A Type of Revenge

 

WARNING: Slash starts soon. And there are triads. If you find that sort of thing squicky, stop reading now.

 

Chapter Four: Control

 

The nightmares were supposed to stop when he had started his revenge weren’t they? Draco sat up in the Slytherin common room, ostensibly studying for his N.E.W.Ts, but in reality, trying to prevent himself from going to sleep. If he slept, the nightmares would come. And Draco would give almost anything not to have Salem and Voldemort stalk through his dreams. Salem would come after him, chastising him for not saving her. Although Draco knew that Salem would never reproach him for her death, that didn’t stop him dreaming about it. Voldemort…. He really didn’t want to think about You Know Who.

 

So he kept playing the piano at night when he was supposed to be sleeping and used that as his emotional release. But it was only temporary, and Draco knew in the back of his head that this state of affairs couldn’t continue for much longer.

* * * * *

It was Defence Against the Dark Arts again, and the class sat there in anticipation of what they would study next. They had just finished doing the Unforgivable curses and some of the not so unforgivable ones that were still pretty bad, and any defenses that could be done with them and against them. Professor Sarainail Grey swept in. Her hair was pulled up off her face for a change, Draco noted, revealing...pointed ears?

 

“Good afternoon class.” she said briskly. “As you all know we have finished the section on the Unforgivable Curses, the nearly unforgivable curses and their defences and problems with their uses. We have also finished this year with the dangerous and dark creatures found on earth. That is why we are starting on Faerie. Initially I wasn’t going to do such an extensive section on Faerie, but Faerie is becoming increasingly important in the war, and you need to know something about your allies and enemies. Are there any objections to this, or can I get started?”

 

There were no objections.

 

“Good. We will start with the history of the land itself.”

 

The class groaned.

 

Sarai smiled kindly at them. “Don’t worry, this won’t be as boring as Professor Binns class on the History of Magic. Technically, you should cover some of this topic in History of Magic, but it wasn’t in there when I was at school, and when it was pointed out to the good professor, he refused to change anything. So this is all new to you. Now who can tell me anything about Faerie, both the land, and it’s peoples?”

 

Hermione put her hand up to no one’s surprise.

 

“Miss Granger?”

 

“It’s not on earth, but in some alignment to it.”

 

“Very good. Five points to Gryffindor. Faerie is not part of earth. It never has been, and never will be. It is an alternate place to earth, not quite in parallel with it, but there are Portals from one place to another, which we will discuss later. Anyone else?”

 

“It’s pure magic.” volunteered Pansy.

 

“Almost, but not quite, Miss Parkinson. Faerie is based on magic, created from pure magic. It is not pure magic in and of itself, although your magical powers are stronger there because of the ambient magic.”

 

“It has no sun.” Draco found himself saying.

 

“Well-done, Mr Malfoy. Five points to Slytherin. You are absolutely correct.” Sarai ignored the whispered comments on both sides of the classroom in favour of telling them more about it. “It has never been discovered precisely why Faerie has no sun, but it is absolutely vital that it does not. Can anyone tell me why?”

 

There was a restless silence in the room.

 

“No? As we go further through this course, you will notice that very few of the purebred Faerie creatures - those with no human blood in them - are not vulnerable to sunlight. Anything else?”

 

Seamus put up his hand.

 

“Mr Finnegan?”

 

“There’s a High Council at Sanctuary where all their important leaders meet.”

 

She smiled, “Would you care to repeat that to the rest of the class so they actually hear what you are saying?” she shot a glare at the class, and they subsided.

 

Seamus repeated his sentence.

 

“Thank you, Mr Finnegan. The High Council of Sanctuary is the most important governing body within the whole of Faerie. You are going to have to learn who are the members of the High Council, their kingdoms and their symbols. If Sanctuary - and therefore the rest of Faerie - get involved in this war you will have to know about those, and how not to offend them. Can anyone suggest why Sanctuary and the High Council might get involved in the war? Mr Weasley?” asked Sarai, choosing him because he wasn’t paying very much attention.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Can you tell me why the High Council of Sanctuary might get involved in the war?”

 

Ron thought a bit. He didn’t think that You Know Who would win, but if He did... “Because if You Know Who wins, He’ll go after them next.”

 

“Very good,” Sarai told him. “Now if you can all turn to the supplementary readings that you got with your books, we will start going through the list of names and kingdoms on the High Council. Miss Bulstrode, can you please read out the first name on the list?”

 

“It’s um it’s Avalon, Professor.”

 

“That’s right. Although the actual land of Avalon hasn’t been occupied for well over ten thousand years, it is still the first name on the list in honour of the great power that it once was,” she added absently, “And because Lady Mystica would challenge them if they dared change it. Who is next on the list, Miss Brown?”

 

Lavender turned away from talking to Parvati, and replied, “Rockholme, professor.”

 

“Yes. Miss Brown, I would appreciate it if you paid attention in my class. You will need this information later. Five points from Gryffindor.”

 

“But we were discussing Avalon.” protested Lavender indignantly.

 

“What about it?”

 

Lavender sighed dramatically, “There’s so many legends associated with it. King Arthur and Merlin and the knights of the round table...”

