beyondwandpoint

“11 13c Thurs - Up And At Them” Part 1

Severus, Hermione, Staff: Poppy Pomfrey, Nurse Wanda Wainscott, Slytherins: Draco Malfoy, Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Daphne Greengrass, Millicent Bulstrode, Harper Hutchinson, Flora Carrow, Róisín Rosier, Ava Avery, Anneliese Burke, Gryffindors: Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Ravenclaws: Michael Corner, Hufflepuffs: Justin Finch-Fletchley, Others: Sunny, Crookshanks, Clotho, Portrait Phineas Nigellus Black, Portrait Salazar Slytherin, Portrait Swaine Swoopstikes, Portrait Wilhelmina Wilkes

Mentioned briefly: Staff: Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Professor Barrymore Beckford, Professor Call-Me-Terry Taylor, Slytherins: Tracey Davis, Pansy Parkinson, Aaron Avery, Ella Wilkins, Hestia Carrow, Astoria Greengrass, Tomasina Touchstone, Hunter Hutchinson, Wilfred Wilkes, Marguerite Burke, Graham Montague, Urien Urquhart, Gryffindors: Dean Thomas, Dhanesh Devi, Kiera Kilkenny Devi, Ravenclaws: Padma Patil, Morag MacDougal, Terry Boot, Darius Inglebee, Hufflepuffs: Megan Jones, Wayne Hopkins, Zacharias Smith, Others: Maleficent, Ouroboros, Polly

Originally Published: 2020-03-07 on LJ / DW
Chapter: 119 part 1

The original version of this chapter exceeded livejournal's maximum post length. It's been split in two parts.

THIS CHAPTER IS A TWO-PARTER. READ THIS FIRST.

Characters:

Severus (HoS, Potions), Hermione 7G (Prefect, Supreme Swot)

Staff: Poppy Pomfrey (Mediwitch extraordinaire), Nurse Wanda Wainscott (chatty),

Slytherins: Draco Malfoy 7S (Prefect, Team Captain, Seeker, Swot), Theo Nott 7S (Swottiest, Nervous Wreck), Blaise Zabini 7S (Keeper (but only in the Quidditch sense...)), Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe 7S (Beater, Winged ex-Couch still-Potato), Gregory Goyle 7S (Beater), Daphne Greengrass 7S (Sparkly! Fwoopers!), Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode (Reserve Beater, yes, that.), Harper Hutchinson 6S (Prefect, Chaser, flash Robe Model), Flora Carrow 6S (friendly twin), Róisín Rosier 6S (Makeup Maven, her aunt Rosemary died in the last war after bonding Willem Wilkes), Ava Avery 5S, Anneliese 'Lisa' Burke 4S (Searing Sousaphone Soloist)

Gryffindors: Ron Weasley 7G (Prefect, Keeper (but also only in the Quidditch sense), Ginny Weasley 6G (Chaser)

Ravenclaws: Michael Corner 7R (one of Ginny's Exes)

Hufflepuffs: Justin Finch-Fletchley 7H

Others: Sunny (the Snapes' house elf), Crookshanks 'Crooks' (Hermione's half-Kneazle), Maleficent 'Malley' (Millie's Maine Coon), Clotho (Lisa Burke's Panic Spider), Portrait Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black (past HoS), Portrait Salazar Slytherin (Founder, past HoS), Portrait Swaine Swoopstikes (past HoS, timeless Potions Master, Professor and Entomologist), Portrait Wilhelmina Wilkes (past HoS, DADA Instructor)

Mentioned briefly: Staff: Professor Minerva McGonagall (HoG, Transfiguration), Professor Filius Flitwick (HoR, Charms), Professor Barrymore Beckford (Ghoul Studies, positively ancient), Professor Terrence 'Call-Me-Terry' Taylor (DADA), Slytherins: Tracey Davis 7S (Swottier), Pansy Parkinson 7S (Prefect), Aaron Avery 6S (Reserve Chaser), Ella Wilkins 6S (Prefect), Hestia Carrow 6S (Chaser, sporty twin), Astoria 'Tori' Greengrass 5S, Tomasina Touchstone 5S (Prefect, Potions savvy heiress), Hunter Hutchinson 4S (Imp, one third of the Trio of Terror), Wilfred Wilkes 4S (Messenger Boy), Marguerite Burke 1S (garrulous), Graham Montague S'97 (Slytherin Quidditch Team Captain '95-'96, seriously injured by the Weasley twins in the Vanishing Cabinet incident), Urien Urquhart S'97 (Slytherin Quidditch Team Captain '96-'97), Gryffindors: Dean Thomas 7G (mannered Chaser), Dhanesh Devi 6G (bonded to Kiera 6G, sadly tailless), Kiera Kilkenny Devi 6G (bonded to Dhanesh 6G, who sadly no longer has his tail), Ravenclaws: Padma Patil 7R (Head Girl), Morag MacDougal 7R (lippy Muggle-born with that lippy), Terry Boot 7R, Darius Inglebee 4R (Reserve Chaser, impatient Patient), Hufflepuffs: Megan Jones 7H (the Muggle-born who quite sensibly left), Wayne Hopkins 7H (budding Egyptologist), Zacharias Smith 6H (bonded to Salome Smith 7H, née Perks), Others: Maleficent 'Malley' (Millie’s Maine Coon), Ouroboros (Maggie Burke's Snake), Polly (the Infirmary house elf)

Previously:

After a student nurse mistakenly believes a mysteriously altered chart and inadvertently gives a young fourth year Severus a near fatal overdose of his medication, Filius expends a great deal of effort creating a Charm to see that never happens again. Tuesday morning we are introduced to the Medical Board, Filius' invention that tracks the patients in the Infirmary and their treatments. What it does somewhat less well, unfortunately, is document the cause of said patients' present ailments, but then that had never been its primary purpose. This week it caused some furore when it claimed Severus was hospitalised due to 'Marriage Related Injuries'. (066 LJ / DW)

A pail of spiders squashed firmly over his head and thoroughly covering his eyes, Ron takes an near unavoidable tumble down a flight of stairs. (108 LJ / DW) That minor mishap lands him in Poppy's tender care. (117 LJ / DW)

For insulting the Head's bondmate, Draco tricks Hufflepuff Wayne Hopkins into trying to hex him while they're waiting in the corridor before Ancient Runes. The hex bounces off Draco's Protego and strikes Justin Finch-Fletchley, giving him a rather superfluous second head. (100b LJ / DW) Justin and his heads are also enjoying a nice visit with Poppy.

