Subplot

6 - Ron

For their interview with the Ensouling expert, Professor McGonagall had asked Ron and Harry to leave Quidditch practice early for once. Ron did not mind it overly much this time: For one thing, they had just scored a decent victory over Hufflepuff. Celebrations had been rather subdued as a means of showing respect to the late Hufflepuff seeker Cedric Diggory, of course, but a victory was a victory, wasn't it? Another reason why he liked leaving early that night was a lingering feeling of gluttony. To make him gain weight, Fred and George had made force-feeding him their favourite dinner sport. So far he had not become any heavier, but was frequently feeling uncomfortably full during Quidditch practice, always afraid a Bludger or even the Quaffle might hit him in the stomach and cause him to lose his dinner. So when Professor McGonagall fetched them from the field and led them into the Transfiguration classroom that night, he did not complain.

The classroom was empty except for a smallish elderly wizard wearing a blackish robe with an old-fashioned ruffled collar. His head was covered with a cloud of snowy curls framing a face that was decidedly less wrinkled than his knotty hands. Professor McGonagall made proper introductions:

"Mr. Pigmalgion, these are Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, the boys we talked about. Harry, Ron, this is Mr. Pigmalgion. He is an Ensouler who has come over from Anglesey to see whether one of you shows an aptitude for his art."

Mr. Pigmalgion nodded to Harry and Ron in greeting, revealing the cottony crown of his head to them.

"Hello, boys," he said gravely. "I heard they ascribe great deeds to you two."

Ron did not know what to answer, while Harry just gave the Ensouler a wide-eyed stare, then said:

"I don't know whether we did anything great, Mr. Pigmalgion."

"It is good to see you are a modest and well-mannered boy, Mr. Potter. To tell you the truth, I'm here to find out whether you did."

Ron felt a little stupid. It was obvious that Mr. Pigmalgion expected Harry rather than Ron to have the mysterious talent of Ensouling. So did Ron, of course. If he had Ensouled his Dad's car, he'd know, wouldn't he? All he had ever done was fly it. And unlike Harry, who was a natural at Quidditch, a Parselmouth and a former Triwizard Champion - not to mention his repeated defeats of You-Know-Who - Ron had never found any powers in himself except for those he had always known he had.

Mr. Pigmalgion asked quite a few question of Harry as well as of Ron. He wanted to know about their relationship with Quidditch balls and chess figures and asked odd questions about games that were much more a matter of physical or mental skills than a matter of dealing with Ensouled objects. Ron started to wonder whether the old wizard might be a fake. Then Mr. Pigmalgion wanted to see their chessmen. As Professor McGonagall had told them to bring them to the meeting, both could produce them on the spot. The Ensouler opened the neat wooden box where Harry kept his shiny white marble chessmen and took out the queen. Ron had to smile when he looked at the little figure because he knew her so well from the chessboard. Harry's queen had a small silvery sword that was almost longer than she was tall. Whenever she raised it to strike at an opponent, she'd close her little stone eyes and hunch her shoulders, but still hit squarely and with shocking efficiency. She was one of those chess figures who had never really learned to trust Harry and was easily pushed to the verge of mutiny.

Mr. Pigmalgion scrutinised the tiny figure under a magnifying glass, turned her between thumb and forefinger, prodded her face and breathed at her. Ron could tell the queen did not like this and wondered, not for the first time, if chess figures could bite or raise their weapons against a wizard if their patience was really tried.

After a while Mr. Pigmalgion set the little queen aside and asked Ron for his set. Ron kept his chessmen wrapped up in an old woollen hat because he suspected them of hurting each other when confined in a box. The grey flinty chessmen had already been rather battered when he had inherited them from his grandfather, and Ron had done his best to prevent further damage. Still, the king had only half a crown, the queen lacked her nose, and half of the pawns were missing their tiny wooden clubs, which was not much of a problem as their miniscule fists were disastrous on the board. The knights Ron had each wrapped separately in an old sock because they were the worst bullies of the lot.

Scowling at Ron's chipped set, Mr. Pigmalgion took out the bishop who preferred to walk on black. (The two bishops looked identical, of course, but Ron knew from experience that it paid to let each of them work on the colour of their choice.) Again, the scrutinising process ensued. The bishop kept unusually still, and Ron was starting to worry if there was something wrong with it when Mr. Pigmalgion set it down on the table.

