Foreshadowing the Unexpected

Chapter 23 -- Observations & Obliviations
Every choice you make has an end result. -- Zig Ziglar

Connor woke up the next day still feeling tired. He had had dreams all night of werewolves and brewing potions and Professor Lupin and Ms Grayson, all in a strange and meaningless jumble.

The day passed without much of anything happening, Connor was relieved to hand in all of his assignments, knowing that he had done a good and thorough job on them. He took good notes and tried to pay attention in every class.

It helped to know that Ivy was watching him like a mother hen, scowling at him every time he appeared not to be paying attention to his lessons.

After the end of classes, Connor dropped his books off in his room and went for his lesson with Professor Lyra. The earlier meeting time with her was pretty much pointless now that he didn't need to make allowances for Quidditch practice, but it seemed silly and selfish of him to ask her to change the lessons back to the original time.

"Connor," she said in greeting when he arrived, "I'm sorry to hear about what happened at the Quidditch match, and about your place on the team."

Connor shrugged. What could he really say that wouldn't be either obvious or rude? Professor Lyra had done her best to help schedule these extra lessons to accommodate him. It wasn't her fault that he'd blown it.

"Why don't we see if any damage was done?" she asked kindly, gesturing to their customary spot on the floor.

Connor followed her example and took his place cross-legged in front of her. There were no herbs burning today, and the window was open--but no cold seemed to be coming into the room.

"Deep breaths, Connor," Professor Lyra said gently, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand. "Remember how we did it last time."

Connor relaxed and allowed her to probe gently for a few moments until he finally felt her withdraw and saw her smile. "Well?"

"Very good, actually," she said. "Have you even checked the Animus Orb to see what it shows?"

Connor felt his cheeks heat. "I checked it once during the game," he said. "Everything was fine then. Then that Slytherin got knocked off his broom, and that's when everything else happened."

"Do you have it with you now?" she asked without any of the censure in her voice that he had expected to hear.

Connor nodded and reached into his pocket, withdrawing the orb and holding up for Professor Lyra to see. There were a few clouds within the miniature sky, but nothing overly concerning.

Professor Lyra nodded, unsurprised. "Your Occlumency ability is getting stronger as you continually practice it. Soon it will be second nature to you. It's quite an achievement for someone so young."

"I've had good teachers," Connor said with a cheeky grin.

Professor Lyra chuckled. "You certainly have," she agreed. "I think just to make sure that everything is nice and clear in your head, you should go ahead and practice regular Occlumency, like you would have at any time before you quit practicing it daily."

Connor nodded, then closed his eyes to begin.

-------------0------------

On Wednesday morning, Connor sat at the front of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, his anger at Professor Lupin long forgotten. He had done a thorough job on his essay, with the knowledge that Lupin would know if they had just dashed off facts from the book instead of really doing their research.

After the homework was collected, Professor Lupin faced the class and scanned a couple of the essays at random before speaking.

"It appears, at first glance, that most of you are aware of how to differentiate a wolf from a werewolf," he said. He glanced at one or two more papers before saying, "Are there any questions about anything you've read or found while researching your homework?"

Several hands shot into the air.

"Gareth?"

"So, besides being bitten, there's no other way for a person to become a werewolf?" Gareth asked.

"None that I'm aware of," Lupin said seriously, "and I am very aware. I cannot spread the infection to anyone else through either casual or intimate touch, and if I were inclined to bite anyone, I would have to break the skin for there to be any chance of danger."

Connor looked over at Ms Grayson at this point, but her face was impassive. It was obvious, from the way she and Lupin had been kissing at Christmas that she was very aware of the safety issues involved with knowing a werewolf.

"Any other questions? Ivy?"

"What about female werewolves?" Ivy asked with interest. "I've never heard of one, but they must exist."

"Indeed they do, but they're rarer. I'm not sure why," Professor Lupin said.

"Can they have kids?" Andrea Burkette asked.

"No," Lupin said, looking slightly uncomfortable. "There are complications that make even trying it a Very Bad Idea. Any female werewolf who becomes pregnant while in human form will automatically reject the human foetus during the transformation to wolf form."

"You mean, she'll miscarry?" Tim Cole asked without even raising his hand.

"Precisely," Lupin confirmed with a grave nod. "The foetus can't tolerate the physiological changes or the rapid altering of the cell structure. The wolf body rejects the human pregnancy. It's just as well: while there have been no documented cases of a child being born with Lycanthropy, you can imagine what the first transformation would do to an infant."