Draco and Harper come to some agreements about training the Reserve players - mostly that it needs to happen, but that Harper can't be seen to accept Draco's help - and trying not to interfere with the seventh year boys' Quidditch performance. That latter should prove tricky. (104 LJ / DW)

In Severus' absence, the Slytherins go a little hex happy at dinner Wednesday evening. As one of the highlights, Pansy Incendios Blaise who then understandably fails to maintain a functional Protego. The teachers critique the kerfuffle, but are agreed, casting isn't easy when one finds oneself aflame. (106 LJ / DW)

Wednesday evening. Having granted Gregory access to his trunk Wednesday morning to fetch a Wit-Sharpening Potion for Draco, an inherently mistrustful Vince performs an unnecessary inventory that night and discovers there's a phial of Liquid Lust missing. This fact does not make him happy. (110 LJ / DW)

After his dinner is cut short by aforementioned overenthusiastic jinxing, Draco, less principled as to thieving than Gregory, steals the Beater's healthy but unappetising Muscley Müsli bars for a snack. Both of them rather wish he hadn't. (He does, however, reimburse him.) (110 LJ / DW)

Since Sunday night, Sunny has made a practice of collecting some of the seventh year Slytherin boys' homework which Severus merrily destroys. (Ongoing)

"Poppy," the Hogwarts Potions Master cries out once the initial green flame burst from the Floo powder dies back. It's only moments before he can hear her answering call.

"Severus! Good morning. You're well?" She twitches up a Privacy Charm of her own as she kneels in front of the Infirmary's fireplace. A Cushioning Charm spares her any discomfort. She's neither young nor a fool.

"I've no need of your services this morning at any rate," he answers with a touch of dark humour. With the way his week has been going, that's almost an accomplishment. She politely refrains from saying so.

"Glad to hear it, I'm sure..."

"Any of mine in your care at present?" Crabbe should have put in an appearance last night, after all. It's just good to confirm these things.

"No, not a one." He's visibly taken aback and makes a mental note to Banish more of the half-Kneazle's fur to Crabbe's bed at the earliest opportunity, which is to say as soon as the witch beside him isn't any longer. Having had her go to the trouble of finding the Charm to do so automagically - ostensibly for Mrs. Figg's purposes, no less - he certainly has no wish to explain why the fur is being manually sent off the premises. And, really, he should set the Banishing to automagic as soon as possible. Of course by the time he gets around to it, Vince will have much bigger worries.

"But it's good that you called," Poppy continues. "I'd meant to Floo you anyway. I may have done something... rash yesterday."

"And now you need a salve for it..." His eyes twinkle mischievously as his eyebrow prompts her to continue.

Poppy sighs. "Joke all you wish, young man, but I'll have you know that's not so very far off. You may recall my saying I'd, erm, mentioned to Professor Taylor that spells are a great deal more difficult to cast when one has been Incendioed?"

"Poppy!" There's something faintly scandalised about it that has her grinning a touch sheepishly. "He didn't??"

"He did." The hour at least would indicate it hadn't occurred in one of the man's classes, thank Merlin. Severus can't suppress his bark of laughter at the image of Taylor in flames. "Set himself on fire, and then tried... Honestly, I have no idea what he tried. Filius is endeavouring to help me undo whatever the cast was that went wrong. Our DADA professor seems reluctant to tell us what he was attempting at the time."

Considering the man, they're both convinced that reticence doesn't stem from the spell being in anyway inappropriate; it's far more probable it was merely humiliatingly simple. It was just as likely to have been a Firstie's charm gone wrong... And like that, the thought of Severus' thoroughly mangled Wingardium Leviosa Friday evening comes unbidden to mind. Cauldron meet Kettle.

"How bad is it?" He asks.

"Well Filius will have his hands full. And I wanted to ask if you have any of that Fast Burn Salve in stock?"

"The Slow Burn is more effective."

"Hmm. Then he's likely to be here all day." She sounds less than thrilled at the prospect.

"Poppy," he chides. "The man's a vain thing. You shouldn't rush the healing process and risk scarring just to get him out of there more quickly."

She glances over her shoulder at something Severus can't see and snorts. "I haven't gotten a lick of work out of Wanda all morning. Don't imagine I will for the rest of the day either at that rate...

"Oh! As long as you're consulting on the matter, perhaps it would help to know what the Board has to say about his condition."

Severus can't help smirking. Poppy manages to find ways around patient confidentiality with a regularity that is truly impressive. If she weren't a Hufflepuff, she'd have been a Slytherin, he is certain.

"By all means, do go on. It may change my assessment yet."

"Oh it will do that alright." Pro forma, she rattles off cursory bits of information about the man's condition, it increases the chances the Charm ensuring her charge's condition is treated confidentially won't restrict her. Burns, clearly, but nothing too serious and he's pain free, naturally, enjoying the benefits of Severus' superior Pain Relieving Potions, and frightfully loquacious, quelle surprise. But the Board also lists the cause of the injuries, and it's when she gets to that titbit that she can hardly keep the grin off her face. "You'll love this one. It gives the cause as 'blazing stupidity'. 'Blazing'. I didn't know the thing had a sense of humour."

Severus laughs in reply.

Still chuckling, he answers, "Can't say it changed my assessment of the man himself, however."

"No... No, I suppose it does rather fit what we know of him. My mistake...

"Oh, he should have known better." She shakes her head in prim disapproval, "Of course so should I, for that matter. This was my fault, really. I shouldn't have been putting ideas in his head. Minerva thought I should have been more careful..."

"Even Gryffindors can be right on occasion," he grins, but his glance darts briefly to the little witch now watching him in the chair to his left. He schools his expression some, but then she should be able to sense his amusement as clearly as he'd sensed hers this morning. Hmm.

There were worse things to project.

"It's good to see you laughing, Severus," Poppy tells him warmly. "It suits you." Why yes, he can picture just how suited it would be to be sat there laughing like that the next time he's called to the Manor. He spares Poppy his thoughts; the woman clearly means well.

