Laocoon's Children, Year II

Colin's mishap notwithstanding, as the days blended into weeks a sort of defensive calm settled over the school. The Voice sometimes echoed out to Harry from someplace distant, but when he went looking for it he invariably hit a wall -- sometimes literally. Once he asked Completely Headless Nick to help him by extending his head through the walls and having a look around, but Nick couldn't hear the Voice and was of very little help.

The Dueling Club, after its first mishap, continued fairly smoothly. Having learned a mutual lesson on their first try, Snape and Dora began rehearsing their duels ahead of time to illustrate certain points; it was quite cathartic for them both, as McGonagall observed to Hooch one evening over tea while watching them hex and parry through the window of her sitting room. Down below on the grounds Dora had succeeded in throwing Snape into a hedge and his furious cursing would have curled the hair of a less experienced professor than Minerva McGonagall.

"Cathartic?" Madam Hooch asked, nibbling a biscuit. "What on earth could two people have repressed which requires this much violence to purge?"

"Insecurity, I should imagine. Not everyone is of a stolid and dependable temper around small children," McGonagall replied. "Severus thrives on nerves, you know. And Dora has seven years of pent-up annoyance with her Potions Master, not entirely undeserved on his part."

"Oh look, he's gone and vanished her nose -- tut, doesn't work when you can grow a new one, I suppose," Hooch added, as Tonks concentrated and popped a new nose out of her momentarily blank face. They watched with interest to see what would happen next, and were startled to discover that Severus Snape knew how to laugh. He was howling, in fact, leaning up against the building for support, while Dora Tonks shouted furiously at him.

"It's not that funny," Hooch decided.

"It is to him," McGonagall said smugly.

"You really are absolutely incorrigible, Minerva."

"I've seen three generations of students come through Hogwarts, if you count my own days as a student," McGonagall said complacently. "If I have not learned anything about human nature in that time, I have been wasting my talents in an unforgiveable manner. I know what I am doing."

"Let's hope so. If you don't, it may all end in homicide," Hooch said, sipping her tea. Down below, Dora had given in to the humour of the situation and was sitting next to Snape, back against the wall. He, all angles with his legs bent and his elbows resting on them, had accio'd an apple from somewhere and was peeling it while she broke off parts of the peel and ate them, despite his repeated brandishings of a knife in her direction. Next to him, Tonks looked rather like some kind of parrot sharing a perch with an unusually dour raven.

But they were sharing it, at least, which was more than they'd been doing three months before.

***

Over the course of the year, as she'd worked on their portrait, Remus and Sirius had discovered that Helena Broosh was an enthusiastic young woman, interested in everything and always excited about new events. She had finally declared the portrait itself to be acceptably finished, after two sittings with Padfoot to capture his doggy personality fully, and invited them to an unveiling before she put the final charms on it. She had asked for, and received, permission to invite a few other artists from the studios to be there as well.

"Aren't you excited? I'm excited," Sirius said, as they climbed the now-familiar steps to the green door of Broosh & Chackle Studios.

"I'm nervous," Remus answered. "I mean, what if we hate it?"

"We won't hate it! You've seen her work, she's brilliant."

"All right. But what if we realise that we're both horribly ugly?"

Sirius stopped just inside the door. "What?"

"Well, you know, like that short story where the artist paints a portrait for his odious boss and his boss won't buy it because it was too true to life?"

"Have you gone entirely off your head, Moony?"

"Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin," said Crane, the gallery attendant, as he approached. "Here for an appointment with Miss Broosh?"

"That's right," Sirius said. "Come on, idiot," he added, and Remus grinned at him.

They passed through the gallery and into the high-ceilinged back room with its little painting stalls; at Helena's, near the far end, a small knot of cheerful, paint-spattered employees were gathered around a fair-sized painting draped in red cloth.

"Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin, I'd like to present my colleagues -- Ms. Amano, Ms. Linn, Mr. Simons, Ms. Cara, and Ms. Asoda...."

"Our pleasure," Sirius said, nodding at them. Helena presented them each with a glass of champagne. Sirius raised an eyebrow at her.

"I thought it would be nice. It's a fully-functional portrait right now; to me, that's finished, really," she said. "You just have to schedule one more sitting for the final Dorian Gray charm. Anyway, I have to get you drunk in case you don't like it."

Sirius laughed; Remus ducked his head and grinned.