Connor felt sick at the thought of a newborn baby going through...it was too awful to even consider.

"What about the male werewolves?" Ivy asked. "Can they father children?"

"Most werewolves of either sex undergo voluntary magical procedures to prevent them from ever producing offspring. In fact, the Ministry has a program in place that requires all known werewolves to subject themselves to these procedures," Professor Lupin told them all frankly. "Regardless that it has never been proven that the infection can be passed to an unborn child, the failure to prevent the conception of an infected child is punishable by death or lifetime imprisonment. The same is true for infecting another human being."

Connor was uncomfortable hearing his uncle talking about 'procedures' that he had surely gone through in his youth to prevent his ever having children. Connor had already suffered through an embarrassing and (in his opinion) overly informative discussion with his parents about certain facts of life, and he didn't like to be reminded of it, in any way, in a classroom full of his peers.

"But it is possible for a male werewolf to father human children?" Ivy asked.

"In theory, yes," Lupin said with a nod. "But again, there are no documented cases. Who would ever report such a thing, knowing the penalty and stigma it would carry?"

"No one," Quinten said quietly.

"Any other questions?" Professor Lupin asked, much to Connor's relief. He called on a Slytherin girl in the back row. "Enid?"

"What's L.D.D stand for? I saw it in one of the books I found on werewolf physiology, but I couldn't figure it out." Enid asked.

"L.D.D. stands for Lycanthropic Degenerative Disorder," Professor Lupin answered, enunciating clearly as quills scratched on parchment around the room, "one of the few diseases that is particular to werewolves. It is a disease of the brain thought to be brought on by the accumulation of damage from monthly transformations over a period of years. It is generally marked by a gradual onset of hallucinations, blindness, self-mutilation, and eventually madness: this happens to the afflicted while in human form

Connor shuddered visibly at the description, so calmly given, from a man who had every reason to fear being stricken by such a malady. Connor's vivid imagination supplied his mind with horrible images of his uncle Remus ravaged by such a horrible sounding disease.

"In wolf form," Lupin continued calmly, "L.D.D. presents itself very much as a rabid wolf might: vicious behaviour, even with the Wolfsbane Potion, foaming at the mouth. There is no treatment available, and the only known cure involves the death of the victim of the disease. Any other questions?"

The room was silent as the students all looked anywhere but at their teacher for a few awkward moments. Apparently Connor wasn't the only one with a vivid imagination. Ivy had tears in her eyes.

"All right then," Lupin continued, "let's review what we've learned. Your homework, in my absence, will be a summary of the chapter on werewolves."

The rest of the class time was taken up with discussion and note-taking. When the bell rang, Connor told his friends to go on ahead, and hung back to talk to Lupin.

"Did you have a question, Connor?" Lupin asked warily.

Connor reckoned that Lupin thought Connor was going to beg to be let back on the Quidditch team, or to at least still be angry.

"I just wondered where you were headed this time," Connor said. The lesson they had just had had made Connor feel suddenly more concerned about his uncle than he ever had been before.

"Tasmania," Lupin said. "I'm told there's a Potions Master there who has been working with certain herbs indigenous to that region and has supposedly used them effectively on his son, who is a werewolf. I've written and volunteered myself as a trial case."

"Is that safe?" Connor asked. He looked over at Ms Grayson, who was pretending to sort through the homework papers at the desk a few feet away.

"I'll be fine, Connor," Lupin said kindly while steering him to the door. "I'll be back in a week or so."

Connor nodded and glanced again at Ms Grayson, who seemed agitated, but neither of them said anything to each other. "I'd better go. I don't want to be late for Snape's class. Good luck on your trip."

"Be good while I'm gone." Remus smiled reassuringly. "I'll see you soon."

-----------0------------

By the time classes ended that day, Connor was feeling tense and anxious about brewing the Blood Purifying and Replenishing Potion with Snape that evening.

He tried studying in the common room, but there were too many distractions, and when the entire Quidditch team settled itself nearby and began discussing plays Connor found himself grinding his teeth.

He finally fled down to the library and found an out of the way table near the Potions section where he could revise undisturbed. If only his thoughts would cooperate. What if I completely screw this up? he asked himself silently as he went over all of the proper ingredient preparations. Snape will never trust me like this again if I don't get it at least mostly right!

Connor ignored the handful of other students roaming the stacks as he told himself to relax and concentrate. His nerves were jangling, his palms sweating as he took out a clean sheet of parchment, and began listing the order of the ingredients and the procedure for adding each to the potion from memory.