 

“There is some basis in fact for those tales, Miss Brown. However, if you do wish to know more about them, I suggest that you consult a book from the library about it, or do a course in Faerie Tales: Truth or Fiction when you finish school. Not,” she added firmly, “Another student in my class. Unless of course you have something important to contribute Miss Patil?”

 

“No Professor.”

 

“We will continue then. Rockholme has been associated with Avalon since 1 AF. AF is what the Faerie mark their calender by. It stands for the Avalon’s Fall, and that was approximately 10, 300 years ago according to how humans mark time. The Lord of Rockholme, Zadrian, and the Lady of Avalon are wed. The next name on the list is...”

* * * * *

Draco was probably the only one in Slytherin who wasn’t getting all bogged down with homework and study. But that was only because of his erratic sleeping habits. He had decided that he may as well study and do his homework instead of either sleeping or playing the piano, as they were no longer of any great use to him. More than once, he was woken in the morning by Crabbe and Goyle wondering out loud why he was asleep in the chair and not in his bed where he should be. The one time that they had though of moving him, Draco had thought they were part of his nightmare, and fought them. All three of them had been in a bad mood afterwards. Draco for allowing himself to wake in such a manner in front of other people - if Crabbe and Goyle were counted as people - and Crabbe and Goyle because they were recovering from the hexes that he had put on them, and didn’t understand why Draco had cursed them in the first place. He was increasingly bad tempered towards Goyle and Crabbe, and even Pansy, who Draco usually stayed clear of, or was at least semi-polite to, found herself on the rough edge of his tongue. His comments to Potter and his moronic group of friends had grown more acidic, and increasingly vicious, until even Professor Snape started to notice.

 

In Potions they were making a Fikilgas Potion. Professor Snape had decided in his boundless wisdom to pair each Gryffindor with a Slytherin. And they were not the expected sorts of pairings either. Neville was set to work with Pansy, Harry with Goyle, Hermione with Crabbe, and so on, until Ron was paired with Draco.

 

“Weasel.” sneered Draco.

 

“Malfoy.” snarled Ron.

 

“I am going to watch you make this for me, Weasel. You need the practice.”

 

Ron glared at him, “In case you hadn’t read the instructions properly Malfoy, this potion needs two people to make it. Therefore you actually have to do some work for a change, rather than getting your two goons to do it. So therefore you are going to do some work or else....” Ron took advantage of his superior height to lean over Malfoy threateningly.

 

Draco glared back. How dare the Weasel suggest that he didn’t do any work? It was to him that Crabbe and Goyle came when they needed help. That is, if they could remember where to find him. “I do work, Weasel,” he sneered, “But obviously you don’t or else your marks would be better.”

 

“Better to fail with my own work than be top of the class with someone else’s,” retorted Ron, “Oh - I forgot. You’re never top anyway. A muggle-born is better than you.”

 

“How dare you speak to me in such a manner,” snapped Draco, “You’re nothing better than the muggle-born scum that you hang around with!”

 

“Why you...” Ron paused, temporarily bereft of words, and then when he found some, he snapped, “Hermione’s far better than you ever could be. Now do you want to pass this class or not, you git? ‘Cause if you do, we’d better get started.”

 

“Right.” drawled Draco, “You go up there, and get the supplies, Weasel, while I do the hard work, and tell you what you are supposed to do.”

 

“Oh no you don’t. We both need to get the supplies,” said Ron, “One person can’t carry them by himself.”

 

“Make two trips then.”

 

“Malfoy,” said Ron, “We need to pass this class. You are coming with me, you lazy sod.” He leaned over Malfoy again, and glared at the smaller boy.

 

“Oh very well,” grumbled Draco, “But only because you’d spill or drop something.”

 

He ignored Ron’s muttered, “Yeah, right.” as they went up to the table. The Weasel was right about something he realised after actually reading the list of ingredients in the potion. Two people were needed to carry it all. With their arms loaded with the components, they went back to their table.

 

“It’s organised how we should do this,” said Ron, indicating the method on the table. “The jobs are set out in a double list, which is labelled. This is my list of things to do, that one is yours, and down the bottom is the stuff we do together,” he took a closer look at the list, “And they’re even set out fairly.”

 

“What do you mean, Weasel?”

 

“Don’t call me that, ferret boy!”

 

“I’ll call you whatever I want, Weasel. After all, you and your family are little more than servants.”

 

“Better than following the Dark Arts, ferret boy.” snapped Ron.

 

Ron turned to the work set out for the Gryffindors. While he started slicing up the shrimps that were to go in the potion, Draco read the list of instructions.

 

“Weasel, there must be a mistake. I have at least half of the unpleasant jobs to do.”

 

Ron smiled evilly, “I know, Malfoy. Just console yourself with thinking that I have the other half of them to do.”

 

“Weasel, I don’t think that you understood me properly...”

 

“I understood you Malfoy,” Ron interrupted, “But I am not doing your work for you. So why don’t you start shredding the mixed grasses, while I start on the slugs?”

 

“I don’t think so Weasel. You need the practice to pass this class.”

 

“While you will just survive on your father’s relationship to Snape ferret boy?”

 

“How dare you insinuate something like that! You’re the one who follows around the Boy Who Lived like a pet donkey. Neither of you would have made it this far without the help of the mudblood.”

 

“Don’t call her that!” spat Ron, “She’s much better than you ever will be, even if your father pays for you to get top marks in all your classes.”

