Patria Potestas

Patria Potestas

The past is Prologue

Acantha Belladonna Dumbledore sat in her minute study and read the letter the horned owl had brought her. It would soon become tradition. She toyed with the seal and let out a sigh. The letter came the exact same day as it had the year before. "My dear Acantha..." It even began the same. He had finally admitted his error. But it was too late to easily fix long festering wounds. The poison had yet to be lanced. She scanned the paper, her steel blue eyes narrowed to slits. She feigned disinterest, though she was alone. Always alone. And always acting. Acting as if the world meant nothing to her; as if no one had ever touched her, or even could. She made a cat-like sarcastic snarl as she read the last paragraph of her father's letter.

"Alastor Moody has refused my request to remain at Hogwarts as a professor, insisting he is not able to stand the rigors of teaching. However, he has offered his help to whoever I choose to hire. Parents have made it clear that they do not want Remus Lupin teaching their children again. Thus we have no Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for the coming school year. After some discussion Alastor recommended you, with Remus' hearty agreement. I know you are still angry with me, and with most of the wizarding world, but please, the children must have a teacher. The fall term is approaching. Forgive. This is not a time for division."

She crumpled the yellow parchment, felt it lose its crisply neat form, then tossed it across the room in anger. It struck a small bust of Pliny the Elder before settling comfortably in a pot of variegated ivy, which thoughtfully munched on its unexpected treat. How dare he! How dare he cast me aside, dismiss my warnings, only to summon me years later when I might prove useful. She saw a postscript squeezed onto the end of the roll as the ivy crunched on the salutations. She ripped it away from the plant, which squealed in annoyance. "I have discussed the proposal with the faculty and the majority have faith that you would be an excellent choice, they do not know the reasons for our schism." She made another snarl, this one half hearted. She knew her choice. She tossed the letter back to the whining plant.

Acantha picked up her favorite raven quill pen and wrote a brief reply to her father. She sighed again in resignation. Not even Ravenclaw. I should have been a Hufflepuff.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lovely, my first day back in Hogwarts and I'm already being interrogated. She stood stiffly in the headmaster's office. With a sense of deja-vu she wrapped herself in her black cloak and waited.

Professor Albus Dumbledore walked into his office and nodded to the portraits of the former headmasters before turning his attention to the young woman before him. "Acantha. I am glad you decided to accept the position. I trust you find your lodgings acceptable?"

She nodded absently, looking vaguely in Fawkes' direction.

"Professor McGonagall brought it to my attention that in the past you have used your middle name as a surname and that you might wish to continue to do so."

"Yes, though it makes me sound like an herbology teacher." Realizing that didn't come out particularly well, she quickly amended, "Not that there is anything wrong with that..."

"I quite understand." Dumbledore spared her one of his special smiles, making his eyes twinkle.

She did not appear as moved as others were by his expression. It had been too long since she had seen it. She could not believe it genuine. Her own eyes were a frozen version of his.

"Acantha, while I understand you not wanting to use my name, I just wish you would accept my apology and forgive my lack of faith." His tone was soft and persuasive; he was speaking the way Hagrid might talk to a skittish creature.

Something in his voice set her off. He was tiptoeing around the wrong issue. "Forgive your lack of faith? That is the least I need to forgive. You don't know me. You never did." Her voice dropped from ringing anger to a bitter quietness. "If you did, you would have known I was not blinded by love. I didn't even love him. I never did. Never even claimed to. I simply knew him well enough to see the truth." She had never admitted her feelings on Sirius aloud before...her voice trailed into some unseen distance deep in her mind.

She remembered the first time she met him. "Hmmm... Ambitious? No. Hard working--yes, loyal to a fault... quite smart, brave? I don't know. Maybe. Gryffindor? You sure? Living up to your father's expectations shouldn't mean...fine...no tears child...oh, all right... GRYFFINDOR!" She had walked to the table, too tall for her age, with wide and frightened eyes. The Great Hall was bigger than she had ever imagined it to be. There was nowhere to sit. Except next to a good looking older boy with dark hair and blue eyes. His voice was very loud, he had already decided she had to be a brat. A perfect goody two-shoes. He flashed her a large grin, like an animal bearing all of its teeth. She felt the hurt flood through her, she wanted to be anything but another Dumbledore at Hogwarts. She spoke excellent French, and had wanted to attend Beauxbatons. A school a safe distance from her famous father.