"Well, Mr. Weasley," the Ensouler addressed him, "it is too early for me to say something definite, but it seems your chessmen think remarkably highly of you. - You have not owned yours for very long, Mr. Potter, have you?"

"Almost four years," Harry had to admit, eyes downcast. Suddenly Ron did not feel very smug anymore. He had always hoped that one day he, not Harry, would be singled out. Now that Mr. Pigmalgion seemed to do just that, he realised he did not like it very much. He'd prefer it if they turned out both to be Ensoulers, learned to relate to Quidditch balls in an exceptional manner, and ended up as joint entrepreneurs producing spectacular Ensouled objects after their retirement from the professional life on the pitch.

"I much desire to see the object of your spectacular Ensouling act myself," Mr. Pigmalgion told the two of them now. "Professor McGonagall has informed me that the vehicle in question can be found near a teacher's building here on the ground. Will you be so kind as to accompany me?"

Together, they crossed the dark windy grounds, half-rounded the lake and finally arrived at Professor Varlerta's soundproof building. Ron had buried his hands deeply in his robes' pockets, wishing fervently that he'd suggested they put on cloaks. He saw the car from afar, standing under an invisible roof on the side of the building. When it heard them coming, it turned on its headlights as if in greeting. Ron stared: His Dad's old Ford Anglia was hardly recognisable. Professor Varlerta had had someone take care of the dents and rusty places and had painted the car black. With its shiny chrome bumper and its new red leather seats, the old vehicle looked almost fancy. From the interior it was softly playing a rock ballad to them. When Harry, Ron and Mr. Pigmalgion approached the car, it used its indicators to show them it was excited to see them. Ron patted its bonnet, sure the car remembered flying to Hogwarts with them and saving the two of them in the Forbidden Forest. It responded with the softest note from its horn. Harry and the old Ensouler kept in the back.

"Mr. Pigmalgion, I think it was Ron that Ensouled the car," Harry said quietly. "Don't you see? It's happy to see him."

"Hi boys," came Professor Varlerta's voice from behind them. Ron saw her standing in the doorway, dressed in her usual Muggle clothes. Mr. Pigmalgion approached her to shake hands, a look of disapproval on his face. Varlerta ignored it.

"Impressive, isn't it?" she asked him, indicating the car with a slight turn of the head.

"Indeed, it is. A fine piece of Ensouling. For what are you planning to use it?" the old Ensouler replied politely if not stiffly.

"Well, I'll have to do some driving around the country in the near future, and I want to take my apprentices with me, so my motorbike would not do too well. Plus, I'm afraid the motorbike can't make it at the moment. Anyways, I've already taken to old Drifter." The car beeped its horn again when she put her hand on the roof, louder this time.

"Want me to take you for a ride?" Professor Varlerta asked them. In response the car bounced up and down almost imperceptibly. To Ron's disappointment, Mr. Pigmalgion declined.

"I appreciate the offer, but unfortunately I have to keep an appointment later tonight. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, will you accompany me back to the castle?"

Varlerta shrugged at Mr. Pigmalgion's obvious wish to get away from her, bid them goodnight and returned to her quarters. Mr. Pigmalgion told Harry and Ron they would walk back to the castle. Back inside, he gave each of them a finely crafted wooden pawn. To match their chessmen, Harry got a white pawn, while Ron's was black. The pawn felt alien in Ron's fingers. Turning it around in his hand, Ron realised that it was a dead thing, a total blank.

"It certainly appears as if Mr. Weasley is the Ensouler around here," Mr. Pigmalgion told them. "However, I am not altogether sure and would like to know more about both of you. To test your skills at Ensouling, please practice on these pawns exactly the way I tell you. They are prepared for Ensouling, but as yet devoid of will or life. It also takes use to shape them. These two have never been on a chessboard before. All the life and all the skill they may acquire they will get from you. Please keep them with your chess sets and play with them at least three times a week. To make sure my little experiment is carried out correctly, only handle your own test pawn, please. Do not even touch each other's if you can't help it. In a month I will return to Hogwarts and would like to see how you two did at Ensouling them."

After politely biding them farewell, Mr. Pigmalgion departed. Ron and Harry looked at each other, then at their wooden test pawns.

"There's no way I can keep it with the other chessmen," Ron mused. "The others will take it apart."