 

“At least my father has money to pay for something like that - unlike yours. You could do with having your father be able to pay for changing your marks.”

 

“That he made through serving You Know Who. Doesn’t he still serve You Know Who, Malfoy?”

 

“And if he does, Weasel? At least he has the courage to stand up for his convictions, rather than staying in a useless job at the Ministry.”

 

“Convictions? Hah! Your father was so eager to escape Azkaban that he gave away as many of the other Death Eaters as he could and claimed Imperius. The only reason that he now serves You Know Who is because You Know Who has gotten slightly stronger.”

 

“All the more reason to serve Him then,” hissed Draco, “After all, He will win.” It felt that he was betraying Salem somehow to say that, but it had to be done, if he wanted to avenge her.

 

“At least some people are willing to stand up for what they believe in,” Ron shot him a nasty glare, “Unlike some others that I could name.”

 

It was then that Draco found out what it would be like for him if he continued the path of revenge that he was set on. It would be worth it, he told himself. “Nothing is worth dying for, Weasel,” he told the other boy nastily, “Not even your precious Potter.”

 

“Why you...”

 

“Careful, Weasel, you don’t want to knock over the cauldron do you? That might ruin your mark for this class. Not that you’ll ever pass anyway, since without the mudblood’s help, you wouldn’t be here. After all you’re as stupid as...” his voice trailed off, as Hermione was heard shouting by the entire class.

 

“Nooo. Crabbe no, I’ve already put in the...”

 

Squelchish. Hisssssssish. Boom. Bits of potion rained over half the class, and made a mess of Professor Snape’s nicely cleaned dungeon floor.

 

“Verbena.” Hermione finished slowly, as the potion dripped down her hair and over her face. Crabbe just stood there with a stupid look on his face. That was normal for Crabbe, but somehow, he managed to look more stupid than ever.

 

Snape swooped down on the pair like an avenging angel, except that an angel didn’t wear a black cloak, and have greasy hair. “Just as I thought,” proclaimed the Potions master, “You added too much of the verbena, and not enough of the cilantro or housefly wings. Five points from Gryffindor for not realising the mistake.”

 

Hermione turned to Crabbe indignantly, “You said you’d put in six of the wings,” protested, “And I know I put in the right amount of verbena.”

 

“It was my job to do,” said Crabbe slowly.

 

Hermione took another look at the list. “No, it wasn’t,” she told him, “The jobs on that side are mine to do.”

 

Crabbe looked dully amazed. “Oh.”

 

“Now that you have finished assigning blame, Miss Granger, you and Mr Crabbe may start again from the beginning. And I suggest that you check all of Mr Crabbe’s work.”

 

When he started to turn, the rest of the class put their heads down, pretended to stop listening, and got back to work.

 

“Crabbe and Goyle?” suggested Ron to Malfoy, continuing their previous conversation. “Your two goons seem incapable of reading instructions, much less following them, whereas I am waiting for you to put that strained snail shell into the cauldron, so we can finish.”

 

“They’re not that bad, Weasel.”

 

“Yes they are, ferret boy. Now put the strained snail shell in the cauldron before our mixture explodes too.”

 

Draco glared at him, and did what Ron said. The Fikilgas potion gave a person extra arms. You were supposed to rub the completed product on the part of your body that you wanted to have an extra arm. It hadn’t sunk in straight away on Crabbe and Hermione, but they were slowly starting to sprout fingers and half arms from the places that had been touched by the potion. Neither of them had realised what was happening, although the rest of the class had, and were starting to snicker.

 

“Look at the mudblood, Weasel. Such alterations only improve her appearance.”

 

“You are such a git, Malfoy,” snapped Ron, “Hermione’s far better than you ever could be. You’re just jealous.”

 

“Jealous? Of a mudblood? You have to be joking.”

 

“No, think about it, Malfoy. She’s everything that you’re not. Pretty, talented, loyal. The list just goes on and on.”

 

“You...” Draco was speechless with rage. How dare this trumped up wizard from a no good family that couldn’t even pay their rent compare him unfavourably to a mudblood. If he was angry enough, he could forget. Draco attacked. Ron wasn’t expecting it. Usually both of them had more sense than to physically fight in front of a teacher, or if they did, there were a few more rounds of insults to go through yet. And normally, Ron was the one to attack Malfoy. Draco knocked over the cauldron, spilling the nearly completed Fikilgas potion over the fire and the floor, where it added to the mess already made by Hermione and Crabbe. Fortunately for Ron, Professor Snape was coming over at that minute to check up on his favourite student, and his enemy. He was not close enough to hear Ron reply to Draco’s taunts, but he did see Draco suddenly knock over the cauldron in his bid to beat up Ron. Snape stopped at the edge of the potion spill. The rest of the class watched avidly as arms sprouted from various places on the two boys bodies that the potion had touched, as they rolled around in the mess. Ron was saying something like ‘Get off you git,’ and then ‘ouch’ as Draco thwacked him in the jaw. Draco went ‘oof’ as the air was knocked out of him, in Ron’s attempt to get him off him.

 

When Snape eventually spoke, his voice was a chill as the frost in the morning, “What is going on here?”

 

“Get off me,” cried Ron, shoving uselessly at Draco, “Snape’s here.”