"I'd still recommend sticking with the Slow Salve. You should have some on hand?" He enquires.

"Plenty, thank you. I suppose I'll have to resign myself to doing all the work alone today then."

"But you could cast a Notice-Me-Not on the man? Or perhaps stick Taylor in the back room and cast it on the door?" Her brow arches provocatively and he drawls, "Well, I'm not using it at the moment at any rate." She smiles at that. They really have come to think of it as his room over the past couple of years, poor lamb. Some things one either laughs or cries about, and she'd meant it: she prefers sharing a laugh with the man. "You can't tell me your Charms wouldn't monitor him well enough. You and Filius could still see to him, and you'd have the use of your nurse back."

"Do you know, I think I'll do just that. We have a few other cases demanding some attention here as well."

"Then I'll leave you to it. Keep me posted."

"Gladly," she smirks, and he realises that may have sounded as though he were a little too interested in Taylor's recovery. Ah well. Still, the image of the man ablaze...

It has a certain appeal...

He's grinning as he stands up and puts an end to his Privacy Charm.

Vince kneels there in front of his trunk making something of a spectacle of himself. Naturally the sight is all the odder with his nails black as pitch and given his hair remains a mouldy green thanks to yesterday's variety of hexes and jinxes. It's far from flattering. In as much as he is anxiously awaiting his weekly restocking order of potions from Dogweed & Deathcap, his performance isn't entirely theatre, however. He feels the absence of certain potions acutely and channels that. At the least, they represent missed sales, beyond that, they're moments where potential customers might have been encouraged to secure other means of supply. Or worse: brew for themselves! That's an ever present danger to his financial well being, and with the family's assets seized... Those sales matter. There'd been an assortment of things he'd needed to replace, but none so dire as having access to Pain Relief of their own. The weekend had been absolute hell without it, he'd just never considered it likely the Infirmary could have similar supply issues, or he'd have ordered it in sooner. But then how was he to know the Head would be in no shape to brew?

The Beater goes so far as to demonstratively hold up a phial of Girding Potion, turning it back and forth so it glints in the light as he comically regards it, no, no Pain Relief here. Its shining golden colour is so utterly unlike a Pain Relieving Potion as to make the manoeuvre absurd. Or perhaps call his skills as a Potions Dealer into question, which it might do if anyone took him remotely seriously at the moment. Draco eyes him as Vince monkeys about, his conversation with Harper the day before about training the Reserve players called to mind. He'll need to see to brewing some Girding Potion of his own. Pity it smells so foul... He doubts it would be advisable to try brewing in the common areas with the way things presently stand for the seventh years. Rendering the study room effectively unusable for the day for the rest of the House couldn't conceivably help matters, and he resolves to stick to their lav. Vince, at least, is in no position to object.

The blond is dressed and has started seeing to his over-fussy hair, Blaise has begun magicking on his clothes. It's getting late and is past time Vince put an end to his pointless charade. Those two aren't falling for it, Theo is still otherwise occupied (and probably wouldn't have found it convincing either) and Gregory hadn't questioned what Vince claimed in the first place. Even were he the sort to be inclined to, which the would-be Puffskein farmer decidedly isn't, having had access to the trunk only yesterday morning rendered the point rather moot.

With a soft huff of annoyance, predominantly directed at himself for thinking this might have been advisable, Vince replaces the potion and is just about to stand up and close the lid on his trunk when he notices a gap in his stores.

A gap that hadn't been there the night before despite his exceedingly aggressive wards.

His entire stock of Liquid Lust is gone.

He hovers there in an unnatural half crouch, his movement arrested midway, staring in abject horror at his trunk as the significance of this find makes itself clear.

Last night it had been just the one potion missing. He'd had plenty of time to consider what that meant. He'd rejected the possibility it had been impounded. If that were the case, why would there be any left? There'd been a chance he'd sold it. On a Friday night? Possible. Although it's more commonly used in multiples, with a partner or several, and no one had approached him in advance (or since) in regards to it, which in his experience would have been typical. But the Serpents blaming them for the Head's bonding, the fact the very same group of them had no recollection of the evening, that Jones had left school midterm her seventh year immediately following. If she weren't up the duff... But Merlin, there were glamours or potions for that, it shouldn't really be an issue. And paired with those other events, it was highly suspicious. The very fact the Headmaster had encouraged students to bond... Not marry, bond. No one bonded anymore. So, yeah, he'd thought about the 'why' of that a lot.

Devi, for instance. The sixth year Gryffindork who'd bonded that Mudblood Kilkenny. Devi wouldn't stand a chance against him in a duel, he's confident of that. The boy hadn't even been in Rotter's little army of lackwands. The only real protection he offers as a bondmate - because Vince doesn't for a moment believe a demonstration of Muggle-borns embracing traditional ways is either the point or of any measurable use - would be a Fidelity Vow, he's sure of it. Which leads to the question why that was suddenly deemed to be of need or advisable in the school.

And now all of his Liquid Lust potions are gone.

He believes there aren't but so many who could get through the wards on his trunk. It was a family heirloom, purchased from Borgin & Burke's back in better days. Ordinarily safe as houses, and yet someone had managed it. Someone with a lot of power and access to the dorms. He doesn't imagine there could be more than two potential culprits in the castle. And they'd gone straight for the one potion that had had him worried.

Well if he were worried before, he's well past it now.

Which is when he catches Draco staring at him strangely, slams the lid to, and tries to stand as though everything were perfectly natural. (It's not hugely successful. His leg cramps in the process and the move is incredibly rough; he comes off about as coordinated as a dancing troll.)

For once he isn't being paranoid, Draco truly was staring at him. Calculating. He'd been pretty sure what Vince had realised the night before while inventorying his trunk, so sure, in fact, that he can't explain at all what Vince has realised now, but he scents an opening, a weakness he means to exploit...

"So are we agreed about fitness training?" He smarms, sweet as can be, revisiting the discussion, determined to nail Vince down on this once and for all.

Vince begins to sweat. If there's one thing he wants right now, it's to keep this from everyone for as long as possible. Or maybe it's to keep everyone sweet, because he's not so sure about the 'no one knowing' bit. It's beginning to feel like Draco can read his thoughts, which no matter what his crazy aunt has taught him or what magical artefacts his father had, he shouldn't be able to do from there, not like that. But it really feels like he knows.