He was nearly halfway finished when a shadow fell over his parchment. It was Ms Grayson.

"You're a hard person to track down, Connor," she said lightly when he looked up. "I tried the common room, and your classmates told me you'd said something about Potions, and then I looked in the dungeons. I checked the front of the library, but didn't see you. I'm glad I decided to take a closer look. Do you mind if I join you?"

Connor was certainly not going to tell her he was to busy after she'd gone to all that trouble to find him. "No," he said, curious as to why she would seek him out. "Have a seat."

"Thank you," she said, taking the chair across from him. She seemed a little nervous.

"Is Professor Lupin all right?" Connor asked, suddenly stricken with the idea that she might be the bearer of bad news of some sort.

"Oh, he's fine," she told him with no sign of distress. "He should be catching his Portkey within the hour, actually. I came to see you because I received an interesting letter today, and I wanted to share it with you right away."

"Share it with me?" Connor asked with surprise. He couldn't fathom why any of her letters might be of interest to him.

"Yes," she said with a nod. "It's from Drina Ayala."

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Connor, and he searched his memory for the answer. He felt like he should know who this person was, and it was just out of reach.

"Would you like a hint?" Ms Grayson said with a wry smile when recognition did not immediately dawn on him..

"Please?" Connor asked, curious.

"She's one of only three, including yourself," Ms Grayson prompted.

Connor's eyes widened. "She's one of the Healers!"

"Got it in one," Ms Grayson answered, holding up the letter in her hand. "And I've just gotten a letter from her."

"Why would she be writing to you?" Connor asked. That didn't make any sense.

"Because I wrote to her," she answered. "I met her once, a couple of years ago while I was in South America."

Connor suddenly remembered the first time Ms. Grayson had talked to the class: I've spent the past five years in various parts of South America, attending to family business. My grandfather was very ill, and so I went there to care for him and to take care of his coffee plantation.

"Did she Heal your grandfather?" Connor asked. "Is that how you met her? What's she like?"

"I did seek her out for that purpose," Ms Grayson admitted, "but she didn't Heal him in the sense you're thinking of. She listened to my description of his illness, then she gave me some special herbs and potions. Luckily they helped to speed up his recovery. She's a very capable and kind woman."

"So you wrote to her about me?" Connor asked.

"Yes, I did." She slid the parchment across the table. "When I overheard your parents telling Remus, I told them that I had met her, and your parents told Professor Dumbledore. He suggested that I send a letter, telling Drina about you, and about our suspicions that you were a true Healer. This was during your first stay in St. Mungo's, after you'd healed Professor McGonagall. I just received her reply today."

Connor looked down at the letter and frowned. "This is in Spanish or something."

Ms Grayson chuckled. "Yes," she said. "Drina speaks adequate English, but doesn't write it. Would you like me to read it to you?"

"I guess," Connor said. Even if it was about him, the letter was still addressed to Ms Grayson, and it felt odd to hear her reading her correspondence to him.

Dear Elizabeth,

What a delight to hear from you again. I was pleased to hear of your Grandfather's recovery from his long illness. The gifts that you sent in payment were unnecessary, but appreciated, and will be put to good use. I can see from your letter that you have returned to England. I hope you have found happiness there once more.

This boy you have written of, this Connor Potter. He is a student of yours, yes? From your description of his experiences so far, it sounds very much like he may be the third Healer that has been so long looked for since dear Halima passed away. It is too much of a coincidence that she left us on the very same day that this Connor boy was born. I feel sure he must be the third. I trust Albus Dumbledore would not be asking you to write to me if he wasn't also sure that Connor is a Healer.

He will need training, and utmost secrecy. There are many who would exploit him for his talents, and he must be prepared for such possibilities. Since Wen Kuaihao will surely not be amenable to taking on an apprentice (especially one who does not speak her language), I feel it falls to me to help the boy as much as I can. I understand that he is currently attending Hogwarts. Once he is free from his classes in the summer months, send him to me. I will do what I can to prepare him.

Write back to me when you know more, and when I should expect him. Some simple Spanish instruction would not be amiss, either.

Yours sincerely,
Drina

"That's the rough translation, anyway," Elizabeth said, folding the letter back up and looking at Connor with expectant eyes.

Connor, however, was distracted by something, and suddenly leapt to his feet. "Rupert! What are you doing there?"