 

Draco socked him in the jaw.

 

“Mr Malfoy. Mr Weasley.”

 

“Malfoy...”

 

Snape sighed, and picked his way delicately through the thick gunk on the floor, and reached down and grabbed Draco by the collar of his robes. Draco swung at him, and landed a punch to the side of Professor Snape’s head before realising exactly who now had him by the collar. He stopped struggling immediately. Ron stood up more slowly, waving off the offer of a helping hand from Harry, and feeling the mess that Malfoy had made of his lip.

 

“Could you explain to me precisely what happened, Weasley,” requested Snape, eyeing Malfoy narrowly, “And no excuses please.”

 

“Umm. We were talking, Professor, and then Malfoy attacked me.”

 

“And was he provoked?” said Professor Snape silkily.

 

“Not really,” Ron told him. It’s true, he thought to himself, we’ve had what was a civil discussion for both of us. It’s just that what’s a civil discussion between me and Malfoy is what counts as fighting for anyone else.

 

“He provoked me, Professor,” protested Draco.

 

“Potter? Goyle? You two were the closest. What did you see happen?”

 

Goyle looked stupidly at Snape. “Uh they were talking, Professor, and making the potion.”

 

Suddenly remembering their potion, Harry took a hasty couple of steps towards his cauldron, and stirred it, just in time to prevent it from bubbling over. The mixture made a thick sucking sound as he tried pull the ladle out of the cauldron. Shrugging, he gave up. It would need to be stirred once more before class was over, and the potion was finished. He didn’t really see the point of making a potion that gave you an extra pair of arms, but if that was what he had to do to pass Potions, he would do it. Harry returned to where Snape stood, waiting impatiently.

 

“Well, Potter?”

 

“Sorry, Professor, our potion needed stirring.”

 

“Very well,” said Professor Snape, “I’m glad that you’re finally learning some responsibility, Potter. What did you see happen?”

 

Harry shrugged, “They were talking as normally as Ron and Malfoy ever do.

Then after Hermione and Crabbe’s potion exploded, they said something else to each other, then Malfoy attacked.”

 

“So would you say that it was provoked?”

 

“Not really Professor.”

 

“Ten points from Gryffindor for Weasley provoking Malfoy. Thirty from Slytherin for Malfoy attacking Weasley, and the mess you’ve made of my classroom, and detention for both of you.”

 

“But he provoked me, Professor. I shouldn’t get anything.” protested Malfoy.

 

“Five points from Slytherin for answering back,” snapped Snape, “Now come and get the antidote the four of you, and clean up the mess.”

 

“Professor Snape, do we have to make another batch of the potion?” asked Ron.

 

“No, not this time, Weasley. The extra arms that you have grown prove adequately that you can make this potion.”

 

The rest of the class passed in silence.

* * * * *

The next two weeks passed in a blur for Draco. After analysing Ron’s reaction to him, he realised that that sort of thing was going to happen more often once they knew he was a Death Eater. But that was the price for avenging Salem. Draco thought some more about the type of revenge that he had chosen, and decided once again that it was worth it, that this was the best way to avenge Salem’s death. He turned his thoughts firmly away from Salem and back to the class he happened to be in. Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was a good thing that he had started paying attention, because Professor Grey had a disconcerting habit of asking a question of whoever happened to be not paying attention. But for all her quirks, she was a good teacher. Articulate, amusing, and enthusiastic about what she taught. If they asked, she would gladly explain more about a topic, and give further references. She walked in. Her hair was pinned up as it had been for the past few weeks, since they had started learning about Faerie, revealing pointed ears.

 

“Good morning everyone,” she said briskly, “I have some good news for you before we begin today’s lesson. On Friday, your Defence Against the Darks Arts class is postponed until midnight. I have managed to get the Lady Taranquil to come in to speak to you. She is Seleighe Sidhe, which is why the class is at midnight, so it allows for travelling time, and time for the lesson. You will be able to ask her questions about what it is like being Sidhe in a human world, and how she compensates, and that sort of thing. Nothing rude or inappropriate of course. She will also give you a very brief course in appropriate manners towards the Seleighe.”

 

Hermione put up her hand.

 

“Miss Granger?”

 

“How did you manage to get the Lady Taranquil to come in?”

 

Sarainail’s mouth twisted wryly, “She’s my mother.”

 

The class was silent. The wizarding born knew about Lord and Lady Grey, one of the most respected - and most powerful of the wizarding couples in high society. Technically they were the Duke and Duchess of Asleighein, but everyone, in both the wizarding world, and muggle society called them Lord John Grey, and the Lady Taranquil. They were the liaisons between the Queen of England, the Ministry of Magic, and the High Council of Sanctuary. Harry looked puzzled. All he, and the other muggle raised wizards, with the exception of Hermione, knew about them was from the society pages of the newspapers and magazines. Someone whistled. Sarai frowned. “Please, I try not to notice it as often as I can. They have been in Sanctuary lately, and have made a brief trip to earth to explain what’s going on there to the wizards here. They will be going back shortly, so we are lucky to have her come in.”

 

“Which side do they support?”

 

“Who said that?” queried their teacher lightly. No one answered, so she went on to say, “But you all want to know, correct?”

 

Vigorous nodding from around the classroom.