Harry regarded the small wooden figures with his usual dreamy green gaze. "You think so? Why should they?"

"Well, it's an intruder, one to take someone else's place. The others have known each other for more than a hundred years and still argue, but a new pawn... what's more, a wooden pawn ... no way it's even going to last until it knows the rules of the game, I think."

"Well, tell them off before they get a chance to do it," Harry said jokingly. "Turn all Snapey on them."

Ron set up his chessmen in the usual two orderly rows and put the black wooden pawn before them. Assuming a pompous mock-sermon tone, he told them:

"Gentlemen, Lady, may I have your attention for a minute. Before you, you see one who has come from far away to learn your noble skills. Please welcome him into your rows temporarily, assist him in his training whenever you can and do not shame me by harming him. For, as you see, he is but a gentle character, feeble in will and of a delicate making. Any of you whom I catch nicking or scratching your guest will be washed down the toilet in disgrace as a punishment."

Harry grinned as Ron stuffed the chess figures back into hat and socks. As an afterthought, he wrapped the wooden pawn in his not wholly clean handkerchief. Harry did not seem to worry so much about the well-being of his test pawn, but just stuffed it into the box with his white marble chessmen.

"It would be nice to Ensoul stuff," Harry said as they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower together. "Just imagine - making our own Quidditch balls. 'Potter's and Weasley's, the meanest Bludgers ever!'"

"Couldn't use them anyway," Ron reminded him. "Remember that court case that the Chuddley Cannons lost in the sixties about the Seeker who had Ensouled the Snitch used at a World Cup game? They said the ball wasn't impartial, declared the game invalid and sued the Seekers ears off."

"Yeah, that's right. Too bad though," Harry said. Ron felt the figures wriggle around in the woolly hat he was holding in his hands and told them to lay it off. Just then Snape came around the corner, staring madly at them through strands of his poisonously green hair. Obviously he could not think of anything to tell them off for, so he only gave them the Evil Eye. Harry and Ron fought to keep their faces straight.

They had been among the first to notice the change in the Potion Master's hair colour. A few days ago, they had found Snape's dungeon dimmer than ever, almost too dark to properly brew potions in it. When Milicent Bulstrode had complained about that, Snape had told the class that the potions they were brewing were photo-sensitive, which had sounded like a satisfying explanation at first. But when the Potion Master had come over to their cauldrons to harrow them about their lax stirring habits - he probably missed having Neville in his class and was desperate for substitute whipping boys, Ron thought - they had discovered that Snape's hair shimmered 'as a freshly pickled toad.' Ron was still glad he had remembered that line as it was such a wonderful way of getting Harry upset, or Ginny, for that matter.

Green-haired Professor Snape had soon become a favourite by-word in Gryffindor Tower. Lee Jordan had scored the spectacular hit by putting Potion Spoiler in one of Professor Snape's privately boiling cauldrons. When he revealed his success to the common room public, he had not only won the prize set aside for this by Fred and George, but had immediately become the hero of the Gryffindors. After passing the Fat Lady, Ron and Harry could see him sitting on an armchair like on a throne, Fred and George at his side, around him younger admirers.

"It's not only the outrageous colour," Lee condescended to tell the girls and boys surrounding him. "It's also a lasting pleasure to know that our ugly git of a Potions Master is actually using hair potions!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Professor Varlerta showed quite an interest in Ron's and Harry's meeting with Mr. Pigmalgion. They were early for her class the next day because an unexpected shortcut had opened up in the castle's confusing and shifting system of halls and stairways. When the teacher saw them, she came over and asked them what the old Ensouler had said to them and whether he had found out if both or any of them was an Ensouler.

"He thinks Ron Ensouled the car," Harry answered her. "It greeted him last night, do you remember? Also Ron gets along better with his chessmen."

Assessing Ron with her eyes, Varlerta asked him: "What do you think yourself? Do you know how you did it?"

Ron shook his head mutely.

"What have you two got in your wands?" she continued her questioning. Ron and Harry exchanged quick glances. What did that have to do with anything? Turning back to the teacher, Ron gave her a questioning look. Other Gryffindor fifth years started dropping in. Varlerta glanced at her wrist-watch. "I might as well start the lesson," she told them.

When everybody had settled down at their desks, Professor Varlerta told them why she was interested in her students' wands.