Rupert Dursley came out of the stacks only a few feet away wide-eyed and looking shaken. "Are you--can you really heal people?" he blurted immediately. "Like without a wand and stuff?"

Connor groaned and sank back into his chair. He had an overwhelming urge to bang his head repeatedly on the table in front of him.

"Mr Dursley," Elizabeth said sternly, "have a seat."

It wasn't a request, and Rupert knew it. He shuffled forward with his brow furrowed and sat down beside Connor. Rupert sat staring hard at Connor for a moment, before Ms Grayson spoke.

"What did you hear?" Ms Grayson demanded bluntly.

"It makes sense, now," Rupert said, obviously adding things up in his mind. "That's why you were trying to get to Arnold Epsom at the match when he got knocked off his broom. You didn't just want to help him, you wanted to heal him...you were fighting Professor Lupin really hard... like you couldn't control yourself."

"It's not like that," Connor said to Rupert in a placating tone. "You've got the wrong--"

"You'll be rich!" Rupert said excitedly. "This is like something different from what normal wizards can do, right? This is something rare; and she said that you were one of only three! You'll be able to name your price for--"

"Obliviate!" Elizabeth said calmly, her wand pointed at Rupert.

Connor felt as stunned as Rupert currently looked. Ms Grayson had just used a Memory Charm on a student!

Rupert's eyes glazed over, and his expression turned slack, as Ms Grayson directed him to go about his business and forget that he'd ever even seen Connor in the library at all. He looked a bit confused and lost as he walked away into the stacks and disappeared.

"You just..." Connor said. He couldn't believe what he'd just witnessed. "You just erased his memory! Can you do that?"

"I'm quite adept at Memory Charms," she said calmly and seriously, "and it was necessary. Normally, I would never, ever use a memory charm on a child. However, he had overheard everything we discussed, and that is unacceptable. I couldn't risk having him tell anyone."

Connor nodded numbly, still reeling.

"I'm sorry, Connor, but it was the only way." She got to her feet once more and tucked the letter into her pocket. "I should go and see the headmistress about this."

"Wait!" Connor said, finally coming out of his daze. "What did the letter mean, send him to me?"

"Just that she's willing to take you for the summer to teach you some of what she knows," Elizabeth told him. "It's an invitation. Of course, you'd have to ask your parents' permission, but it's really a brilliant opportunity. You'd be getting the chance to learn from someone who actually knows what you're going through, and what you're likely to go through in the future, first hand."

This was something so outside the scope of anything Connor had imagined that he didn't know what to think about it. He just asked the first question that popped into his head. "And she wants me to learn Spanish?"

"I doubt she expects you to become fluent in just a few short months," Ms Grayson said. "But it couldn't hurt you to begin learning some basic vocabulary. Now, I really must go and speak with Professor McGonagall and send an owl about this to your parents, so if you'll excuse me?"

Connor nodded distractedly.

In the past half-hour, he had gone from frantically studying Potions, to hearing a letter about himself from a true Healer, to seeing Ms Grayson modify Rupert Dursley's memory! And now, it seemed, she was working arrangements for him to go to South America over the summer! Could his life really get any more bizarre?

Then he remembered that he had less than two hours before he would be expected to brew a Blood Purifying and Replenishing Potion with Professor Snape.

Strange encounters aside, the potion brewing was the first thing on his list of things he needed to accomplish for the rest of the day. It was the only thing he needed to concentrate on at the moment. The rest could wait until tomorrow, at least.

"One thing at a time," he murmured to himself.

He returned to his notes, desperately trying to call on his Occlumency skills to focus and shut everything else out.

-----------0-----------

Out of breath, Connor skidded to a halt just outside Potions classroom number three. He had lost track of time after dinner, and had had to run all the way from the library. He wasn't late, but he had wanted to be a few minutes early, and he hadn't managed that.

He let himself into the room, where Professor Snape was waiting for him at the front of the room with a cauldron set up and several ingredient bottles lined up in a several long rows.

"Mr. Potter," he said calmly and without preamble. "Don your protective apron and take your place before the cauldron. You will announce each step and ingredient as you go, and I will intervene when necessary."

Connor nodded and dropped his schoolbag in a chair before putting on the heavy apron, then going to the sink to scrub his hands as clean as humanly possible.

"First," Connor said nervously as he took his place beside Snape, "I'm going to put this cauldron away and get the correct one."