 

“Okay then,” she paused dramatically, “Truthfully, I don’t know. Professionally, since they are ambassadors, they have to be neutral, just as a Bard would be. But privately...” she shrugged, “It’s no one’s business but their own. I wouldn’t know.”

 

“But you’re their daughter,” said Lavender in surprise.

 

“We have what is called a working relationship. Now today, we are looking at the effect that cold iron has on the Sidhe. We don’t have any full Sidhe here, but I am a half-breed, and that will do just as well,” she walked over to a large box that was by the door, and pulled it closer into the room. “Mr Finnegan, here is the key to the box. Could you and Mr Thomas get out the balls of iron, and the dust, and space them evenly along the front row of desks please, while I get my gloves and veil.”

 

“Who are they, Hermione?” hissed Harry.

 

“They’re only our most famous ambassadors,” whispered Hermione back, “Honestly don’t you ever read anything?”

 

“But I think I’ve seen them in the magazines that the Dursleys get.”

 

“He’s a Duke. Of course you have.”

 

“What are they an ambassador for?”

 

“I’ll tell you later. She’s looking at us.”

 

Conversation ended, they turned their attention back to their work.

 

“Why do you need the veil, Professor?” asked Parvati.

 

“They are made of silk, as is all the clothing that I am wearing today. Can anyone tell me what magical properties silk has?” Draco and Hermione put their hands up at the same time. “Mr Malfoy?”

 

“Silk has insulating properties Professor. It can be used to neutralise magical emissions from dangerous items.”

 

“Such as in my case. The Faerie are all allergic to iron without exception. Even being this close to iron, while wearing at least three layers of silk is uncomfortable for me,” she indicated the lumps of iron that Seamus and Dean has just finished putting out. “There are a number of types of iron, and I will go through them from the least dangerous to the most dangerous. Dangerous to the Sidhe that is. Any questions so far?”

 

“Why are you allergic to iron?” asked Neville.

 

Sarainail laughed a little, “The current Princess of Atlantis, Kalsemea, has had her people studying that for over ten thousand years, and they have still not worked out why. No one precisely knows why Mr Longbottom, it just is. Anything else?”

 

“What effect does iron have on you, Professor?” asked Pansy, “I don’t want to be interrupted while you have to go to the infirmary because you did something that you shouldn’t.”

 

“A little nausea never hurt anyone, Miss Parkinson. And as for touching it, you will see shortly,” she walked over to the small bag on the end desk, “This is iron dust. Blow some in a Faerie opponent’s face, and they may be permanently blinded. The dust will also leave iron scars. You may get up and touch the stuff if you want,” she added suddenly, “Unless you have some Faerie blood that I don’t know about.”

 

The class moved, crowding around their teacher, and picking up the round balls.

 

Sarainail picked up the next one in the row, wincing slightly, “This is the weakest bit of iron that I have found,” carefully, she pulled back her sleeve, and lightly touched the piece of iron to her skin. There was a slight hissing sound, and she dropped the iron back onto the silk hastily. There were startled sounds from the class members looking at what happened.

 

“It burnt you, Professor,” said Goyle in dull wonder.

 

“Yes, that’s right, Mr Goyle, it did. This particular burn won’t scar, but a more concentrated piece of iron would. Have a look everyone.”

 

They all crowded around to look at the mark on her pale skin. It was on the top of her wrist, so the long scars underneath didn’t show.

 

“Does that hurt, Professor?”

 

“Yes, it does. It’s an iron burn, what do you expect?”

 

Harry shrugged, “I don’t know, Professor, that’s why I asked.” It was strange calling her professor after staying with her and Sirius and Prof - Remus for some of the summer, and Sarai being his contact in the war made it stranger.

 

“Good. You are supposed to ask me if you don’t know something - if it’s relevant to what you are learning of course. Are there any other questions?”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Malfoy give Crabbe something, and whisper in his ear. This alliance with Malfoy was certainly working out better than he expected. Malfoy had started adding a scathing commentary on the Death Eaters capabilities - or lack thereof, and what he knew of their weaknesses to the letters. That was precisely the sort of information that was wanted for the war. There were other spies in the Death Eaters, and the Aurors tracked down some of those revealed, and got more names. Sirius was one of those. Illegally, since his Auror’s license had been revoked when he was put in Azkaban, but to Sirius, it was still his job, and he would do it. According to Sarainail, he was getting closer to the trail of Peter Pettigrew. The rest of the triad would join him after the end of the school year, and when Remus had worked out a charm or a potion that would make him less dangerous when he Changed. Smiling contentedly, Harry turned his attention back to the lesson. His family was still alive, and safe, and apart from the war, all was well. Sarainail answered questions cheerfully, trying not to overemphasise the damage that iron could do to the Sidhe, since the more powerful were able to resist it longer. It was hard though, when her fear of the substance had been bred into her lineage for centuries on her mother’s side.

 

“Professor,” called Crabbe from across the room, “Catch.”

 

Instinctively, she did so, and let go of the iron ball as soon as she’d caught it. Mouths dropped, and eyes widened as it went through the desk and made a dent on the stone floor below. Sarai started stripping off her gloves as fast as possible. The pain nearly made her cry out, but she would never lose control in front of her class. After taking a few seconds to even out her voice, and smooth out her expression, she turned to Hermione. “Miss Granger, could you please pack up all of the iron balls, and place them in their case. It will lock without the key. Class is dismissed, apart from Mr Malfoy and Mr Crabbe, who need to discuss their detention with me, and whoever else is going to help me to the infirmary.”