"All right, all ready?" Helena asked. She grasped the red velvet cloth, held it up, and tugged slightly. The other painters burst into friendly applause, then laughed as the Remus in the portrait looked around, startled -- and the dog at his feet began to bark, soundlessly.

It really was marvellously done, particularly on first glance; light streamed in golden from a window and picked out gold accents in his own hair, illuminating the pages of the book he held and parts of the library bookshelf behind him. Padfoot lay indolently at his feet, black fur contrasting nicely with the red-and-gold rug. The other artists were crowding around, talking with each other and asking Helena the occasional question.

"You never give them voices, Helena," one said. "You really ought to; your voices are beautiful when you do them."

"It annoys people," she replied. "Besides, Mr. Lupin specifically requested that they not speak. I don't blame him; I wouldn't want a talking portrait of me around until after I'm gone. Squeaking puppies are a novelty; talking people are just noise."

"I like the off-centre composition," another said. "Look how Mr. Lupin fits in -- then you've got the dog down here, drawing all the attention..."

"Art imitates life," Remus said with a smile. "It's lovely, Helena."

"All right; viewing over, shoo off, all of you," she said, and the rest of the painters took extra flutes of champagne with them as they went. When they were gone, she gestured at the portrait again; where a black dog had been, Sirius now lounged in black trousers and a dark shirt open at the collar, occasionally turning to look up adoringly at Remus.

"I'm so glad you like it, Mr. Lupin, " she said. "Mr. Black, what do you think?"

Sirius was studying it, an unreadable expression on his face; he glanced at her and smiled.

"It's perfect," he said, and his eyes met Remus' over Helena's shoulder. "I wouldn't change a single thing."

***

Magical mandrake root, the cure for basilisk petrification (according to books; nobody had ever been petrified in such a way in living memory) was much harder to come by than ordinary mandrake, and so it was several weeks before Cricket was up and about again. The mandrake had to be harvested, pressed, packaged; paperwork had to be signed and registered, including import clearances. Once everything was arranged, the pressing was hand-carried via broomstick and Muggle transport only.

The special courier who arrived at Hogwarts carrying it was not only admired by everyone at the school for being a bona-fide world traveler, but a welcome sight to at least one professor.

"Wotcher, Tonks?" Bill Weasley asked, shaking the late-spring rain off his leather hat and doffing it with a swagger. Dora laughed and threw her arms around his neck in welcome, careful not to jostle his bag.

"Welcome back to England! How long has it been?" she asked.

"Two years," he answered. "Look at you, all grown up and a Professor."

She stepped back long enough for him to shed his lethifold-hide cloak and take in the rest of the professors, who were seated around the common room.

"Professor Dumbledore," he said, inclining his head politely at the Headmaster. "I've brought a parcel for you from the Calcutta Arboretum and Nursery." He produced from his bag a large jar of transparent greenish liquid labeled Essence of Mandrake; Mag; 12.22. "That's Essence of Mandrake, Magical Variety, bottle twelve of set twenty-two. Latest pressing -- should be very fresh."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore answered with a smile, passing the jar to Madam Pomfrey, who vanished into the hallway, heading for the hospital ward. "I hope your journey has not been a long one?"

Bill grinned, showing a set of perfect white teeth. "Not really. I mean they could have mailed you the stuff if it weren't for the import laws, and I wanted to get back to England anyway. They brought it to me in Egypt and I've carried her the rest of the way."

"And clearly you've had a warm welcome waiting for you," McGonagall said, smiling gently at Tonks.

"Dora and I were pen friends for about -- what, year and a half after we left school? Then she had exams and the pace was picking up on the Egypt dig..." Bill shrugged.

"He still sends me bottles of sand from time to time, though, just to annoy me," she replied, shoving his shoulder.

"I sent her an extra-large one when I heard about the Hogwarts job," Bill said.

"It's only for a year. It's not like I'm a real professor," she protested.

"Nonsense, she's a fine one," Madam Hooch said from the windowseat. Dora blushed.

"I'm sure she is," Bill agreed.

"When not knocking over cagefuls of Cornish Pixies," said a voice from the doorway. Bill turned, warily.

"Professor Snape...sir," he said, respectfully.

"Mr. Weasley. Making a mess as usual, I see," Snape said, regarding the dripping cloak hanging on a peg next to the door. "I presume you are our courier for young Creevey?"

"Yessir."

"Still wasting your abilities with that wretched Goblin bank?"

"We like to call it unorthodox application of skills," Bill said.

"Yes, well. You have my thanks for your prompt delivery," Snape said, crossing to his armchair. "No doubt Creevey will wish to thank you personally when he is revived."