Struggling to keep his voice even, Vince answers just as saccharinely, "Sure, I guess so. What do you propose?" The order giving away just how eager he is to please, and Draco revises his assessment of whatever Vince had just discovered. He may need to see to getting into his trunk himself if possible. The question is if it would be of any help...

"All of us need to start working out together in the morning. Fewer of the others are up at that time, and virtually none of them use the Training Room, so we should have less to worry about. We wouldn't want a repeat of yesterday, after all."

"I'm willing if you are," Gregory offers, less than helpfully to Vince's way of thinking, as he pulls on his robe.

Vince fumes silently as he rushes to catch up, shucking his pyjamas and throwing them with feigned nonchalance towards the dirty clothing basket for the elves to see to. "Well I guess that's set then. We'll start tomorrow." He thinks appropriately dark thoughts about that. Merlin's blue bollocks.

As Vince belts his robe, Gregory grabs some parchment covered in notes from his things and walks over to where Draco stands, putting completely superfluous finishing touches on his invariably impeccable appearance.

"Draco?" Gregory prompts as he stops beside him, arm outstretched somewhat listlessly. "I have that fitness plan for you, the one you wanted for the others." He sounds disappointed and probably is. He's enjoyed the opportunity to work with his Housemates, to be seen as competent in... something. Especially something he's enthusiastic about. As not a one of his fellow Slytherins has the least bit of interest in raising Puffskeins, say, that doesn't happen all too often. And even Gregory is smart enough not to speak of such things with anyone but his closest of friends. It would be fair to say not many really know him, which after so many years of living side by side is a sad state of affairs, but all too common in their House with things as they presently stand in the wizarding world. As a result, he doesn't feel particularly badly done by, just a touch melancholy.

Draco takes the sheets of parchment with thanks, realising what this is probably costing the boy. He's pretty sure Gregory and Theo are suffering the most in the current arrangement, which is a shame as they'd deserved it least of all. He feels a twinge of guilt at that, not that he feels there's much to be done for it. It is what it is, although sometimes, just sometimes, he wonders why things so often seem to break that way and if they absolutely have to.

"Gregory, come on," Vince calls, stopping in the doorway to their bathroom. "We need to get ready or we'll end up having to skip breakfast or late for Ghoul Studies."

"And you're fresh out of Muscley Müsli bars," Blaise adds, agitating with a not so subtle smirk at Draco. The Prefect attempts to Avada him with a look. That doesn't quite work, but he's getting there. Not that he can hold a candle to their Head's glares, but practice makes perfect.

Vince thinks Beckford, the Ghoul Studies instructor, is something of an old pushover, but even he isn't likely to appreciate it if they come straggling in after the hour. Gregory frankly likes the man, and that's reminder enough to spur him into action and to ignore Blaise's attempted instigation.

If Gregory were more distrustful by nature, he might wonder why Vince doesn't just go first, but he simply isn't wired that way, and he doesn't even find it more than passing odd when Vince lets him walk into the room ahead of him. Perhaps the fact they all know Vince had traipsed barefoot through the bathroom already this morning makes it appear less suspicious. He couldn't possibly think there's any danger there.

Blaise heads for the door to their room and Draco, about to join him, raises his voice to call out, "Theo? Last chance. If you're not coming with us, you really should wait for Vince and Gregory..."

"I've got it!" Theo exclaims in reply, and to a man they rush over to see what he's discovered.

"Water," Theo tells them definitively when they've all returned to the bathroom. "I'm positive that's what it needs to set the Transfiguration off." He points to the towel he's been testing this whole time and gestures enthusiastically. "Water. Makes sense really, if it wasn't touch. Well, unless it were both..." He trails off.

"Water." Blaise repeats. "Water triggers the response? How... unexpected."

"Yes, well, perhaps I should have attacked the problem with logic. In retrospect, there were presumably limited options. But as it was, I sought to prove it with magic." He performs the Revealing Spell that had successfully uncovered the results, and sure enough, a wisp of deep silvery green magic not unlike a Patronus manifests above the towel, a shifting image depicting first a flowing stream, then a waterfall, a geyser, and finally a rain shower that puddles together and cycles back to the stream, beginning the display from the top all over again until it fades from view. "Water." Theo explains.

"Seriously?" Blaise needles, still a mite sore about Theo's earlier rebuke for having touched the towel prior to testing it. "What else could it have possibly been."

"Body heat, friction, any movement at all, scent, contact with a specific person or, as I said before, touch in general. For example. I'm sure there are other possibilities. The point is it's important not just to suspect but to know and to do that, you need the proper Revealing Spell."

"But you just said yourself you're still not sure..." Blaise begins to muppet, when Vince, by nature much less patient, turns an Aguamenti on the large piece of terrycloth floating in front of Theo, and a moment later it's nothing more than a sodden stretch of something abrasive, evenly coated in very coarse sand now hovering over a sizeable puddle of its own.

That's greeted by confused silence.

Gregory is the first to break it. "What is that?" He asks. He hasn't a lot of experiencing with woodworking, and even if he had, it isn't as though there aren't perfectly serviceable charms for that sort of thing. As the others were even less likely to have encountered sandpaper, no one has an answer for him.

"Not entirely sure," Theo admits, "but I imagine it wouldn't be pleasant against your skin."

Gregory knows a thing or two about that and readily agrees. Liquid Skin tastes terrible, and he's had more than enough for the week. No, it's best not to try his luck with the remaining towels.

"Theo, would you mind terribly Transfiguring fresh towels for us then?" Gregory asks, and again Vince is thankful he hadn't been left to do it, it wasn't going to be as polite.

Theo sets to doing just that, leaving them folded on the basin beside him with the sheets of toilet paper he'd Transfigured for his roommates as well. "It's all yours," he tells them, his wand briefly glowing blue. That should solve the Accio issues at least.

Again Vince holds back, waiting until Gregory doffs his robe and enters one of the showers before climbing in the one beside him and pulling the curtain shut. He's casual enough about it that it strikes no one other than Draco as odd. To be fair, there was always the possibility Blaise had missed something. It was, however, a little unfortunate that he was effectively using Gregory as his Snidget in a coal mine.