 

“Help you to the infirmary, Professor?” asked Neville.

 

“Yes.” Sarai held out her hands as proof. They were already puffy, red and starting to weep through the cracks that had appeared in her hands. “Cold Iron is incredibly dangerous to anyone with Faerie blood, and I am half Sidhe. It is unlikely that I will make it so far by myself.” she quickly shot Harry a pleading look that no one else noticed. She wanted someone who knew about the triad to come with her, and Harry was the only one here that fit the bill.

 

“I will, Professor,” said Harry.

 

“Thank you.”

 

He offered her his arm, like he had heard that you should do when escorting a lady. Sarai rested more of her weight on it than he had expected, while murmuring an apology quietly to him. She nodded politely to the rest of the class, indicated that Malfoy and Crabbe were to come with them, and they left. Harry was beginning to know the various expressions on Sarai’s face, and the still, remote, controlled expression that she was currently wearing indicated pain. Halfway to the infirmary she slipped, and he only just stopped her from falling down the stairs. Crabbe and Malfoy laughed uneasily as they followed them to the infirmary. By the time they reached the infirmary, Sarainail was starting to shiver, and was more pale than usual. She was also resting nearly all of her weight on his arm.

 

“Madam Pomfrey?”

 

Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, looking somewhat annoyed, “Not you again Potter.”

 

“No ma’am,” said Harry hastily.

 

“It’s me, Poppy,” Sarainail’s voice sounded faint and very far away, but it was there, “I caught a ball of Cold Iron.”

 

“Why weren’t you wearing your gloves Sarainail?”

 

A faint smile, “I was. The iron started melting them into my skin, so I took them off.”

 

“Come with me then.” Madam Pomfrey took Sarai off Harry’s arm, and helped her over to a bed. Sarai sat down in relief. Her hands hurt. Poppy fussed over them, but she let it just wash over her head, as if all there was in her world was the pain. Madam Pomfrey put some ointment on her hands, and made Sarainail drink an antitoxin for the poison that was starting to wash through her system. “I think Sarainail, that you should stay here for a while. It’ll take a while for the poison to go through your system, and I don’t want you in your quarters when it finally hits you.”

 

“All right,” she said faintly, “Get the Headmaster, will you? I need to discuss a detention with him.”

 

“Later,” said Pomfrey firmly, “Right now you need to rest.”

 

“In a minute. Mr Malfoy, Mr Crabbe, until your punishment is decided on, you are forbidden Hogsmeade. Understand?”

 

They nodded glumly, and left. Draco realised that he had only slightly miscalculated when he had given the ball of Cold Iron to Crabbe to throw to Professor Grey. He had underestimated the violence of her reaction to it. But it was likely that he would be banned from Hogsmeade for the rest of the year, and that was what he had been aiming for. They passed the Gryffindor half of the class on their way out. The class had come to see if Professor Grey would be okay. When they entered, Sarainail was already in a bed, soaking her hands in a solution that was meant to ease the pain a bit. Harry was sitting in the chair by her bed, and they were talking calmly enough. There was a slight pain line on Sarai’s face that she couldn’t prevent, and her face was very still and white, but other than that she looked all right.

 

“Professor Grey, are you all right?”

 

“What happened? Why did you need help?”

 

“Will you be able to teach again?”

 

“Can we look?” This last was from Seamus.

 

Sarai carefully focused enough through the pain so she could answer their questions. “One question at a time,” she protested mildly, “Yes, I will be all right eventually, I caught a ball of Cold Iron, which is the strongest of all the iron, and I had an immediate allergic reaction to it, and it started to poison me, so I couldn’t have made it here without help. Yes, I will teach again... and Mr Finnegan, do you really want to see what they look like? It’s not very pleasant.”

 

“Yes Professor.”

 

“It’ll give us a sound understanding of what happens when you hit a half Sidhe with a piece of Cold Iron,” said Hermione.

 

“Yes, you’re right about that. However, Cold Iron is rare, fortunately, and very expensive, both to make and to buy, which adds to its rarity. That’s rather good for Faerie.”

 

“Can we see please?”

 

“You boys are disgusting,” said Lavender, “It’ll look awful.’

 

“Precisely,” said Dean.

 

Sarai lifted her hands out of the solution and turned them palm up. Her sleeves covered her scars, so she wasn’t worried about them seeing those. Her hands, if anything looked worse than before. The boys stared with morbid fascination at the dark streaks under her skin, and the red burn marks that were still weeping. The girls turned away with exclamations of disgust. Satisfied with their reaction, Sarai put them back in the solution. They would treat Cold Iron with more respect now, and since they knew what damage that it did, that would help them in the war when they left school. Madam Pomfrey came in then, and chased them all out. All that is, except for Harry. Because Sarainail was his godmother, Harry felt some measure of responsibility towards her, and he refused to leave until one of the others in the triad were there. Professor Dumbledore came in before Madam Pomfrey could do anything, and agreed that he could stay. It was not a pleasant task, even if it was his own decision to stay with her.