Trapped in Hogwarts, she looked at Sara for help. Sara was the only person who had spoken to her on the train, and Acantha kept her eyes on the girl like a lifeline. Sara shrugged helplessly. She had chosen a spot beside another older boy, this one with brown hair and strangely golden eyes. He saw the silent struggle and stood up, moving to sit next to the black haired boy and leaving his seat for Acantha. Almost as an apology, he spoke. "I'm Remus, this git is Sirius. Don't worry, he's not always this bad..."

Another boy with messy black hair cut him off "Yes he is!" He flashed a smile at the two first year girls.. A boy who knew how charming he was. "I'm James, this is Peter." He nodded towards the small pale boy across the table from him. The small boy nodded at her pleasantly, slightly shyly. She could barely manage a smile back.

Acantha spent the feast studying her hands, which laid demurely in her lap. She only dared raise her eyes one. Gold eyes caught hers, and the older boy flashed her a very small smile. It told her to be brave. She just dropped her head in acknowledgement and went back to studying her cracked cuticles. Not an auspicious start as a Gryffindor.

"You never knew me, never cared to." Her blue eyes were tinged with the redness and irritation of unshed tears, fire and ice. She studied her father's aged face, trying to bring her temper back under control. "Why am I really here?"

"To teach the students, and to keep an eye on them. You know more about the truth than most, and are open minded enough to take advantage of our... resources."

"Resources?"

"Alastor Moody has always spoken highly of you, in part because he found you willing to ask questions." Dumbledore paused. He tried to speak tactfully, while knowing that every word he spoke added fuel to her fire. "Remus Lupin will be staying at Hogwarts for significant periods of time this year. He will not be allowed to teach, but he will be doing some research and be available to help any who might need it."

"You mean me." She didn't sound particularly annoyed. She looked down at her nails, perfectly manicured--the Muggle way.

He nodded, encouraged. "You will have complete control your classes of course, but if you need suggestions..."

"I see." Attempting to put on a serene mask, she nonchalantly stifled a yawn.

"Would you like to attend the feast? I need to go down. The sorting is about to begin."

"I'd rather not go, if that is acceptable."

"Certainly. The house elves will bring you your dinner."

"Thank you."

Acantha wandered blindly in the castle. She could hear the roar of the feast, and headed away from it. She was totally lost and knew it. She had been shown her chambers earlier that day. They were located somewhere in the bewildering profusion of towers. But landmarks in Hogwarts were notoriously vague. Acantha suspected the young wizard in the painting she had particularly noted had gone off to visit a ladyfriend or on some such errand.

A light cough from behind her made her swing around, wand raised.

"May I help you?" Remus Lupin asked gently. His eyes shone gold, but dark pouches hung under them.

Her eyes brightened and twinkled, she quickly put away her wand. Suppressing any light remarks about big bad wolves she put on an air of joking innocence. "Please sir, I lost my way, can you help me?"

"If I knew where you were heading."

"To my room... wherever it is." She stopped, "Wait, why aren't you at the feast?"

"It was decided that would not be wise. So I eat in the kitchen like a well trained dog." His tone was bitter, resigned. His face was worn. She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it lightly. He stepped back slightly, looking nervous and running a hand through his prematurely graying hair. She was tempted to give him a hug, but feared that might give him a coronary. He had always been so proper and polite, almost cautious.

"May I join you for dinner?"

"Certainly, if you don't mind the company." His smile was painfully sad.

"Stupid, why else would I ask? Besides, I suppose I should interrogate you on how to be a good teacher!" She linked her arm in his, ignoring his flinch at her touch, and started walking cheerily forward. She stopped after a few paces. "I don't know where we're going..." He shook his head and turned around, leading her to the kitchens. Okay, so he thinks I'm a total flake, but at least he won't be eating alone... I wonder how long it has been since he has eaten well... Her eyes discreetly roved over his body, taking in the worn robes that hung awkwardly on his spare frame. He was still muscular, but very thin. Like an unloved stray. She tightened her grip on his arm.

The night of the Halloween feast second year, he had looked so gaunt. Pale as the waning moon. Convincing Sara to momentarily distract Sirius, she culled Remus from his pack. "I... I'm sorry you were ill the past few days" she could feel her face slowly filling with color and rushed on, "you missed a lovely moon, and blue ones are so rare too." She shyly pulled a silvery rose from the depths of her robes, she had enchanted it to glow ever so slightly blue against its dark foliage. "Here, it was the closest I could find to a portable night sky." Turning almost purple she handed it to him and started to run away. On an impulse she turned and called over her shoulder "I hope you feel better soon."