A moment later, Vince's robe floats over to the hooks beside the showers, joining Gregory's things. Humming cheerily, Gregory sets his shower to full, and a reassuring cloud of steam begins emerging over the top of his curtain. Again it isn't long before Vince does so as well. Shortly after, Gregory bursts into song. While it's a little disconcerting when he starts up with a Celestina Warbeck evergreen, and they unquestionably prefer it when he sings the Weird Sisters, it's pleasant enough; there are very valid reasons Flitwick is happy to have him in Frog Choir. And they can count themselves very lucky Vince doesn't follow suit once more.

"Sure you don't want us to wait?" Draco asks Theo one last time, and again he tells them to just go ahead without him.

"Don't worry, I'll go to breakfast with those two. We should be alright." At least they hope so. It's going to present a lot of problems this year if they need to go everywhere as a group for safety...

Draco and Blaise have just reached the door when the shrieking begins.

"Good news?" Hermione asks, a bit too eager to demonstrate she's perfectly fine, both with the Professor's presence and the need, or perhaps it's merely his desire, to have things kept from her. It never crosses her mind that he might be required to as a part of his duties as Head of House acting in loco parentis, it merely strikes her as unlikely whatever it was had been for the Order or You-Know-Who. She's quite satisfied with the evenness of her question. Everything is perfectly normal. Well except for absolutely everything that isn't... But she thinks she puts up a convincing front.

And then has to kick herself for engaging. Bugger. She was trying to escape unnoticed here. So clearly that had been the very best tactic. She really isn't especially good at this...

Severus starts, unsure he should acknowledge Poppy's news as 'good', and somewhat put off by the notion the witch - the very one who'd been disappointed at his return - believes they now... chat. Cautiously he admits to what she already knows. "It wasn't without a certain degree of humour, at any rate..." And now he's even less sure how to continue.

When in doubt, retreat. He'll live to... chat another day.

"If you'll excuse me, I should be getting ready..." He announces, still all too conscious of the attention she'd paid his appearance when he returned home. Perhaps next time he'll perform a Charm on his hair before leaving the Come and Go Room... The fact he's even considering its necessity leaves him slightly resentful. He is not and never will be a pretty face like Taylor, or at least as the man had been up until this morning. Who could say at present? But it is irksome to even have to think of trying to make himself more... presentable.

Not, he supposes, that the witch had made any demands.

No, the bond did that for her. It's a bloody nuisance, and he'll have to find something suitable to show Albus his appreciation. Possibly a Charm to render socks scratchy... Ah! Or devoid of colour... Conservative socks... Banker's kit.

It would do.

He closes the door to his bedroom behind him, and for the briefest of moments almost reflexively considers locking and warding it before he decides he's an arse. He's not at ease here and it's showing. But if the witch doesn't feel the need to barricade her door against him, he certainly shouldn't need to. It was a purely psychological reaction, and even had he done so, it was unlikely he'd suddenly feel more comfortable as a result.

He makes an effort to rein in his annoyance, shy of resorting to Occluding, but he's still not even keeled when he enters his shower, and there's definitely some resentment when he lathers his hair a second time this morning.

Ironically his mood isn't improved any when he emerges not too long after to discover the witch gone.

Anneliese Burke is having a good morning. Her Searing Sousaphone practice went incredibly well, she's more than made up for yesterday's missed session (which is not to say that the sight of Vince on the couch hadn't been worth it, it so had), and she even found time to watch Harper training. While the boy was probably objectively not as pretty as Draco - but then, aside from Sheldon, who was? - arguably Harper has the nicer arse. Much nicer, to her mind, although Tori begged to differ. Sure, the blond had some impressive magic - rumour was he was capable of applying his Macassar hair cream and Wizard's Sculpting Gel by magic alone, and left not a hair out of place while doing so - but that hardly compares to a nice set of glutes, now does it?

To top everything off, she's tried a new Beauty Charm this morning, something she'd picked up from a sneaky peek at the step-monster's books, and feeling quite pleased with herself, she's now on her way to the Habitat with her Panic Spider Clotho in tow.

Her cheer is slightly dampened when she encounters Millie there, not that the seventh year even seems to notice she's entered the room. She hesitates in the doorway before deciding she has as much right to be there as the older girl, and really Clotho deserved a nice day in the facility. It's probably that more than anything else that leads her to hold her ground, but she's hoping to get away unremarked. As Millie is busy cuddling Malley, Lisa thinks her chances of that are pretty good. The reserve Beater seems sad, and although Lisa hasn't heard about the current crisis with Millie's pendant, everyone is aware, to some extent, that there are long standing issues with the girl's mother. Lisa sort of gets it. Her stepmother isn't fond of the children's pets either. Perhaps a case can be made that her spider, Bartholomew's scorpion, and Marguerite's snake were more... confronting than a Maine Coon, although possibly that depends on the audience... She feels kind of sorry for Millie, in general, at least in this regard, and especially at the moment, but knows enough not to say it. Everything about the girl's posture screams dejection.

Quietly Lisa makes her way to the left side of the room, passing through the magical barrier that will keep Clotho from pouncing on the unwary. Anyone who sits on this side of the Habitat had best know what they're in for. On the other hand, it's not as though the animals over here could eat anything, so it was reasonably safe; merely startling at worst. There was a charm to ensure they didn't feed on each other, which given the variety of pets in the house pretty much precluded feeding them here at all. To do so one has to take them to the small pen in the corner or back to one's room. Still, the system works nicely enough. She has no complaints.

Lisa holds out a hand to test the warmth of the charms among the branches in the corner; determining them safe, she stretches her arm to let her spider crawl along it onto the nearest limb. She gives the furry creature a pat, and goes to check on the Sunstone, touching it gingerly to make sure there's no danger of scalding or her pet becoming too cold. The Prefects oversee the room's charms, renewing them regularly, and really there should be no danger here, but Lisa cares too much about Clotho to be willing to leave it to chance. It's always best to check these sorts of things.

As she stands there illuminated by the light of the stone, Millie finally seems to spot her. "What did you do to your face?" She asks, ever the very soul of tact.

"I'm sorry? What?"

"What did you do to your face?" Millie repeats, not entirely helpfully, but she gestures with her fingers in a small circle in front of her own face, and Lisa gets a hint of a clue.

