Animalexus

Snape glared at the empty seat next to him. The only empty seat at the teachers' table. Dumbeldore's doing, he knew it. Marie would be here any moment, and Snape knew she wouldn't want to sit next to him any more than he wanted to sit next to her. He glared out at the Hall at large and ignored the heaping plates of food in front of him in favor of his tea. He didn't eat breakfast, never had, and wouldn't even be sitting here at this ungodly hour if the blasted Headmaster hadn't made meals mandatory for faculty.

Marie appeared from the door on the left side of the dais. She balked when she saw the empty seat next to Snape, then fired off a furious glare in the direction of the Headmaster--Snape's lips twitched when he saw that--and stalked over and sat down with a huff, acting like the sulking adolescent she should be. She was dressed not in the usual teachers' robes but in attire more suited to her 'position': a close-fitting knee-length black coat, black riding breeches, and a pair of tall black boots with blunt-ended silver spurs at her heels. Her hair was plaited as it had been yesterday, tied at the end with a short black ribbon. Seemed she favored the color as much as Snape himself did.

"Good morning," he offered, in a low voice.

"I guess," she said, refusing to look at him.

"I trust the new quarters are acceptable?" She'd moved into the apartment in the loft of the main barn, Snape knew, as soon as Dumbledore had told her of it. It didn't surprise him, and Hagrid's continued existence was proof that even the thickest, most foolhardy creatures could be safe outside of the castle proper so long as they stayed on the grounds.

"They're fine."

Snape was on the verge of forcing the conversation, but in a self-admittedly rare act of mercy, he decided to stop torturing the girl. "Good to hear," he said simply, and turned to Poppy Pomfrey, on his other side. He quickly launched into a discussion on the merits and drawbacks of various healing potions, startling Poppy, who had been sitting on his left for the last three months and hadn't heard a word out of him the entire time. Behind him, he heard the scrape of Marie's silverware.

Dumbledore rose five minutes later, when it was clear that all the students who were going to arrive had. "May I have your attention, please?" he called, his spoon tapping his goblet, both hovering just above the table. The students hushed, anxious for an explanation of who this new witch at the teachers' table was. Snape kept a close watch on the members of his own House.

Dumbledore's voice, though hoarse, carried easily throughout the entire hall. "I would like to announce a new addition to the Hogwarts staff. Madame Lancet"--they'd all agreed, at least, that allowing Marie to continue using the Llewellur name was a bit too risky--"will henceforth be serving as our Stablemaster. She will be primary caretaker for the many Hogwarts horses, and will be offering traditional riding lessons in the afternoons. Those students who are interested should report to the stableyards at five o'clock this evening. Let us welcome her to Hogwarts."

Resounding applause from the students--especially from the boys, Snape noticed, wryly--erupted in the hall, even from many of his own Slytherins. Draco Malfoy, though, kept his hands still and allowed a particularly elegant sneer to cross his features.

Snape couldn't be sure if the boy recognized her or if the attitude was merely habit. Still, it wouldn't surprise him if he did know her on sight. Marie had spent a fair amount of time at Malfoy Manor--in the dungeons, of course. The Dark Lord had occasionally sent her there for 'safekeeping', though judging by her appearance when she returned, 'safe' was a relative term. Lucius was particularly adept with mental curses, Snape knew, variations on Imperius, that sort of thing. And though Marie possessed a fierce instinctual inclination to fight those kinds of curses, she unfortunately did not possess much of an inherent ability to throw them. A downfall of many an Animalexus, or so Snape had heard.

He glanced over at her now, to see that she was staring in the direction of the Slytherin table, though the applause had long since died away. She held herself perfectly still, so still she hardly seemed to be breathing, the way she often did when confronted with a particularly precarious situation. Her face was ashen, made paler still by the contrast with her dark clothes.

"Excuse me," she said, standing up suddenly and sweeping towards the door all in one swift motion.