"Your wands' cores tend to have an influence on how you relate to things. Or maybe it's the other way around: Wands choose witches or wizards for their personality, for their way of dealing with the world. Of course once more I am vastly simplifying. There is an infinite variety of wands, and human personalities are infinitely complex. We do not know exactly what aspect in a wand interacts with what aspects of a personality. That would be scary, too, if you could know a person inside out just by studying his wand! Also, wand-makers usually keep as many of their secrets as they possibly can. But if we come to the field of supporting magic with music and Coaxing, we know a few things about how a wand relates to the way a witch or wizard relates to objects.

"Of course, you shouldn't take the things I tell you as absolute truth, especially when it comes to difficulties I will be predicting for you. Whenever anybody tells you there's something you can't do and you believe otherwise, do not take their word for it at any rate. Whatever I'm telling you here should be taken as a possible explanation for your future experiences with your wands, but never as a discouragement.

"But now let's get to the wands. First of all, is there anyone here with a foreign wand, a non-Olivander-production? A Veela hair, a griffin's talon? - No? Well, what a relief. That would have really complicated matters. So how about unicorn hairs? How many have we got here?"

Ron noticed that not only he but also half of the small group of Gryffindors raised their hands - Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas and Parvati Patil.

"Just the usual picture," she commented. "Most wands manufactured in Britain contain hair from unicorn tails, because that's the core that relates to the majority of us. They are good for influencing the world with music, too. Most of you will have a decent feeling for rhythm and timing. Learning to Coax should come easy to you, and what I've seen of you in class proves the old wand lore to be true once more. Generally speaking, you four magically relate to objects in a subtle and relatively easy way, a friendly way, I should almost say. However, like all wand cores, the unicorn hair has its specific flaw: You are dominated easily. You could say that a wand provides you with the means of getting strength from your surroundings. This added strength helps you Shield yourself against undue exterior influences, for example from another witch or wizard. You see, without added strengthening, you may be in special danger.

"I'm not surprised to see Ronald Weasley is a unicorn hair type, by the way. For one thing, as far as I heard from your elder brothers, it is a family tradition. For another, Mr. Pigmalgion is presently testing whether Ron is skilled in Ensouling, and I've never heard of an Ensouler who had something else in his or her wand."

All heads turned to Ron. Suddenly he had the feeling they expected something of him now. He would have liked to Ensoul a car on the spot to prove himself, or have Professor Varlerta's battered old double bass do a tap dance for demonstration, but had no idea how to bring such a thing about. Even Hermione's eyes rested on Ron with a mixture of admiration and scepticism. Ron felt his throat close up; blood rose into his cheeks. He had never experienced something like that before. If everybody would only stop looking at him now, would stop expecting him to perform a miracle for them, he would feel so much better. After a few agonising moments, he heard Professor Varlerta ask:

"So what about Phoenix feathers? How many of them have we got here?"

Two hands shot up: Harry's and Hermione's. Ron saw that they looked at another and grinned. Like him they had probably never given a thought to their friends' wand cores before. Now he wished he had a Phoenix feather in his wand as well. It seemed so much more attractive to be singled out with his friends than to be singled out alone. Varlerta approached them so she stood between Harry's and Hermione's desks, looking down again. She spoke to them with a low voice that somehow made Ron feel uncomfortable.

"'The wand that holds a Phoenix feather is a master's wand, a warrior's wand, a commander's wand.' That's what the old books of wand lore say. It may be a bit of an exaggeration, but there is some truth in it. Relatively few people are chosen by a Phoenix wand. Many of them excel in will power; they prove to be rather - you could call it stubborn and self-assured, or call it 'leader types' or however you want to phrase it.

"The Phoenix wand often chooses very powerful witches and wizards. They tend to do well with conventional magic, that means they have a knack of ordering things around - or other people, for that matter. Most don't ever really bother with Coaxing or music, though I'm not saying they can't do it. The traditional danger that is said to come with a Phoenix wand is the blindness of those who won't see. The books of lore warn you as wielders of wands containing Phoenix feathers not to rely on yourselves alone, neither on your strength, nor on your judgement. Even if you have people willing to obey you, do not ignore their advice. Because the strength that often comes with a Phoenix wand has led some witches and wizards into the abyss of Darkness."

