ah, oh yes -- I'll have to get his permission -- I'm sure he'll agree."
Payne smiled and began shuffling paper again as Sirius let himself out, barely looking where he was going until he was back on the street again.
Well, he'd told Payne and hadn't died. Perhaps, if this artist Payne was in contact with could keep a secret...
To the Next Part
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Sorry, couldn't keep it in. :)
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heh!
I LOVED the conversation between Mr.Payne and Padfoot. Beautiful!!! Absolutely beautiful!!! *hugs copperbadge*
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I know i was reading this a good while ago, but then life got a little nuts, but then today seemed like the perfect day to start readinf again...
loving every second of it as usual. Also I've been informed you know my RL friend divine_evil
Love it all
(Anonymous) 2005-09-14 06:01 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Love it all
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What's the two-fingered salute? Is it flicking someone off?
I love Padma's notecards. She's so quirky.
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Apparently the two-fingered salute originated after a battle with the French -- the French cut off the middle and index fingers of the prisoners they took, so the soldiers who fought them would hold up their fingers to show they weren't yet defeated. Or something. I don't recall clearly....
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Are you from around Wales? You know an awful lot about it.
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Ash.
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Two-fingered Salute
(Anonymous) 2009-07-13 04:29 am (UTC)(link)It originates from the tendency that prisons had to cut off the middle and index fingers of archers that were captured by the enemy. It was terribly rude to hold up these two fingers to the victims of this particular custom, as you can imagine. Actually, though I'm not certain if this is true, this was done by touching the fingers to one's lips and removing them in a sharp movement. Again, I'm not sure if this description of the, ah, 'delivery' of this particular insult that I've written is completely accurate, so best not to pay too much attention to it.
-Anonymous Lover of Your Story
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(Anonymous) 2006-02-15 12:17 am (UTC)(link)Sorry - the historian's daughter in me couldn't keep her fingers from the keyboard! *sidles off to read the next chapter*
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Some time ago, there was an article in a Finnish... well, I don't remember what it's called, but comes with our newspaper once a week...
anyway, the article was about handsigns, like the middlefinger, and stuff.
The middlefinger sign actually is supposed to imitate penis, and the two-fingered salute had one explanation that it was like a bull's horns, and thus was supposed to comment on sexual ability. You know, "I get more than you do", kind of thing, the same as the middlefinger.
Honestly, the stuff that stays in my head...
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bull's horns
(Anonymous) 2008-06-04 10:27 pm (UTC)(link)god, i'm a nerd.
a nerd who LOVES this story.
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(Anonymous) 2007-12-01 03:17 am (UTC)(link)no subject
Love it.
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Tonks impersonating Snape in class... hilarious!
Oh, I loved the motorbike joining in the fray when the Aurors tried to capture the car. That was great.
Off to read the next chapter now!
Laocoon's Children, Year Two, 6 - 7
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Ash.
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God, it broke my heart when Sirius died in the books, if you kill him here, having a family, leaving poor Remus behind and Harry and... I'll die, I'm telling you now. I'll die. You can't-- I mean, you're not mean or anything, I think so. And I think you handle your characters better than JK ever did, because in my opinion killing Sirius was stupid and made just to make a point, which totally sucks. Anyway, I have my hopes that you won't kill him, really. I mean. Yeah? *sniff*
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I read that bit and thought, “Oh God, he’s setting up Sirius’ death” but then I read the comment above and heaved a great sigh of relief. Though I do hope you won’t be killing off Remus in his stead. You do seem quite fond of Remus, so I'm thinking I don't have to worry.
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what ever happened to growing grey gracefully? oh well.
and i've loved your choice of reading throughout stealing harry and laocoon's children.
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Because that was the sort of brave, cool thing Gryffindors did.
McGonagall, passing out class schedules by table, caught the older boy by the ear and led him along for a few paces before releasing him.
Uttomobile
Neville's face was split in a hugely amused grin.
Snape's eyes were the wrong colour.
"A dog, good heavens, I expected a panther or something," Payne said. Sirius suspected he was being teased.
And the funniest:
If Sirius ever stops getting into trouble, we'll know he's died.
I love this story.
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This was a great few chapters. I liked it.
Brilliant!
(Anonymous) 2009-09-06 04:59 pm (UTC)(link)no subject
(Anonymous) 2010-02-07 02:38 am (UTC)(link)Hermione Granger's hand shot up. Harry rolled his eyes.
"An ancient defensive amulet like a picture of a dog or a demon's head," she said, when Dora pointed at her.
HAHAHA OMG in my head i read this exactly how Hermione from AVPM answers Snape's portkey question (If you dont know - AVPM [A Very Potter Musical] is an absolutely AMAZING fan-made musical. Its the best. You have to watch it. Youtube it.)
It made me lol so hard... :)
That and Snape appearing behind Sirius and Remus in the Great Hall after they flew to Hogwarts - love the parallels with that scene in the books (i assume thats what you were going for?)
love this so far!
oh god its 2.40am... youre seriously messing with my sleep patterns here...:( lol
same anon
(Anonymous) 2017-11-26 10:51 am (UTC)(link)the FIRE SALAMANDER is called elmo
st Elmo's fire
also another alley pun
I hate you
(jk)