Connor looked over at the Potions Master, and could swear he saw the faintest twitch of his lips before they pursed. Snape nodded, and stood silently while Connor collected the correct cauldron and set it in place. "Next, I'm going to prepare my ingredients in the order in which they are to be added to the cauldron, except for those that need to be prepared immediately before being added. I'll start with measuring out the water that will act as the base ingredient."

Connor began to relax as he worked. Professor Snape kept a sharp watch, but remained quietly to one side. Occasionally he would clear his throat, in subtle indication that Connor was forgetting something, however minor. Twice, he asked Connor to continue his narrative as he worked, or asked why a certain step was necessary to the procedure... Connor became so caught up in his work that he forgot that he was supposed to be verbalizing everything. Once, Snape corrected Connor's method of slicing elderflower roots, but offered no other criticism.

"Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two," he counted softly to himself before he added the last leech heart. "And now it has to simmer for three and half minutes," he said as he turned over the proper hourglass, "and then it will need to be stirred with a glass number six stirring rod thirty-nine times counter clockwise, before the quarter dram of essence of pennyroyal is added, three drops as a time."

"I think that you'll find that is incorrect, Mr. Potter."

Connor hesitated. Which of the steps he had listed was wrong? If he didn't already have a sheen of perspiration on his face, this would have caused it. He kept a careful eye on the hourglass as he frantically went over his notes in his head, but came up blank. He was down to the last twenty seconds when he turned panicked eyes to Snape.

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't know--" Connor began imploringly.

"It is a size nine glass stirring rod, counter clockwise thirty-six times," he said patiently.

Connor might have been amazed at the patience and helpfulness of his teacher if he hadn't been so relieved to know what he was doing wrong. He had barely enough time to grab the correct size stirring rod before the three and a half minutes were up.

He was careful to immerse the rod without splashing the potion, then began counting as he stirred.

"And why did you use a glass stirring rod, as opposed to one made of some kind of metal?" Professor Snape asked as Connor added the pennyroyal.

"To keep the temperature from rising too quickly," Connor said automatically, not taking his eyes from his task. They were nearing the end of the brewing process, and he didn't want anything to interfere at this point. "Glass conducts the heat more efficiently."

Finally, after a gruelling three hours, it was time for the final ingredient to be added. Without needing to be asked, Professor Snape produced a small glass phial that held three short unicorn hairs.

"These are not from the same animal you encountered on Hallowe'en," Professor Snape said, "but they are still quite potent."

Connor took the phial and uncorked it. With a deep breath, he gently shook the hairs into the potion, then smiled brilliantly when the surface frothed and glowed a pearly white. Remember Snape's words when Connor had observed this potion before, he was not overly concerned when the bubbles did not react as strongly as they had then. The unicorn hairs that Snape had used before were much more potent.

Soon the bubbles died down and left the surface of the potion calm. The brewing was finished.

Connor let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding and let some of the tension drain from his shoulders.

"What is the next step?" Professor Snape asked.

"It needs to be poured into an earthenware jar and allowed to mature for a moon cycle," Connor answered promptly. "Then it must be stirred for exactly thirty-one minutes in a clockwise direction with a silver stirring rod before it can be dispensed."

"Correct," Snape said. He was neither smiling nor frowning. "You've done a tolerable job here. I will take care of pouring it into the earthenware jar while you put away all of the ingredients and clean your workspace."

Connor felt as though he could burst with elation. Though Professor Snape's words weren't full of praise, Connor knew that if he had done at all poorly, he would have heard about it. He'd done a good job, and he knew it.

"Yes, sir," he answered with an irrepressible grin.

------------0------------

An hour later, Connor was creeping up the stairs, pockets full of cakes from an impromptu trip to the kitchens on the way back to Gryffindor tower. It was slightly after curfew, and he was trying to reign in his jubilant mood. He didn't want to be caught with obvious contraband from the house elves.

He had just rounded the corner onto the seventh floor when he heard footsteps approaching. Thinking quickly, Connor pulled out his wand and muttered a password at an ancient tapestry. He sighed with relief as it loosened from the wall, then drew it aside to reveal a hidden narrow corridor. He stepped into the dark space and let the tapestry fall back into place, listening hard for evidence that whoever had been coming was now leaving.

Connor began to take shallow breaths through his mouth, just in case he could be heard through the tapestry, and waited. It seemed like ages, but was probably only a couple of minutes, when a set of footsteps could be heard passing by out in the main hallway. A few moments later, the sound of hard-soled shoes could be heard echoing down the staircase, and then faded away.