*

Out in the hall, Marie sucked in a deep breath of air. Stupid, to run out like that. She had to be more careful, had to hold herself together. She'd known Draco Malfoy came to school here. She'd known it. And she'd expected she'd recognize him--though she'd never seen him before; at least, she corrected, not insofar as she could remember--but that blond hair was too distinctive, too glaring. He even wore it the same way his father did, tied neatly at the nape of his neck with a ribbon, green to his father's silver.

Marie hurried down the hall, her heels clicking on the stone floors, the close feel of the leather of her boots comforting in its familiarity. She walked blindly, not caring where she was going, so long as it was away from that Hall, away from Draco. She put a hand inside her coat, closed her fingers around her wand. She hadn't done a thing with it since she got it. She was supposed to start training with it soon, but for now its power still frightened her despite the definite protection it offered.

She had to get out of the corridor. Breakfast would be over soon, and she had no idea where she was, no idea how to get back out of the castle, back to her refuge. She ducked through a massive pair of highly-polished wooden doors, and found herself in a cavernous library, bigger even than those she'd seen at universities back in the Muggle world. It was pleasantly dim inside, the only light streaming through high, narrow stained glass windows, and better yet, there was no sign of anyone, not even a librarian.

Marie wandered the stacks, fascinated by the titles--which, she noticed, sometimes changed, even as she was looking at them--yet wary of the thousands of volumes nonetheless. One simply couldn't be too careful around magic.

She soon found herself in a far corner of the library. All of the books here appeared to be old, even by Hogwarts' standards. The titles were simpler, too, usually just a single name. She moved backwards through the alphabet, unable to tell at first whether the names were subjects or authors. Then, though, she found an entire shelf on the Snapes, then the Malfoys. And above that, a shelf and a half of books, all with the label "Llewellur" on their spines. No doubt she'd recognize more of the names had she grown up in this world; these were clearly books on pureblood genealogy. Marie pulled the largest Llewellur volume down, opened to the first pages. The ornate writing--a hand-penned archaic script--took some getting used to, but it became clear that the entirety of the book was on her own family. She leafed through it, noting that she did, in fact, belong to one of the oldest wizarding families in not only England but the entire world. One woman, who, if Marie had done her math correctly, was her great-great-great-grandmother, waved to her from a yellowing photograph. Then followed an entire chapter on the fact that the Llewellur family, unlike most pureblood families, did not have a tradition of attending one Hogwarts house; instead, family members had been almost evenly distributed throughout the four, with a slight favoring of Ravenclaw. The book's records ended two hundred years ago, and Marie put it back on the shelf, intending to pull down another. Before she could choose one, though, a slim silver volume she hadn't noticed before fell from the shelf and landed at her feet. Marie picked it up, ready to put it back in its place, and then dropped it again. "Marie Llewellur's Book", it read across the front, in swirling letters. They dissolved back into the leather binding, somehow, before reforming themselves to read: "Daughter of Sanja Cyphirr and Ayeforth Llewellur III"--her parents--and then, below that, "Animalexus XXXIV".

Marie took another quick glance around the library, saw no one. She lifted the front cover of the book gingerly, was confronted with a (moving) photograph of her parents, younger than she had ever known them. They smiled and huddled close, dressed in Hogwarts robes and cloaks. Seventh years, she decided. Her mother--so beautiful--grinned openly, tugged absently at the scarf around her neck, the blue and bronze of a Ravenclaw. Her father stood more stolidly, though Marie recognized that familiar hint of a smile on his face--he was pleased, but he'd be damned if anyone knew it. Marie would have thought he was a Ravenclaw, too. But the scarf around his neck was undeniably green and silver. Her father. A Slytherin.

She didn't know what to feel first: bittersweet pleasure at seeing this photograph, at knowing she did in fact belong in this world, or sheer relief that she hadn't been sorted into Slytherin solely because of what the Dark Lord had done to her. She was even able to entertain the idea that her father might have been proud of her for the Sorting Hat's decision.

"And just what do you suppose you're doing lurking around back--oh."

Marie scrambled to her feet, backed against the bookshelf behind her.