She stood before Harry now, holding his gaze. Ron found she did not look overly kind just then. He saw Harry grow pale, saw his friend clutch his wand until his knuckles went white. After a moment, Varlerta's face softened.

"Just remember it is always a matter of choice," she said, a light in her eyes. Then she turned to Lavender Brown sitting at the other end of the room.

"Your wand will be containing the heartstrings of dragons then, just like Neville's," she stated. Frowning slightly, Lavender nodded, then cast an uncertain glance at the round-faced boy sitting two desks away. Ron thought he knew why Lavender looked a bit apprehensive. Professor Varlerta's next words probably mirrored exactly the thing the girl was starting to fear.

"The heartstring of a dragon is a very powerful, very sensitive, and slightly unreliable core. Ancient wand lore tells us of several attempts to abandon it altogether, but there are witches and wizards for whom nothing else will work. The wand containing a dragon's heartstring is often the wand of chaos, they say."

Obviously Lavender did not like what she was hearing. She eyed the wand in her hand as if it was an alien object. Ron could see her point. Neville was a nice guy, almost a close friend, but the thought of actually being Neville, or being very much like him, was appalling, he had to admit. The wand of chaos... not a very encouraging thought, at any rate.

"Don't be put off by what I'm saying," Varlerta said to Lavender, ignoring Neville altogether. Her apprentice did not seem to mind this, however, but looked almost at ease. He had probably heard these things before and could now patiently watch Varlerta comfort his distressed classmate.

"Do you do much uncontrollable magic?" she asked Lavender. The girl mutely shook her head.

"How about as a child? Before you came to Hogwarts? Did you work a lot of unknown spells? Do magic mischief?"

Lavender blushed, then nodded. "But I stopped," she defended herself. Varlerta lowered and raised her eyelids, simulating a nod.

"You learned to control yourself, didn't you? - Well, discipline is a fine thing, but too much of it does more harm than good. The flaw of a dragon's heartstring is often its special merit, too. Many of its wielders find that while systematic learning is not exactly their cup of tea, over time the uncontrollable ways of their magic work to their advantage. As one very poetic lore mistress once wrote, such witches and wizards have to 'find the hidden tune in their hearts but accept it obeys to no laws but its own.'"

Lavender's brows were positively contracting now. Obviously she was trying to figure out whether these words were a compliment or rather an insult.

"Oh, and some of them turn out to be Seers and the like," Varlerta said in a far more casual manner, which caused Lavender's mood to lift visibly. Parvati looked at her friend with a trace of envy, then whispered something in her ear. Lavender nodded vigorously and smiled.

"You all may yet find that all of these things work for you," Varlerta addressed the whole of the class again. "You may acquire great skills at commanding objects and Coaxing objects at the same time. There have been cases as unlikely as Ensoulers who were Seers at the same time, or even Duel champions with musical skills. However, keep in mind what I said about your wands and watch yourself closely when doing magic. Write your observation down in your magic log. You may find out things about yourself that will help you improve your skills."

Ron had to admit that he had stopped keeping his magic log after less than a week. It was too much of a bother. Whenever Professor Varlerta had asked the class questions regarding their progress, he had made up things as he was used to in Divination, and so did Harry, while Hermione was keeping her log with great accuracy. But as he noticed the questions Varlerta asked them about it were getting increasingly complex, he realised he might be forced to spend some time on his magic log soon.

"Now we will finally come around to enhancing your Shielding with means of music," Varlerta told the class. "Will you please pair up with someone whose wand has the same core as yours? Ron, I want you with Parvati, while Dean Thomas and -"

She suddenly paled and swayed a little. Ron had felt it too. It was as if something icy crept through his body, draining him of warmth, of strength and of something else. Someone screamed out behind him. Lavender suddenly started crying, while Neville hugged himself rather fiercely and stared at their teacher, eyes open wide. Ron saw Harry's hand move up to the scar on his forehead. That was the moment when he realised whatever was going on was something serious.

"Everybody come here and stand right beside me. Neville, to my left. I need you to support me like I taught you. Hurry up, kids!" Varlerta's voice was steely now. Everybody jumped up from their chairs and ran to the front of the class. When they all stood close to her, Varlerta raised her arms, wand in her right hand, and shouted at the top of her voice: "Dermasecunda!"