She squares off her shoulders and in a bit of a challenge replies, "New charm." And if Millie doesn't like it, she can piss right off.

"Hmm. I don't think you meant for that result." Lisa is on the cusp of becoming very offended. "Look, it's nothing personal. Just go speak to Róisín before leaving the dungeons is all. Trust me on this one."

There's an awkward silence while Lisa tries to decide if she should take it personally or not - she can't just take Millie's word on something like that - and then Millie continues, changing the subject, and Lisa begins to wonder if that's the only reason she'd spoken to her at all, "I don't suppose you know if Maggie has ordered any mice in for Ouroboros?"

Lisa tries to remember when the snake was last fed, but comes up empty. "She'll have some coming eventually, but I couldn't say for sure when..."

"Do you think she might be willing to give me one for Malley?" There's something about Millie's eyes, something haunted, and Lisa resolves to ask Marguerite to order them sooner as opposed to later. Maggie won't mind.

"I'm sure that can be arranged."

Millie gives her a wan smile. "Thanks." She jerks her head in the direction of the common room where people have begun to gather prior to curfew ending. Within minutes, most of them will be headed towards the Great Hall for breakfast. "Róisín is out there, catch her before she leaves."

"Oh, Lisa, what were you thinking?" Róisín cries, a sight too loudly for Lisa's taste. That, she decides, improbably manages to be ruder than Millie. Well. That took some doing. Ava, seated next to Róisín on the couch, begins to snicker in something endeavouring to be a ladylike fashion. (Lisa couldn't say she's impressed; she may, however, be biased just at the moment. Ava is exceedingly good at appearing the perfect lady.) Tomasina and Tori do their best to school their expressions to something neutral, with some success, and Daphne looks frankly sorry for her. Hmm. Rotten Exploding Snap face on that girl. It turns out Lisa isn't much more fond of pity than Millie is. The irony isn't lost upon her.

"New charm," she grumbles, her patience sorely taxed, just as the portrait of Salazar Slytherin loudly announces to the room, "Curfew has ended. You may leave for breakfast as you wish."

A number of people gather up their things and begin to head for the door. Millie emerges from the Habitat, clearly having set a Tempus, and joins Alberta, Val and Hestia as they enter the souvenir laden corridor leading out of the Slytherin dungeons. The Snitches affixed to the ceiling seem to flap even more when members of the team walk beneath, in golden salute, and they're flapping up a storm now. (It's no coincidence all the boys save Draco and Aaron have very short hair, and Draco's was practically cemented in place as a rule. Aaron's hair can best be explained by the fact he isn't exactly the brightest Lumos in the House.) Flora dawdles just a bit behind her twin, keeping a safe distance until they're beyond the fluttering golden trophies of games past. She has a theory the ruddy things flap harder when the female players pass. She thinks it's a show of support, somehow trying to encourage Draco's break with recent tradition to allow girls back on the team. (It was either that, or it was trying to encourage them to apply more robust Hair Fixing Charms, which she's decided would be a well intended, if annoying, attempt to serve the same purpose. She is absolutely certain a wizard had come up with whatever bit of magic was underlying that behaviour. She isn't wrong.)

Clearly when one looks at old trophies and plaques (to say nothing of the tapestries and paintings, although admittedly they needn't be accurate), there had been a great number of very talented witches on the team over its proud history. Graham and Urien were nice enough lads, but neither of them had bucked recent trends the way Draco had. And while she thinks that's fine on principle - very much so, in fact - she still prefers to let her sister and her teammates get a bit of a lead on their way through the tunnel. Not sharing Hestia's preference for ponytails, it's probably for the best.

Róisín tuts as she casts a Lumos and examines Lisa's face more closely. "Well the colour isn't right at all. That's really not a good look."

And then before Lisa can fire off the retort that's hovering on her lips, the older girl draws her wand and acts. Cheers. Another moment, and she's grabbed one of Daph's textbooks off the adjacent couch table (Daph squeaks, 'Hey!', not that it was likely to change the outcome any), another cast and Róisín has turned the cover of the CMC text into a mirror. (Daph sits there quietly blinking at that.) Róisín holds it up for Lisa to see, and Nimue's knickers if the results aren't dead perfect. She stands there staring at her reflection, seriously impressed.

Daphne is slightly less so. "Any chance you can turn it back, Róisín? I really don't wish to explain to my mother why I need another Care of Magical Creatures text..."

"Sure. Sorry," Róisín agrees, undoing the damage and returning the book.

"Why wouldn't you just use your own?" Tori nitpicks with some legitimacy.

"It was closer," Róisín snits, and Tomasina, Tori and Daphne think appropriate thoughts about Accios and Wingardium Leviosas, although Daphne's are a touch more generous. She just can't seem to help herself.

Pansy has let Millie get a safe distance ahead, and she emerges now from the dorms to come over to stand by them. Tracey rises from her seat where she's been reading at one of the small tables by the windows when she spots her, joining them as well. She asks their roommate, "Are you coming, Daph?"

The brunette shakes her head 'no', setting the butterfly clip in her hair to fluttering. "Thanks, but go on ahead. We're waiting for Ella." They're researching the bonds, after all, and have arranged to meet to discuss their reading so far. Tomasina and Tori likewise make no move to join them, but those two are in something of a habit of watching the male team members exercise through the large glass window to the Training Room, and someone or another is clearly still using the facility. It's less common to see Daphne sat there with them, but then she'd been avoiding Millie like the rest of them, which had probably driven her to it. She finds the younger girls' overt display of prurience a little embarrassing; that may not be saying much as it's practically her default response, however.

"We'll see you there, then," Tracey tells her roommate, and she and Pansy follow the others into the tunnel where Wilfred and Hunter are loudly and enthusiastically chattering up quite a storm, ironically about Silencioed Snap strategies. The thought makes Daphne smile. Ella would have had much the same reaction had she witnessed it, and then smiled about Daphne, too.

"The light in here tends to skew green," Róisín explains to Lisa gesturing towards the large banks of windows to the lake. It's not that it's dark in the dungeons, but the colour is just all wrong. At a guess, a wizard had done the charms, she's convinced. She, too, is not wrong, although it probably helps that the vast majority of spells around them had been Salazar Slytherin's work in the first place. Far from every witch shares Róisín's priorities. "You can't just perform some new charm and trust to luck. Always check the colour before going out like that, and do a Lumos to get some proper light. That's very important. That'll give you a better idea of how it really looks."