"My apologies," the woman in front of her said. "Didn't mean to startle. It's just, usually when I find people back in this section of the library, they end up being students slobbering all over one another's faces--or worse." She sniffed, tilted her long, pinched nose upwards. "Oh, do excuse me, Miss Ll--Madame Lancet. I am Madame Pince, Hogwarts Librarian. I don't believe we've met."

"Um. No." She glanced behind her. "I was just--"

"Yes, I see." The librarian glanced down at the book in Marie's hands. "Well, I suppose that one's yours." She leaned close. "But I'd be on my way, if I were you. Breakfast is over, and you certainly don't want to be subjected to the rather horrifying sight of two pimple-faced third years snogging."

"Er, no. I don't." Marie snapped the book shut and tucked it inside her coat, slipped past the librarian and out into the corridor.

***

"'Mione, tell me again why you're dragging us all the way over here."

Hermione spun around and glared at the two boys dragging their heels behind her. "Don't start that now, Ron, you promised you'd come. Both of you did," she added, turning her stare on Harry. "And if you could get your minds off of your ridiculous Quidditch for even thirty seconds, you might find that there are actually other things in the world of interest."

Harry wrinkled his nose and tapped his broomstick against the ground, and Hermione knew he was about to disagree with her. "Yeah, Hermione, but...horses? I mean, they're not magical--"

"Just because something isn't magical doesn't mean it has no worth!"

"I know! But horses are..." he shifted. "...er, unpredictable. And big."

"Really big," echoed Ron, staring past Hermione. She turned, and saw Marie riding the gray horse she'd been talking to that first day in the stables. He moved around the large arena at a quick trot, and at some unseen--and certainly unspoken, Hermione noticed--signal from Marie, he shifted his weight back, dropped his head towards his chest, and launched into a rolling canter. Marie herself looked like a completely different person. The defensiveness and skittishness was gone, replaced by confidence and concentration. Then the horse changed directions, coming off the rail and heading diagonally across the arena, straight at what seemed to Hermione to be a massive jump. Marie frowned, and Hermione thought she saw her lips move, but then they were at the jump and Marie had grabbed a fistful of the horse's bristly mane between her fingers and she rose out of the saddle and they were up and over and moving away on the other side.

"Positively beautiful," Hermione breathed.

She didn't see Harry and Ron roll their eyes, but as soon as Ron spoke, she was sure they had. "Bloody hell! What is it with you girls and horses? I tell you, Harry, Ginny's the same way. Every Christmas and birthday: 'Mummy, Daddy, buy me a pony. I want a pony. A pony a pony a pony...'" His voice had taken on a wildly high pitch, and Harry giggled while Hermione glared. So what if she'd always wanted to ride a horse? Maybe some people would rather spend time with a horse that was aware of one's existence rather than a bloody enchanted broomstick.

In the arena, Marie had pulled the horse up to a halt and swung her leg over his rump before dropping to the ground. She ran up the stirrups on either side of the saddle and leaned close to the horse's ears when she lifted his reins over his head. Judging by the sudden change of expression on his face--if a horse could look sheepish, this one did--Marie was not terribly pleased, and had told him so.

Hermione stepped forward. "That was amazing," she said, smiling.

To her pleasure, Marie returned the smile, if hesitantly. "Yes, well...let's just say I haven't jumped in a very long time." She glanced sideways at the horse, who studiously looked at the ground.

Hermione turned to the boys. "Madame Lancet, this is Ron Weasley--" He at least tried to smile, she noticed. "And Harry Potter."

"H'lo."

Marie looked hard at Harry, and Hermione had to wonder why--it was the same expression she'd seen on Marie's face when Harry's name came up the other day--but fortunately, he seemed to regard it as the usual extra attention he was subjected to.

"Madame Lancet and I met, um, earlier today," Hermione explained. "After breakfast. In the hall. Before, uh--"

"Earlier," Marie repeated smoothly, smiling thinly. Her attention wasn't on them, though, it was on something above them. Hermione sneaked a glance upwards, saw a hawk or falcon of some kind, circling high overhead. Was that what was worrying her? There were hawks above the grounds all the time, waiting for some unfortunate creature to dart out of the forest and into the open. Before Hermione could wonder about it any more, though, Marie shifted her gaze to the space behind she and her friends. "Oh, Good Lord," Marie muttered under her breath, sounding more irritated than worried.