She emerged from her memories long enough to realize she still had no idea where her rooms were. Shit.

"Do you think the house elves will be able to help me find my room?"

Remus Lupin laughed. Not a polite, guarded laugh, but a real one. She had spoken half in jest, but managed to sound genuinely lost, and afraid. It amused him a little too much, and his twisted sense of humor emerged for a second. "I'm sure they will."

Acantha spun around her room, trying to take it all in, and to impress upon her sieve-like memory exactly where the damn thing was. Her room was actually a suite of a number of rooms. A bedroom with a canopy bed, a bathroom, and a fair sized library-study. One of the house elves, whose name totally escaped her, had kindly helped her find the room. Bubbie? Dubbie? Tubbie? Damn. Why do I have no memory, but for my grudges? The elves had given the two demi-outcasts a fine meal, and neither had cause to complain of the company. When left to their own devices the two had carefully avoided the 'old days' and stuck to the relatively safe topic of Defense Against the Dark Arts. An animated discussion of grindylow physiology ensued. Oh, I was supposed to look that up... She moved to her study.

Looking for one particular tome Acantha noted that all of her books had already been unpacked and placed in her private library. Almost all the information she would need for classes. She had to admit, Remus Lupin was an excellent resource in and of himself. But even he could be wrong sometimes. She grabbed a dog-eared book from the shelf. Swimming With the Enemy: An encyclopedia of Dark Water Creatures. She tapped a finger against one particular entry. I knew they weren't double jointed. She made a slightly victorious noise and slammed the book shut. It was time for bed. She could argue her case later, if she had the energy after her first day teaching.

Students filed into the classroom. Their new teacher sat at her desk, head bowed over a parchment. Acantha looked up as they entered, some surprise registering on her face, as though she had lost track of time. She rose rather gracefully and waited for everyone to find their seats. Her arms were folded behind her in a somewhat awkward position, like a child at a recitation.

"Good day class. I am Professor Belladonna. As you can see I will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts here. I have heard that you all have a decent grounding in both curses and dark creatures. I believe we will eventually look further into curse breaking, but my first goal is to have everyone caught up. I would like you all to write a brief essay on what you feel your strengths and weaknesses are in this subject. It needn't be long, but I would like you all to think very carefully about what you most wish to work on this year. I do not wish to waste time rehashing what other professors have taught, but do not consider it either unusual or a waste of time to review what some may not understand. This is not a subject which should be concerned more with pace than with comprehension. Feeling comfortable with your knowledge of defense is vital to all of us." She punctuated the speech by looking around the class of fifth years. Each and every one of them squirmed in their seats as each went under the onslaught of her eyes.

"Are there any questions?"

Silence.

"No one?" She paused again for good measure, wondering if they we always this enthusiastic in class.

"Very well. Why don't you all start your assignment now, no rush to finish them, but if you do please give them to me before you leave. That way we can get started right away." Acantha looked down at her desk, hoping to appear quite stern and busy, but with her ears pricked to catch any of their comments. She took up her scroll and began to write. Poetry, but the students needn't know it.

They obviously couldn't stand the quiet for long.

One male voice hoarsely whispered "Do you think she's a vampire?"

"Hhssshhh."

"She's not *that* pale."

"What happened to Mad-Eye Moody?"

"He's mad?"

"What is it with blue eyes being able to look right through you?" Another male voice, this one disgruntled.

"Well I think she's creepy. Almost as creepy as Snape." A female voice. I am not that bad! Acantha tried not to move a muscle as she looked at the girl from under heavy eyelashes. Miss Brown...

"I think she's pretty!." A slight cough. "Well, you know, for a teacher..." None of them noticed their teacher's face twist as she tried not to laugh. Who could they compare me to? McGonagall? Sprout? I should hope, I'm a half century or so younger at the very least....

"Give her a chance!"

"I still miss Professor Lupin." Won't hold that against you, Mr. Thomas.

"Yeah."

"So do I." A chorus of agreement. He really should be here, not me. But maybe he can help me win them.

The class filed out, handing in their brief essays. A girl with bushy brown hair approached her desk. Acantha glanced down at her class list again.