 

Ron and Hermione had come that evening, to bring Harry’s homework to him. They stayed for a while, but somehow their usual easy conversation had gone with Sarai’s presence. Hermione took the opportunity to ask her about the Lady Taranquil, and other topics related to Defence Against the Dark Arts, but even with all of her questions, it was still an uncomfortable time. Ron and Hermione were used to seeing their teachers in perfect health - or at least up and out of bed, and Sarai lying there very still and quiet, with her hands in the bowl of stuff that Madam Pomfrey had given her, made them uncomfortable. She had been dozing, which made it easier to talk.

 

“I need to get a book from the library for my Arithmancy,” announced Hermione suddenly.

 

“I’ll come with you,” said Ron quickly, wanting to get out of the infirmary, “Harry are you sure you want to stay here? She’ll be all right, and Madam Pomfrey is near.”

 

“I’m sure,” said Harry quietly, “I’ll stay until someone gets here to stay with her.”

 

“Why do you want to stay?” asked Hermione, “I’m sure that you’d be notified of any changes.”

 

“It’s my duty to stay,” Harry told them, “She is my godmother, and along with you two and Sirius, the only family that I have left. Besides, she’d stay if I was the one lying there. I can do no less for her.”

 

“All right,” said Hermione dubiously.

 

They picked up their books, and left. Sarai opened her eyes when they had gone.

 

“Did I scare them away?”

 

Harry jumped a little, “I didn’t realise that you were awake.”

 

“Been dozing a bit. Could tell when they left though.”

 

Harry studied his godmother, “Are you all right?” he asked, “Because you look a bit sick.”

 

She smiled without a trace of humour, “I am sick, Harry, I have Cold Iron poisoning.”

 

“I was just asking.” Harry protested.

 

“I know.” Sarai sighed, “You don’t have to stay here you know.”

 

“I’ll stay ‘til one of the others gets here. Then I’ll go.”

 

“Hmm.” She nodded, and her eyes closed, blocking off his view of the cats eyes that characterised all the Sidhe born, and no few of the Faerie. He wasn’t sure quite how long he sat there for, but it was a few hours later that he woke up from his uncomfortable position in the armchair by the bed to find Sarai tossing and turning in feverish anxiety. She was muttering something, but as he bent closer to hear what she was saying, her eyes snapped open, and she stared intently into his face.

 

“James get Lily - Voldemort is coming, and I don’t know when...”

 

“Sarai, it’s me - Harry.”

 

“Aren’t you dead James?”

 

“Sarai, it’s Harry. James is dead.”

 

“Sirius. Where’s Sirius...and Remus - where are they. Not dead... no no not Azkaban.”

 

“It’s all right.” Harry tried ineffectually to soothe her.

 

“The baby. James - tell Sirius that I couldn’t save her... Our Ruth is dead and Idon’t know where Sirius is.” The last was uttered on what was almost a wail that brought Madam Pomfrey running.

 

“What happened Potter?”

 

“I woke up,” said Harry, “And she was like this. Keeps calling me James.”

 

“That’s not so surprising. You look remarkably like your father, except for your eyes.”

 

“She wants Sirius and Professor Lupin.”

 

“I thought as much. Lupin should be here shortly.” she handed Harry a bowl of water that had something added to it, “Bathe her forehead with this, Potter. It should soothe her.”

 

“James, where’s Lily?”

 

Harry dipped the cloth in the liquid, and gently squeezed it out, “I’m Harry, Sarai, not James.”

 

“James! Where are Sirius and Remus? I need them.”

 

He ran the cloth over her forehead. “They’re coming, Sarai.” He decided not to bother telling her that he was not James again.

 

Sarai moved restlessly, caught up in her fever dreams. Harry put the cloth back in the bowl and caught the wildly gesturing hand with a seeker’s precision to prevent her from knocking the bowl over, and spilling it everywhere. She grabbed his hand, hard, and snapped, “Get Sirius now!”

 

“He’s coming Sarai.”

 

She sighed, all the fight abruptly going out of her. “That’s good, James,” her voice trailed off a bit, “I love him so much...”

 

Harry wiped her forehead again. He could see her hands, because the bandages that were supposed to be protecting them had come loose, and the dark green streaks were travelling further up her arm until they disappeared under her sleeves. He kept stroking her forehead with the cloth and the mixture until Remus arrived. Sarai had settled a little, but she still called Harry James, and cried out for Sirius and Remus frequently. She was in one of her restless periods when Remus Lupin arrived.

 

Remus strode into the infirmary at Hogwarts, immensely anxious about his love. Sirius was following closely behind him, and would arrive in about an hour or so. He ignored the signs that Madam Pomfrey had put up about not going into the wards, and went straight to Sarainail. He caught the hand that Harry wasn’t holding, and she started to settle immediately.

 

“Are you all right?” he asked Harry.

 

“Yes.” Harry still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea that two of his teachers - well, one former teacher - and his godfather were in a romantic relationship. He was almost all right with Sarai, but thought that it was something to do with Remus being his teacher first that made it more uncomfortable.

 

“Has she been like this all evening?”

 

“No. She’s been more restless. Keeps calling me James, and crying out for you and Sirius. Is he coming.”

 

Lupin nodded briefly, “He’ll be here in about an hour. He had slightly further to come than I did.”

 

“Do you want me to stay until he gets here?”