So that's what a Shield is all about, Ron thought as the closely knit group made their way down to the Great Hall, surrounded by a silvery shimmer Varlerta and Neville seemed to be upholding by their soft, melodious humming. Their wands could be seen vibrating as if in accompaniment. Ron noticed that the cold, draining feeling had stopped. Everybody looked a bit scared, but none of his classmates seemed on the verge of panic or despair anymore.

In the Entrance Hall, they met Snape. The Potions Master stared at the group for a second, then broke into a truly evil grin. He took out his wand and poked the silvery shimmer which dissolved into nothing immediately. "Practising a bit of defence, Professor Varlerta?" he asked, sounding rather derisive.

"Get them to the hall for me. I've got to see who else has been attacked. Where's Dumbledore?" Varlerta blurted at him, slightly out of breath. Snape, however, seemed to be completely at ease, even close to a thin-lipped smile.

"Are we perhaps a tiny little bit over-excited, Professor?" he said with a definite sneer, shaking back his longish hair which had assumed a slightly purple shimmer.

"This is no laughing matter! Somebody's working Icy Fingers in this castle, and you should know what that means!" Varlerta gestured with her hands as if to get her point across.

"I've felt no Icy Fingers," the Potions Master replied with a scowl, crossing his black-sleeved arms across his chest. Typically Snape, Ron thought. If he did not feel it, it means it didn't happen.

"That's because they were specifically worked to affect Professor Varlerta's classroom only! However, the security spells say that it has stopped five minutes ago." All heads turned to the top of the stairs where Dumbledore stood, his voice thundering down on them. Looking over his half-moon spectacles, the ancient headmaster stared at Snape until the teacher lowered his gaze. Then he turned to Varlerta.

"It is good to know that you know what to do in an emergency - make sure your class is safe and then worry about anybody else. However you should know that the protection spells of this castle can tell you the nature and location of each possible attack if you know how to read them."

"How can you know they won't start again in a minute, though?" Varlerta asked, clutching her wand. "Icy Fingers is a serious threat to all of us. I believe we should take measures to protect ourselves immediately."

"This is not the real thing," Dumbledore told her. "It is not as strong as attacks we've had here before, and there can't have been more than two wizards involved, considering its lack of force. However, I agree with you that we should take measures as this may have been some kind of test. Minerva is currently getting ready to search the grounds, though I believe the culprits have fled. Flitwick and Quibster are with her. I would have asked you, too, Severus," he told Snape, who looked rather angry, "but I could not find you at that moment, and I'm sure they will manage."

"You should show me how to work the security spells as soon as possible," Varlerta said looking up at Dumbledore. "I'm glad to hear nobody else seems to be in danger. We need to talk this over, though, and try to further enhance the castle's security."

"Come to my office tonight, both of you," Dumbledore told the two teachers. "But now you should maybe resume your classes." With these words, he turned on his heels and left.

"Well, I'll see you tonight, then," Varlerta said to Snape. "By the way, I think you've got mood hair."

"Pardon me?" he spat at her.

"Mood hair. Never heard of it? Was the big thing in New York City two or three years ago. You know, like Muggles had mood rings, only better of course." Ron thought there was a trace of mischief in Varlerta's eyes.

"No, I don't know mood rings," Snape said with an angry tremor in his voice.

"Oh, you know, the colour is supposed to show people how you are feeling. Red is for happy, green is for unhappy, that kind of thing. It was really en vogue some time ago. Loads of people had it. The only problem was..."

"Yes?" Professor Snape's voice cut through the air like a knife. Ron noticed his hair was greener than ever and his bony fingers were restlessly clenching and unclenching. Like all the Gryffindor fifth years, Ron was trying hard not to stare at the Potions Master. They all probably knew that Snape hated to have them witness this conversation and that their lives depended on their ability to keep a straight face now.

"... well, they never really figured out the antidote. Loads of fashionable witches and wizards shave their heads now because they can't bear it anymore. You shouldn't do that, though. I rather like it, as a matter of fact," Varlerta assured him.

"You mean it doesn't grow out?" Snape screamed. He looked on the verge of madness now. When he took a step towards her, his body language more than just suggested a threat. Varlerta took half a step backwards, but looked mostly unruffled by his outbreak.

"If anybody is able to find the antidote, that's you," she told him. "I'm sure you'll do fine. When you find it, ship some to the States if you want to make some money. Anyways -" turning to her class, "I think we should get back to practice, kids."