Lycan-therapy

Chapter 3

One week later sees Lupin and I seated as usual in Van Dalek's bomb site of an office while the man himself fixes us with a complacent smile. For the last five minutes he has been encouraging me to "share my thoughts" on what happened during the last session, and realising he is fighting a losing battle, turns his attention to Lupin.

"Remus, how did it make you feel to watch Severus' reaction to de Boggart last week?"

The werewolf has been acting unusually cautious around me ever since, avoiding me more than usual which I won't pretend isn't a welcome relief. I watch him fold his arms across his chest in a defensive manner before answering softly, "Like a monster."

Van Dalek shoots me a warning glance and I bite back the cutting comment I am about to make- not out of any regard for Lupin's feelings it must be understood, but because I do not wish to be on the receiving end of another Tickling Charm. Rearranging his face to look sympathetic, Van Dalek continues to speak to Lupin as though the werewolf were on his death bed- why, I can't fathom. He wasn't the one facing the beast and yet from the woebegone way he is acting he seems genuinely disturbed. He's too bloody sensitive, I can safely say I was not in the slightest bit hurt upon discovering that Longbottom's Boggart took the form of myself. In fact, I would have found the whole idea quite amusing were it not for his method of banishment.

"You must not believe dat, Remus," Van Dalek chides, "You think like dis and your self esteem will plummet lower and lower, yah? You are not a monster; you have a medical condition that upsets and frightens some people." Lupin continues to look downcast. "Tell Severus how seeing him face de Boggart affected you."

What makes the presumptuous old fool think I want to hear Lupin's pathetic whining? Enjoying other peoples' misery is like enjoying a fine wine- it quickly loses its merit when thrown in one's face.

Lupin eyes me warily, presumably debating my adeptness as an understanding listener. "Well," he mumbles, distractedly running a hand through his grey shot hair, "Severus, it... ah... It actually rather shocked me. Not so much seeing myself in wolf form, I mean to say, I assume it was myself-"

I interrupt his stammering, "I have since tended to avoid midnight meetings with any others of your kind, Lupin".

"Yes, I'm sure you have..." He babbles vaguely before continuing, "It had never occurred to me that it all- the incident, affected you to such an extent. I honestly had no idea." Lupin almost looks confused enough to be believed; to think I ever credited the man with having some grain of intelligence. "To be fair, Severus, you are rather good at keeping people at arm's length. I was always so quick to excuse what Sirius did and I'm sorry." Now he's sorry? Oh, well in that case, let us forgive and forget. I hereby cast away all previous grudges and embrace the werewolf like the brother I never had.

Lupin continues his maudlin confession: "To tell the truth, I found it a little unsettling to see you so shaken when you always seem to be such a strong person."

I sit cringing while Van Dalek nods his bald little head until it looks about to sever contact with his shoulders, "Very good Remus, very honest." Don't encourage him, Doctor. "So, you were shocked, yah? What else?"

Lupin folds his arms tighter, eyes wide like a trapped Mooncalf. On second thoughts, I regret that we don't spend more time examining his emotional conflicts- it makes for good entertainment, watching him squirm.

"I've been feeling quite upset- I suppose because I don't like the idea of someone suffering because of me." He pinches the bridge of his nose, "I don't like the idea of someone being frightened of me. I could cope with hatred or anger but fearing me... It's my fault he's - you've," he amends, "had to live with this. I wish I knew how to make it right but-"

I find I must cut in, "Lupin, cease this pitiful, self righteous drivel this instant before I am reduced to tears. I don't wish to hear anymore of your pathetic whimpering especially if it is helping to clear your conscience," I snarl, watching Lupin lower his eyes, wounded.

Van Dalek is frowning at me, clearly displeased, "What I find most interesting, Severus, is dat while you refuse to speak about your own feelings you ridicule Remus for being strong enough to do so.

"Now, I am well aware dat you are finding it difficult to put dis trauma behind you, and dat is why I am here to help, yah? I think I was perhaps a little rash in asking you to face a Boggart so soon in de treatment, Severus. However, I believe it would be beneficial if I booked you in for a course of Boggart Confrontation sessions with me. We would start with much smaller creatures and progress up to full size Boggarts as you grow in confidence, yah?

"But in de meantime, I think dat we might try some alternative techniques that I have found to be successful with some of my past clients: art therapy, for instance."

I stare blankly at the table before me, scattered with an array of garish Come-Alive Crayons, tubes of Putridescent Paints, Porlock-hair paintbrushes, quills, ink, and canvas and parchment in a range of shapes and sizes. Lupin, after initially looking reassuringly sceptical, appears to be considering what he is about to draw before setting about the task in hand. Van Dalek is seated in his usual overstuffed armchair studying his notes on us and I watch him for awhile, occasionally making futile attempts to lean casually forward and read his professional opinion on my mental state.

"Problem, Zeverus?"

Caught in the act, I shake my head rather too quickly. "Thinking," I say by way of explanation for my hesitation, confident that my refusal to participate will only end in giggling fits on the floor.