"Green lighting is absolutely murder on your colour choices," Ava agrees. Lisa thinks the fifth year is far too pretty to have to worry about things like that, but Ava could argue her attention to such details is part of the reason Lisa thinks she's pretty to begin with. Not that she would. She prefers for the others to take the results for natural. Secretly Ava thinks she isn't starting with much more by way of raw material - and Róisín definitely isn't, not that Ava would dream of saying so, Nimue's knickers, but at least they both are clearly not part troll or something (and, yes, Millie once again crossed her mind) - but there's virtually not a Beauty Charm out there Róisín hasn't at least heard of and a perfectly ridiculous number the girl has mastered. If there's an occasion coming up, that's the person one would want sorting one's appearance, Ava is certain. And fortunately very much on the inside with the witch, a fact she never fails to appreciate.

None of it had been nearly as subtle as Lisa would have liked, not by far, but as Róisín has actually fixed things before much of anyone could happen to look, Lisa decides to forgive that oversight. There was that, at least, to be said for the witch. Some people simply mention there's a solution out there and expect one to find the books all on one's own and sort the problem all by oneself. Typically without advice or supervision. Here, someone has been good enough to help before it had become unbearably humiliating. Lisa is pragmatic enough to appreciate that. It helps that she's had to live with enough of the former, and it doesn't hurt that at just that moment Harper and his completely unobjectionable backside emerge from the Training Room, having missed her apparently shoddy Makeup Charm entirely.

Fine, that helped a lot.

Ginny waits in one of the alcoves outside the Great Hall for Michael Corner and his newly lumpy nose to put in an appearance as students begin to trickle in for breakfast. He may not have been able to come through for her with the Potion last night, but he's their best bet for getting the Peace thingie for Ron, she's sure. The others are idiots; they know next to no one outside their House, and none at all outside of their years. So of course it was down to her to sort this.

Well, her and Michael.

She fumes silently, all the angrier for Seamus' incessant goading. Not that he'd been wrong, which was easily half the problem, and she is now good and riled. Ron, the worthless fapsock, had been tucked up warm in an Infirmary bed, while the rest of them had been out there in the dark at stupid o'clock, freezing their arses off (Hermione would point out the utility of Warming Charms at this juncture, but they don't suit Ginny's narrative) all because of his completely useless arse. She thinks perfectly black thoughts about that before deciding nothing short of a hexing will do. It's only a question of time.

It's easier being angry, especially at Ron, it has a way of distracting neatly from her own less than impressive performance this week. Particularly worrisome, obviously, was the fact it had been her incautious owl that had set her mum to sending Howlers to Hermione and Snape. Yeah, that hadn't been her finest hour. And Snape's Howler, of course, was probably half the reason they needed to make sure Ron kept his stupid gob shut in double Potions today, because there's no conceivable way the man takes that lying down. Which she sort of gets, really, even if it is Snape who is indisputably an unmitigated git. Her mum has a way of... Well, she'd overstepped, hadn't she? Inasmuch as Ginny had overstepped in relating all the questionable gossip about Hermione in the first place, she's less sure about belabouring that point though.

Michael appears with a bunch of other Ravenclaws, and Ginny shouts for him. Morag and and Terry take one look at the incoming ginger and peel off to join Padma as she enters the Hall, "We'll wait for you inside," Terry tells him with a dark chuckle. Morag shakes her head sympathetically. Michael's ex has a bit of a reputation. Plenty of fire in that one, unfortunately she was also largely off her head. Rumour was it was something to do with whatever had happened to her first year in the Chamber of Secrets, and that was why she never seemed to be called to account for stunts like hexing fellow students or deliberately flying into the commentators' box just because she didn't approve of the announcing. Well, that and the fact she was a Gryffindor. Somehow for them, the rules just didn't apply. The Weaselette certainly behaved as if she knew it, too.

It was bonkers, really. Unjustifiable. As though Jordan had ever been particularly neutral...

Merlin knows, Michael had argued enough with the others about Ginny to know what they're thinking, and with a bob of his head in acknowledgment at his Housemates and a sigh he can't quite stifle, he goes to meet Ginny instead. He cuts to the chase; she pretty much only shows up when she wants something these days, so there's little use flying around the pitch. "Hey, I still haven't got it, but should have it soon." There's even less point, he imagines, in explaining Zacharias Smith hadn't been able to deliver it yet. That was precisely the boy the Gryffindor had hexed and flown into with neither qualms nor repercussions. If Smith knew the Draught was for Ginny, he'd only raise the price, and if she knew he was the supplier, the was virtually no way she wasn't going to queer Michael's pitch. He's got this under control, and it's most likely to work out if left in his hands. It's not the first time he's found himself having to manage things around her volatile temperament, even worse, doing so to get things she supposedly wanted done. His friends agreed, he'd been plenty patient with her, but even he isn't patient enough to be willing to do absolutely everything the hardest imaginable way. He swears, with the Moggies it's practically a theme. She wants the Draught? He'll get it for her, but by Merlin's beard, it will go more smoothly if she keeps well clear.

Michael's hoping Smith is re-upping this morning and that's what they're waiting for. The newly bonded blond with the racing stripes along the side of his head had declined to explain what precisely the hold up was; clearly the stripes had done nothing for his delivery speed. Knowing Smith, the delay was just as likely to be a celebration of those recent nuptials as not. Michael is definitely not going to mention that either. Chances were better than even Ginny would go on to insult the bondmate if he did.

"We need the Potion before second period or not at all," Ginny tells him, and Michael's eyes narrow. The 'we' is interesting, the timing even more so. "Before then would be better..."

"I'll try to have it for you before breakfast is over," he agrees, but Ginny hasn't had the best of mornings and isn't in the greatest of moods and she's already sweeping past him into the Hall before he finishes.

Bonkers. The girl is bonkers. And incredibly rude. It's unfortunate he's still muttering that as he takes his seat next to his Housemates, and perhaps even less so when they begin questioning him as to what the Weaselette had wanted this time.