"That's his way of inviting you to dinner," Dora said, leaning on Bill's shoulder.

"He knows perfectly well that Hogwarts extends its hospitality," Snape replied. "Do stop hanging on him like a second coat, Professor Tonks."

Madam Hooch badly stifled a laugh; Dora blushed and casually stopped leaning on Bill, who took this as an opportunity to wrap an arm around her waist instead.

"You'll like Cricket, anyway," she said, gently disentangling herself. "He's a sweet little kid."

"Colin Creevey is a useless first-year with a talent only for making trouble for himself," Snape said. "I trust Madam Pomfrey has already gone?"

"She just left," Dora said, an odd edge to her voice.

"I shall see to my student then. Good day," Snape said, stalking away.

"Why does he always do that?" Dora sighed. "Anyway, Bill, come on, would you like to say hello to your brothers and Ginny?"

"Do you, Minerva, happen to know what has gotten into Severus?" Dumbledore asked with the barest hint of a smile, after Tonks had dragged Bill Weasley away.

"I couldn't say, I'm sure," she replied calmly. "It is spring, you know. Perhaps he's restless."

"Ah yes. Spring," Dumbledore replied. "I myself recall the restlessness that spring imposes on young spirits. My great-uncle Gouldian used to recommend cold showers and brisk walks. I may say I indulged in a great many brisk walks with young women of my acquaintance when spring restlessness came upon me, and it did wonders for my mental well-being."

***

"Well, that's settled up, then," Neville said, sitting back and dusting his hands. "There's my schedule. It's perfect."

The other three, seated around the library table, turned to look at his index cards, which were now covered with scribbles and notes about who was taking what when and how likely he was to pass a given subject.

"You've got Charms in there twice," Draco pointed out. Neville's face fell. After a morose minute he sighed, gathered the cards up, took out the extra copy of Charms, shuffled them, and began spreading them out again.

"Well, I'm taking Ancient Runes, Divination, and Care of Magical Creatures," Harry said, "and I don't care sod-all who's taking them with me."

"Didn't Remus want you to take Arithmancy?" Neville asked.

"Yeah, but I'm pants at numbers, and besides, I want to take Care of Magical Creatures instead. I'm taking Runes cos he wants me to, even if he won't say it," Harry said. "And I'm taking Divination because Sirius thinks it'll be fun, and I'm taking Magical Creatures for me."

"Are you sure you're going to do all right with three new classes?"

"Sure, and if I don't, I'll drop Divination. Padma, aren't you taking three?"

Padma, who was writing in a notebook in front of her, looked up wearily. "What?"

"Three new classes. Aren't you? I want to be able to crib your Runes homework," Harry said.

"I don't know," Padma answered. If she had looked tired before, she looked absolutely exhausted now. Harry wanted to chalk it up to nerves -- exams were coming soon -- but he wondered if she wasn't sick. Neville had spoken with Parvati about it, but Parvati didn't know and, what was more, didn't seem to care. She'd declared that all Ravenclaws were moody drama queens and that if Neville fancied tangling with Padma right now, he could do it himself.

"Come on, Padma, tell us what you're taking," Draco begged. "I still can't get mine sorted and Dobby's decorated my trunk with all the new gold stars I bought. Help me decide how big a row to have with mum."

"Oh, your mum," Padma said angrily. "Grow up, Draco, for Merlin's sake. I don't know what I'm taking and I don't care. Maybe I won't even come back to Hogwarts!"

They stared at her, astounded, even as Madam Pince began to glide towards their table to hush the near-hysterical Padma. Before the librarian could reach them, Padma had gathered up her books, thrown them angrily into her bag, knocked over her chair, and stomped off. The three boys exchanged wary looks.

"Should we go follow her?" Neville asked hesitantly.

"I am grown up!" Draco said to no one in particular. "I just don't like being shouted at. There's no reason she oughtn't to help me."

"I think we'd better leave her alone," Harry said.

"She's left her notebook behind," Neville said, picking up a cheap, rather battered book that had fallen out of her bag.

"Oh -- that's not her notebook," Draco replied. "That's her diary."

The other two looked at him.

"Padma keeps a diary?" Harry asked, taking the notebook from Neville.

"Well, I assume that's what she uses it for. I didn't ask," Draco said. "I gave it to her before school started. She writes in it all the time."

"Can't be the one you're thinking of," Harry said. He had opened it without a second thought, but every page was blank. "There's no writing in it."