 

“Only if you want to. You’ve been here all evening...”

 

“How do you know that?” Harry interrupted.

 

“I can smell it.”

 

“I don’t think I will stay. I have classes tomorrow.”

 

A soft sound from the bed turned their attention there. “Remus?”

 

“Yes love?”

 

“You came.” Sarai sounded very faint, but at least she knew who it was this time, Harry thought with relief.

 

“Of course I did.”

 

“You weren’t here, and neither was Sirius, and the baby’s dead and...”

 

“Shhh,” said Remus gently, leaning down to kiss her lightly, “It’s all right. I’m here now.”

 

“But Sirius...”

 

“Sirius is coming Sarai. Now go to sleep.”

 

She murmured something before her eyes closed. He stroked her arm gently.

 

“You should go too, Harry, and get some sleep.”

 

“Will you be right here?”

 

“Of course I will,” said Remus, “Sarai is here, even if she is unconscious, and Sirius is on his way. What more could I ask for?”

 

“Malfoy’s head on a platter?” suggested Harry.

 

“It was Malfoy?”

 

Harry flinched at the almost murderous tone in the other’s voice. Remus Lupin wasn’t uncontrolled, or feral except when he was a werewolf. He would make an exception for Sarainail and Sirius though. “I saw him get Crabbe to throw the iron to her.”

 

“Mr Malfoy will find himself in a great deal of trouble I imagine.” said Remus icily, “Oh, do you need a note to sleep in? It’s rather late.”

 

“I have one thanks.” Madam Pomfrey had given him one, when she had come to check on Sarainail sometime ago.

 

“Thank you for staying with her, Harry,” said Lupin earnestly, “It means a lot to us.”

 

Harry shrugged, uncomfortable, “She would’ve done the same thing if our positions were reversed.”

 

“Yes,” murmured Lupin, “She’s like that.”

 

“I better go,” said Harry, “Give my love to Sirius will you?”

 

“You can give it to him yourself,” said Remus calmly, “It looks like he caught a tail wind.”

 

The tall man with long dark hair, and wicked black eyes strode confidently over to the group around the bed. “Hello Harry, how is she?”

 

“She’ll live,” said Remus easily.

 

“She’s been calling for you,” volunteered Harry.

 

Sirius’ eyes darkened, “Feverish?” he asked, reaching out to place the back of his hand on her forehead. He sniffed his hand once he had taken it off. “Hmm. What’s in this, Remus? Your nose is better than mine.”

 

“Not sure,” said his partner mildly, “I never liked Herbology much anyway.”

 

“None of us did,” said Sirius cheerfully, “James was the best out of all of us.”

 

“That’s just because Professor Germaine liked him best.”

 

“Are you accusing James of cheating, our Remus?”

 

“James always charms the teachers, don’t you James?” asked a faint voice from the bed, “You came, our Sirius.”

 

“Of course I did.” Sirius’ light tone was not quite enough to hide the worried look in his eyes. “Did you expect otherwise?”

 

Cat eyes blinked in confusion, “You didn’t before. Did he James?”

 

“I’m not James,” said Harry gently, “I’m Harry.”

 

“I came as soon as I could, Sarai.” there was hidden anguish in Sirius’ voice, and Harry resolved to ask about it sometime.

 

“I know...”

 

“Shhh woman, you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

 

“Chauvinist werewolf.”

 

“Crazy Sidhe lady.”

 

“I didn’t see her come in.”

 

“What?”

 

“Who, Sarai?’

 

“The crazy Sidhe lady, my mother.”

 

“Half-Sidhe then,” Sirius bent over the figure in the bed and kissed her gently. Sarai arched up into the kiss despite the pain in her hands. “Now shut up and go to sleep love.”

 

“S’all right Sirius...glad you’re here...”

 

“I’ll be going now, shall I?” said Harry, moving towards the door.

 

Sirius left Sarainail’s side for a moment, and came and hugged Harry hard. Harry hugged him back. These three were his family, along with Ron and Hermione, and Harry had missed them. “Thank you for staying with her.”

 

“It’s all - how did you know?”

 

“Smelt it. My nose isn’t as good as Remus’ is - even in canine form, but it’s better than the average humans. Thank you, Harry.”

 

“It’s all right. Will you be staying long?”

 

“Until she’s better,” said Lupin firmly, “So you can come and see us tomorrow, Harry.”

 

“Okay then. Goodnight. Tell Sarai that I left if she can comprehend it.”

 

“We will.”

 

Harry heard a quiet conversation as he left.

 

“He can use a word like comprehend at this time of night?”

 

“Night owl, like you, love.”

 

“Humph. So where’s my hello kiss then?”

 

“Right here beloved. Come and get it.”

 

Harry quickened his pace and got out of the infirmary before he heard anything else that he didn’t want to. Then he got out the Marauders Map, and looked for Draco Malfoy. As he had suspected, Malfoy was in the music room alone. Ignoring the turn for the Gryffindor Tower, Harry went to the music room.

* * * * *

Oooooooooooo. Aren’t you lucky? A cliffhanger. Never fear, chapter five should also be up, and then you find out what happens. If you want to let me know if you liked this, or you hated it, or you think I’m completely OOC, click the nice looking button that says review, and follow all the instructions. Or drop me a line at [email protected] . I will reply to you. Promise.