Hermione turned and was confronted with at least two dozen Hogwarts students, from the smallest first-year right up on to her fellow seventh-years. She couldn't help but purse her lips at the sight of some of the boys, who were clearly not interested in horses so much as they were a certain someone riding them. Marie herself looked positively frozen, clearly not expecting so many people, nor at all sure what to do with them. Next to her, the horse snorted, and Marie frowned.

"Right, then," she said, awkwardly, after a moment. "Good to see so many of you here. I suppose I ought to start off telling you a bit about myself." She quickly rattled off a backstory that she had evidently concocted earlier, no doubt with Dumbledore's help, Marie figured. She only half-listened as Marie told the students that she'd grown up in Greenland with her researcher parents, one magical, one not. She claimed to be twenty-three, and explained that her parents were old friends of Dumbledore's and had arranged for her to have this position at Hogwarts so that she might fill in the gaps in her home-schooled magical education.

While she was speaking, Hermione spotted Draco Malfoy in the crowd, his usual accompanying henchmen conspicuously absent. She was surprised at first to spot black riding boots beneath the hem of his robes, but then she supposed it made sense that a family like the Malfoys might value horsemanship. Fit in well with the wealthy country lifestyle, after all. Still, she hardly trusted his motives to be wholly--or even a little bit--pure, particularly not with that dark glint in his eyes. Hermione would have to keep an eye on him.

"Now, there are some ground rules here you've got to understand," Marie said, authoritatively. "Horses can be dangerous, and as I don't want to be stopping my lessons to cart someone off to the hospital ward, you will follow these rules. First off, if you want to ride, you're going to learn horsemanship, too. I'm not your servant, and I will not tack up your horse for you; you will learn to do it yourself." Hermione glanced at Draco, but his expression didn't change. "Second, no unsupervised riding unless I've approved it. Third, your horse comes first, before you, always. And finally and most importantly: No magic in the stables." A rustle of whispers ran through the crowd of students, and a couple groaned. "I mean it," Marie warned. "These are not magical creatures. They do not require or even like magic. If I catch you with your wand out, even once, you will be leaving and you will not be coming back."

"Merlin," Harry whispered. "What is she, Snape's bloody cousin, or something?"

Actually, Hermione considered, as the Llewellurs and the Snapes were both very old pureblood families, there was more than half a chance that Marie was Snape's cousin, if only distantly. At least, she thought, her stomach turning, being a Muggleborn kept her safe from that fate.

Harry'd spoken very quietly, but Marie had evidently heard him. She strode straight towards them, stopped just short of the fence.

"Mr. Potter," she said, eyeing his Quidditch uniform, "As you and your friend here--" she glared at Ron "--evidently have more of an interest in riding broomsticks than horses, I suggest you go find the Quidditch pitch. Last I heard, it was over that way." She nodded towards the brightly-colored structure just a few hundred meters away. Both Harry and Ron blushed, and someone in the crowd sniggered. Probably Malfoy. If she weren't so furious with her friends herself, she might find it in her to be annoyed with him.

"Sorry," Harry muttered. He exchanged glances with Ron, avoiding Hermione's eyes. The two slinked off, and a few of the other students followed, evidently put off by the no-magic rule and Marie's no-nonsense approach.

"Madame Llewellur," called a measured voice from Hermione's left.

Marie spun--too quickly, Hermione thought--and faced Draco. "It's Madame Lancet," she corrected, spacing the syllables evenly.

Draco nodded easily. "Yes, of course. My mistake. I simply wanted to inquire as to whether you are qualified to teach those of us who have had formal riding instruction previously?"

"I am more schooled in dressage than I am in hunters, but I imagine I can do a serviceable job regardless," she replied coolly. "And you are...?"

"Draco Malfoy," he said, the corners of his lips moving up into an unfriendly smile that set Hermione's teeth on edge. "The pleasure is all mine."