"I'm sure that's it," Draco insisted. "Mum's friend Mr. Macnair gave it to me ages ago when we were in Mardjinn Alley. He said something about needing all the proper supplies at school. I told him I had tons of parchment but he gave me that old thing anyway. Remember, because that was right before he tried to punch Remus and Remus beat him up."

"We didn't get to see it," Harry said, still slightly aggrieved over this even after several months.

"Right, well, I said I didn't want it so Padma took it. Maybe it was charmed, I don't know," Draco shrugged.

"Well, we can shove it back in her bag at dinner," Harry said. "Here, pass me your quill."

Neville obediently surrendered his quill, and Harry dipped it in the inkpot.

Padma, stop writing in invisible ink -- show us your secrets! he wrote.

To his surprise, the ink faded into the diary, disappearing as if it had melted through the page. He flipped the page over -- nothing.

"Harry!" Draco said urgently. Harry turned back just in time to see the words appearing:

I'm not Padma.

Before he could fathom it, the book had been snatched from his hands and there was a sharp pain in the back of his head. He turned, rubbing it, to see Padma behind him, clutching the book to her chest.

"You hit me!" Harry said, stunned.

"You read my journal," Padma hissed. "How dare you!"

"There wasn't anything -- "

"I hate you!"

Harry blinked. Padma burst into tears and fled.

"We should definitely follow her this time," Neville said apprehensively.

"No," Draco answered. "You stay here, I'll go. Harry would only make her angry. I'm used to it -- mum, you know. I'll calm her down. She doesn't mean it, Harry, people never do."

Draco left his bag and books behind, running in the direction Padma had gone, ignoring Madam Pince's impotent cry not to run in the library.

***

Summer was coming fast, now, and the swim from the edge of the lake to the hot-springs was becoming more pleasant by the day. The giant squid often frolicked at the south shore, making waves that rippled across the water. The waves, combined with an occasional tentacle to dodge, made for refreshing, challenging swimming.

It helped to clear the head, as well; there were far too many worrisome goings-on in the castle these days. Albus had confided to him and to Tonks, as well as the Deputy Headmistress, that the danger was real and pressing -- a basilisk of all fool things. How he felt he could in all conscience keep things quiet Severus was not certain, but he was not going to turn round and tattle to the Ministry or the Board of Governors on the one man who had trusted him for the past twelve years over something quite so stupid as a basilisk. If Dumbledore felt that the rest of the students were safe, then they were safe.

What Dumbledore intended to do about a giant murderous-eyed snake running around the school unchecked, Severus wasn't positive, but the Headmaster had presumably dealt with stranger things in his time.

In addition to which, all this talk of Heirs and Basilisks made the students uneasy. Cricket -- Colin Creevey was making a pain of himself, Harry always looked tired and his marks were slipping, and the seventh years were stroppier than could be believed. Draco Malfoy hovered around that Patil girl like a hen with one chick, and Patil herself, his best student in the year -- not that he'd admit it to her or anyone else -- had actually fallen asleep in his class yesterday.

It was a relief to have only the water and the waves to deal with; those could be overcome by sheer brute force and didn't require careful handling or thought. Madam Pomfrey continued to tut over his exercise in the water and the state of his heart, but if he hadn't killed himself by now he wasn't likely to in the future.

Dora -- Professor Tonks -- had been at the hot springs a few times since their first surprise encounter, but he'd never seen her arrive; he wasn't sure if she swam and then chanced returning through the forest, or had found a safe-passage path from the grounds through the forest to the springs. There were such paths, he knew, lined with iron-ore rocks anchoring charms against wild beasts and...other threats. At any rate, she always wore something that she claimed was a bathing costume, although he didn't call it much more than a handkerchief. He'd told her so the first time she teased him about his prudishness; she'd have been less indecent naked, he felt, although that of course had resulted in her threatening to take off what little she'd managed to put on.

She was there now, seated in the hollow of the wide, flat rock, contemplating the sunrise.

"I'd have thought you'd have brought Bill Weasley along," he grumbled, pushing himself up on the rock and stretching out, letting the water run off him in rivulets. He folded his hands behind his head to cushion them and closed his eyes.

"If I'd known you wanted me to, I would have," she answered.

"I didn't say that."

"Besides, he's gone back to Egypt -- or he's on his way there. He left this morning."

"I'm heartbroken, to be sure," he muttered.

"You might show a little gratitude; it's due to Bill that Cricket's up and running around again."