"Yes Miss...Granger?"

"Are you related to the Simeon Belladonna mentioned in our herbology text?"

Acantha paused. She had not expected a personal question, at least not right away. "Somehow, very distantly, Miss Granger." Her voice was polite, but curt. Personal questions were off limits.

"Oh." She sounded dissapointed.

Acantha tried to smile gently. "Sorry."

She sat at her desk until dinner, sifting though piles of essays. From the first years, paragraphs on what they hoped to gain from the class, and what they thought Defense Against the Dark Arts entailed. From every other year the same assignment. What they thought they needed help on, or what they wanted to learn. A number of students had seemed genuinely insulted at the idea that they might be behind, and had written essays on their resentment in no uncertain terms. Mainly Ravenclaws. And Slytherins. She sighed, annoyed. I didn't mean to get things started badly. I just don't know where to begin. A testy shuffle of paper. At least the Hufflepuffs are thoughtful and obliging...

"Ron, it's not worth it!" a fussy female voice called out. Already on her way to dinner in the kitchen, Acantha stepped up her pace and trotted around a sharp corner.

She was confronted with a not uncommon sight. A lanky boy with flaming hair and a redder face being restrained by a shorter dark haired boy. Their fluffy-haired friend stood, shifting from one foot to the other nervously. "Ron, you're going to get in trouble."

He was trying to face off against a pale boy with an annoying superior smirk on his face. Honestly, can't blame him. Just for seeing that face I'd like to slap him. But then I have a nasty streak and shouldn't influence impressionable minds... She shook her head. How to diffuse the situation.

"Mr. Weasley, I believe you and your friends are going to be late for dinner. Why don't you run along now." She smiled pleasantly, hoping to reach the part of his brain that said food was more important than pride. It had to be there. He was a teenage boy after all...

"Mr. Malfoy, might I talk with you about your essay a moment?" Seeing his lip begin to curl, she raised an eyebrow with practiced aplomb.

A sullen "Yes?"

"Your essay pointedly avoided my very simple question. I do not appreciate supercilious behavior, nor do I accept thinly veiled threats." She paused for effect. "You will do the essay over, answering the question this time, and limiting yourself to that topic. I expect it first thing tomorrow. Go to dinner, Mr. Malfoy."

He slunk off, and she shivered convulsively. There was something distinctly distasteful about that boy. Rather unsubtle for a Slytherin too. I know there is inherent prejudice against that house, but it is not without reason. Not that Gryffindors are all that great. We're al only human after all. At least, in the metaphorical sense...

Upon reaching the kitchen, Acantha found it full of bustling house elves, but without another human in sight. She stopped one of the little creatures who looked to be slowing down. "Excuse me, where is Professor Lupin."

"He isn't well miss. Won't be here miss."

"Oh." She felt a sinking in her stomach. Damn. "Thank you."

Bloody idiot. It is a full moon after all. How could you forget? She smacked herself on the forehead. How could I forget? It's easy. He's no monster, regardless of what anyone thinks. Rather he is a monster, but not all monsters are bad. I sound like Hagrid. And have a chorus in my head, strophe and antistrophe. A pause. Rats. What was that third part? Sounds like a Muggle electrical thing. Lektrode? Mode? Go through the alphabet... Eppi-something... Epode. Figures I would forget the end...What's that saying? There are no happy endings because nothing ever ends?

She walked up the stairs, watching the soft moonlight pour through the windows. It cascaded down the marble stairs and shone in puddles on the polished balustrades. It really isn't fair he has to miss such a beautiful time. She ran her fingers over the railing, trying to hold the silken light. Remembering the epiphany she had early in her second year.

Sick every full moon. How could I have been so stupid? A werewolf. But he's nothing like the books say. He's nice to everyone, he really cares about his friends, he's smart--but not in a cunning evil way. He's so forthright it must kill him a little each time he has to lie about his sickness. Maybe the werewolf thing is just another idiotic racial stereotype. Look at Hagrid. He's part giant and it would be impossible to find a gentler soul...

Her hand crashed into the pinecone shaped finial on the balustrade at the top of the stairs. She shook it, only half conscious of the pain. Stupid stereotypes.

"Ma'at kheru." The starry eyed young wizard in the small painting lifted his head from the red rose he was smelling just long enough to swing forward and let her enter her room. She glanced at the pile of essays still to be graded and resigned herself to a long night.