That was uncomfortably close, Connor thought to himself. He wondered who it was that had almost caught him. One way to find out.

Connor let himself out of the stifling hidden passage, approached the Fat Lady and muttered, "Commeatus!" As the Fat Lady swung open, Connor grinned her, then climbed into the common room.

The room was empty of all but two or three students bent over textbooks, and Connor hurried up to his dorm. Everyone was asleep, so he didn't need to waste time answering questions when he retrieved the Marauder's map from his trunk.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"

He watched as the lines spread over the surface of the map, and didn't even wait until it was complete to before looking it over. There was very little activity at this time of night, and so it was easy to spot the label that read: "Mr Sweeper" making its way down the stairs toward his quarters.

Connor breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't been the first to be caught by the new caretaker; since he hadn't punished anyone yet, no one knew quite what to expect from him. Connor would gladly let someone else be the first to find out.

Connor was congratulating himself on his good fortune when he noticed movement on the third floor.

Looking closely at the tiny figure emerging from a certain statue, Connor could just make out the label: "Rupert Dursley". It seemed that Rupert was still using the passage into Honeydukes. Connor made a mental note to keep an eye out for continued visits, and to mention to him that just because there was a trap door in the floor of the sweet shop didn't mean that the sweets were free for the taking.

Tonight, though, his mood was too good to worry about it much. He tapped the map with his wand and muttered, "Mischief managed!" before replacing it in his trunk. With a muttered "Nox," he settled back against his pillows.

----------0----------

The next morning at breakfast, Zack came in late and asked, "Did you hear that Mr Sweeper assigned his first detention last night?"

"Who'd he get?" Quentin asked in a low voice.

"Some Hufflepuff fifth year. A girl, I think her name was Michelle, or something."

"What did she do?" Connor asked at the same time Ivy asked, "What sort of punishment did he give?"

"What's the big deal?" Rachel asked. "Filch was always giving out detentions."

"Well," Zack said, his tone indicating that he had some gossip to share. "He caught her throwing rubbish on the floor or something. He made her scrub the floor of the entrance hall, without magic."

Connor thought of the huge open area that served as the entrance hall, and winced. That was a big job, but not too horrible, at least.

"That's it?" Quentin asked with a disappointed air. "So what?"

"According to the Hufflepuffs, he just stood there and watched her the whole time," Zack said. "Just stared at her for four hours while she worked."

"That's creepy," Rachel said.

"Way creepy," Ivy agreed. "He's so...strange looking. He just seems to blend right into the walls."

Connor knew what she meant. It would be disconcerting to have that man staring at you for all that time. "Good thing we've got the map," he said. "I almost got myself caught last night after curfew. He must've been standing right outside of the portrait hole as I was coming back. If I hadn't hidden, I'd have detention myself."

"What were you doing out so late?" Rachel asked suspiciously. "Surely Snape didn't keep you for that long?"

"I was hungry," Connor said. "I didn't eat much at dinner."

Zack shook his head with an amused expression at Connor's appetite, then asked, "What do you reckon he was doing on the seventh floor?"

"Probably trying to catch students out after curfew, just like Filch used to," Ivy said. "We'd better be careful from now on."

Connor nodded. Mr Sweeper was just strange enough to make him wary, and after the first detention the caretaker had meted out, Connor was sure that word would spread quickly among the students.

-----------0-----------

Connor wrote to his parents the next day about the letter from the Healer and his brewing session with Professor Snape. On Friday, Ms Grayson taught Defence class, reiterating everything they had already learned about werewolves.

She didn't speak to Connor again about Rupert, or about Drina Ayala.

On Saturday morning, Connor received a letter from his parents, but they made no mention of Rupert at all. They didn't refer to the Healer by name, either, and only wrote that they were looking into the possibilities. They congratulated him on the success of his potion, and sent along a parcel of sweets for him, as well.

Professor Snape said nothing further about the potion until the following Monday. After his regular Potions class, he called for Connor to remain behind.

"You will report to the usual classroom on Wednesday evenings at six o'clock until further notice."

"Should I bring anything with me, sir?" Connor asked, hardly daring to believe he was going to be allowed to brew with Snape on a regular basis.

"No. Everything you need will be provided for you, unless I specifically say otherwise." Snape turned away and strode to his office in his own taciturn way of dismissing Connor.

Connor didn't mind. He knew that this was an opportunity many wizards would jump at, and he wasn't going to waste it.