"It's due to Mandrake that Cricket's up and running around again, and I could wish he weren't; he had nothing useful to tell us at all and he's given the most atrocious indulgence in his schoolwork."

"The boy was Petrified for weeks!"

"That's no excuse."

She splashed water up over her head, and it caught him across the face. "What would you call an excuse then?"

"Death. I give lightened courseloads for death."

"Someone's parent has to die for them to get a break?"

"No. Death of the student in question," he said, and she laughed.

"Why are you so hard on them? I know it's not for some kind of altruistic motivation."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're not stern with them so they'll try harder. That line might work with fourteen-year-olds but I don't buy it." She crawled up on the rock nearby; he could hear her move. He opened his eyes and tilted his head back slightly and she came into focus, upside-down from his point of view. "So why is it, then?" she prompted.

He closed his eyes again.

"I'm not your student anymore; you can tell me, you know." She had shifted position; when he opened his eyes again she was sitting next to him, and he tilted his head slightly to better watch her reaction.

"I am hard on them not so that they will try harder, but so that they will do as much as they can."

"What?"

"Daily we both see the height of intellect and the depth of stupidity which humanity can produce. It follows that if you are capable of one, you are capable of the other. Why should I expect any less from a fool than I expect from a genius? That way he is marked honestly, and he often surprises himself. You passed NEWTs-level Potions, did you not?"

He sat up, propping himself on his arms and waiting for her answer. She studied him over her shoulder.

"We are not simply weights and measure, you know," she said. "You can't measure each child on the same scale as another."

"Is that not what we do daily?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're not a bad teacher, but you'd never last if you had to do it for a living. You like them too much."

"Don't you like your students?"

"I love them. I'm not required to like them."

"You like Harry."

He fell silent.

"I wasn't scolding you," she said, ducking her head so that she could meet his eyes. "Everyone likes Harry."

"I suspect so," he said. "It matters very little. I've answered you, haven't I?"

She grinned. "Yes, you have. I still don't see why you don't like Bill, though; he's a nice man, and he helped out one of your students."

"I am not required to give reason for my personal dislikes so long as they do not interfere with my professional duties."

"What, is that carved on the lintel over your door?" she asked, amused.

"On my heart," he replied.

"That's a terrible thing to have carved on your heart, Severus," she said quietly.

"Well, for lack of anything better, it is all I have," he answered.

"Not Harry or Neville or my parents?" she asked. "Not me?"

"Definitely not you," he said.

And then, inexplicably, he kissed her.

As kisses went, it was a good one; he didn't have much experience, all things considered, but he knew a bad kiss from a decent one and this was definitely above-par. He knew because she was kissing him back. And because it was becoming difficult to breathe.

When he finally broke the kiss, she hardly moved; just leaned back slightly and caught the inside of her lip with her teeth, worrying it.

"Oh," she said.

"What?" he asked.

"I see now -- you were jealous of Bill."

"I never was."

She grinned and put a hand on his chest and kissed him again, pushing him back for better leverage, and it seemed natural to raise his left hand and rest it on the warm, bare skin in the small of her back. He knew he must actually have lost what little mind he'd had a firm grip on in the first place, because he was kissing a fellow professor, a former student, and the daughter of two of his only friends in the world.

"Good, because you certainly needn't have been," she said against his mouth.

"So noted," he replied. "Dora -- Nymphadora -- Professor Tonks, stop."

"What? Why?" she asked, leaning back.

"Because we're necking atop a rock in the middle of the lake wearing very nearly nothing -- "

"Not true, you're dressed from knee to chin," she replied.

"Yes, well, you're wearing nothing-enough for the both of us," he answered dourly.

"And did you really just call what we're doing necking?" she asked.

"What would you call it?"

"Well, I certainly wouldn't say stop," she said. "Although..." She glanced up at the school, where smoke was just beginning to rise from Hagrid's cookfire. It was as reliable as clockwork; he lit it every day around the time breakfast was starting in the Great Hall. "You're right, we'll be late for class."

She leaned in and kissed him, then scrambled away off the rock and into the water, swimming for shore.

"I'll see you at breakfast!" she called.

"What, is that all?" he called back.

"You'll be later than I will!" she shouted. Realising she was right, he ran to the other end of the rock and leapt into the water, making for the shore even as she was running through the forest. He rather thought he broke his best time; he felt exhilarated, energetic, and quite desperate for the shore, his clothes, and the comfort of his teaching robes.