Poppy has just finished settling Professor Taylor with Filius in the backroom per Severus' suggestion, and is rather pleased with herself when she sets Wanda to the task of trying to feed Mr. Finch-Fletchley. It is indeed pleasant to have help. Quite understandably she feels, the boy's having issues coordinating his movements. (The Board lists his cause of injury as 'poorly considered interference', a charge more common than one should think in recent years; she suspects there's something more to it.) "Try feeding only the head on the right. I believe that's the one that counts," she suggests. She can hear the boy objecting as she sails past.

"B-but, b-but I-I'm h-hungry," comes the plaintive protest to all of Wanda's efforts to concentrate on just the one side. Wanda is about to throw in the towel and feed both to simplify her life. It would be a better idea by far if aspiration weren't a very real probability. There are Charms for that, obviously, but that doesn't make it any more pleasant for the parties involved or any less work.

Poppy suspects the lad's response is purely psychological, deeming this no true Transfiguration and merely a Curse, but it's somewhat difficult to say conclusively at this stage. Perhaps they'll need to interview Mr. Hopkins as to the spell employed. While undoubtedly useful, it's generally wiser to appear to know all the answers (ridiculous; most of the questions have never been asked let alone answered), and that's more of a last recourse. Only this week they'd needed to resort to consulting Mr. Weasley about his Furunculous on Mr. Thomas. At this rate they'll give the impression they haven't the least bit of clue as to what they're about, and Poppy proudly considers herself the consummate professional. (No matter what Severus thinks of her approach to patient confidentiality. And she's miles more discrete than Wanda, at any rate.)

Albus has been known to... fish the information for them out of the guilty student skulls, but he hasn't been anything like up to sorts lately, and they've been left primarily to their own devices in these matters. And most others really. Perhaps Severus would be willing to oblige...

It funny that the otherwise highly pragmatic Mediwitch spares even a thought for the impression they make. The students only ever notice the moments it all goes wrong, and they're unavoidable in a school of not-yet-competent, highly hormonal, immature wand-wielding beings. At best, her team could only hope to be better than St. Mungo's - sometimes they actually are, a logical consequence of all their exposure - but as the students tend to have too little practical experience with the medical field one way or another, and are generally ungrateful by inclination, making a good impression upon them is a nearly futile goal. They're apt to think the worst of the Infirmary regardless of its objective performance. She's far more likely to achieve the desired result by having the Infirmary's house elf serve up a better class of breakfast. But then exceedingly bland but highly nutritive meals are a substantial component of her efforts to combat malingering in her care. Thus far it's proven effective on all but Mr. Goyle.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley." Cause of injury: 'poor showing'. She strongly suspects the broken arm hadn't been a question of performance. "How are you coming with that porridge?"

In the first place, it's gruel, but correcting the old battlewand is only likely to make this worse somehow. He knows the deal, he isn't leaving until he's eaten it, and his very real hunger (exacerbated by Justin's two heads whinging about just that) had initially kept him from simply Evanescoing the sticky grey contents of his bowl. Of course, that was true several minutes ago. It would have been difficult to eat the mush with any degree of relish under the best of circumstances - he swears it's even worse than Tuesday's plate had been, something Polly is nearly proud of - but right now he's staring at it in unbridled disgust, the sound of the greasy git in the Floo having completely robbed him of his appetite.

Things aren't helped that Harry hadn't thought to stop by with a couple of baps for Ron like he'd brought 'Mione on the weekend. Although... 'Mione had been in the Infirmary all weekend, and it had only been the one visit, and Harry was probably too busy just at the moment getting ready for classes after the early morning practice that Ron's detentions had caused... Unwilling to let something as bothersome as reason curtail his whinging overmuch, he still nevertheless senses he'd do well not to emphasise those points too strongly.

Bloody hell.

"Making progress," he reports, eyeing his slop with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. That suits Poppy well enough. She doesn't need her patients to embrace her treatments with wild abandon, she merely needs them to comply.

An owl swoops into the Infirmary making a beeline for Poppy. She sighs, that's probably not the best of signs that she'll be making it to breakfast. Somehow the creatures always seem to know. They definitely don't prefer to come to the Infirmary if there are other options, at any rate. The Cling Film Charm on the door proves enough of a deterrent to see to that. It's undoubtedly far from nice, but it was an imperative in rooms first and foremost dedicated to the care of patients. It's an oddly named, invisible, feathers deep modification of the Bubble-Head Charm that encases any such creatures who enter, assuring they don't leave any injurious traces behind. She imagines it isn't a pleasant sensation, perhaps like being dipped in wax. Unsurprisingly she's never thought to try it on herself.

"You're early," she tells the bird as she takes the packet the owl is bearing. She fishes about in her pockets futilely before Summoning an owl treat and sending the creature on its way. Reward received, it's only too happy to leave and be rid of the Charm. She's pleased upon opening the little package to discover the pictures from Sunday have been returned. Madam Snape should be so pleased, she looks absolutely lovely. At least... she hopes Madam Snape will be pleased. Poor dear. Even Severus looks frightfully handsome, if a touch wan, only fair really considering his wounds Friday. But his dress robes suit him ever so well.

She strokes the top picture with some affection, the image of Severus upon it scowls as she does so making her smile. She wonders if he'd appreciate a copy of the pictures, too...

As she enters her office to lay the photos to the rest of her collection, she's advanced to trying to decide how best to sort the pictures of Mr. Weasley's enormous head from Monday evening into her file, how she should categorise it... She's also eagerly anticipating expanding the set with the next instalment which should include the snapshots of the winged Mr. Crabbe (she'll doubtlessly need extra copies), Mr. Inglebee's highly unusual manifestation of the Furnunculus, and Mr. Finch-Fletchley's remarkable pair of heads. And that's to say nothing of Professor Taylor in his well singed robes as he'd appeared in the Infirmary this morning. Heavens. (That last, admittedly, was probably more a question of personal humour than medical relevance or impressive spell work on either of their parts. Considering the young staff member, she amends: unequivocally.)

When she reaches her desk, the Matron stops, surprised to discover an envelope lying there for her as well. Puzzled - there hadn't been another owl all morning - she sets her photographs down, unsorted, slices the flap open and pulls out the card. She stares at it in utter silence for a few heartbeats and then descends into gales of laughter that have a few of her patients very much on edge.

It's good that she gets a hearty laugh in, as all hell is about to break loose once more.