An artistic representation of my fear. Lupin has the same task. I try to sneak a glance at his response but he has deliberately twisted in his seat to obstruct my view. Looking to the walls for inspiration, various Kneazles grin out of their frames at me- I scowl, and sighing, put quill to parchment.

An hour later, Van Dalek stands and walks over to evaluate our progress. Upon seeing Lupin's picture he positively squeals with delight: "Oh, Mister Lupin; dis is exquisite! Magnificent! De brushstrokes here and- oh! Such delicate use of aquarelle... I did not know you were an artist, Remus!"

The werewolf waves it off, "Just a hobby," he says.

My curiosity gets the better of me and I sneak a sideways glance at Lupin's 'masterpiece'. He has produced a painting of a perfectly tame-looking wolf baying from a cliff top at the full moon. So unoriginal.

"You know, Remus," Van Dalek is fawning, "Dis is very promising- it shows you are able to find beauty in your fear and accept it with courage and understanding."

Yes, well he should have marks deducted for technical inaccuracy- since when did werewolves look adorable and fluffy?

"...So subtle, de way de moonlight catches de pellet... And de shading here- oh!" The wolf- charmed to howl at its own leisure- does so now and has Van Dalek chuckling as though he had never before seen a bewitched painting.

With a pat of encouragement on the shoulder, Van Dalek moves away form Lupin to stand beside me. "Well Severus, what have we here?" Reaching for my haphazardly stacked pile of artwork, he squints at the top sheet and hesitates before enquiring, "Perhaps you would like to talk me through dem?"

"It's a werewolf," I say without inflection.

"OK, and dat der is blood, yah?"

I nod, bored.

"I see, and dis?

"Another werewolf."

"And what is dat sticking out of its mouth?"

"Legs."

Van Dalek nods slowly, "And dis one."

"Werewolf."

"And what is it eating dis time, Zeverus?"

Why do I feel as though I am being patronised? "Human entrails," I sigh impatiently.

"Ah, yes, I see from de pink-red squiggles there, yah..." Van Dalek continues to flip through the wad of parchment, nodding and humming occasionally. "Well done, Severus," he concludes finally. "Very... graphic. Very direct."

I smirk to myself. Lupin looks concerned.

"Next I would like you each to create a picture dat represents the way in which you might overcome your fears."

This is comparatively easier... In ten minutes I have executed a detailed sketch of R J Lupin's gravestone. Lupin sees it, glowers, and abandoning his monochrome depiction of a steaming goblet of Wolfsbane, takes up another sheet of parchment. He draws and labels a deeply flawed caricature of yours truly, including arrows that read 'perpetual scowl', 'mourning robes' and 'beak' (crossed out) 'nose'.

Bastard. Two can play at this game. I seize a new quill and begin drawing "Lupin's Summer Home": a miniature Lupin sprawled by a cardboard box labelled as the exterior view, the larder (a nearby dustbin), the bathroom (nearby puddle) and the flourishing garden (nearby dandelion).

Lupin counters with a crude drawing entitled 'Moldymort's Tattoo Parlour's No. 1 Customer' and is just adding the finishing touches when Van Dalek realises what we have been so engrossed in- he is not amused: "I am disappointed!" He actually shouts, making us start, and snatches the cartoons away to thrust in our file. "Especially with you, Mister Lupin." Lupin averts his eyes guiltily. "Dis is de sort of behaviour I have learnt to expect from Severus, but not from you!"

I open my mouth in indignation but am silenced with a charm and so fall to soundlessly muttering obscenities. "I apologise, Doctor," Lupin says quietly. Van Dalek ignores him, and checking his pocket watch he concludes it is time to end the session.

"I think the next time we will try a slightly different area of de arts. For de next session, I want you both to have written a piece of poetry dat examines your fear from a different angle, OK? Severus, I want you to write about how Remus' lycanthropy really makes you feel, yah? And Remus, I want you to do de same- how does your lycanthropy affect you emotionally?"

Our next session commences, as one might expect, with a poetry reading. I have since returned to the old crackpot every Wednesday and Friday evening for play-dates with his Boggarts- an experience I do not wish to recount. Suffice it to say little improvement was made and having to spend time with Van Dalek alone caused me to yearn inexplicably (and much to my self disgust) for Lupin's presence.

"Zeverus, I think we will hear yours first. You have prepared a poem, I presume?" Van Dalek asks, fingering his wand; a casual threat. I produce a piece of parchment from the pocket of my robes with a flourish for his benefit and commence reading:

"Lupin, oh Lupin, I hate you, you beast.

I long for the day they announce you deceased.

For the hideous monster you become at full moon

Avada Kedavra could not come too soon.

-x-

Oh, where to begin my long list of complaints?

Wizards like you should be put in restraints.

By comparison, Death Eaters are much less scary

Than savage wolf men, insane and hairy.

-x-

Words cannot express the anger I feel

At almost being served for your evening meal.

My loathing grows deeper every day that goes by,

You almost killed me, now I want you to die.

-x-

As bloodthirsty beasts go, you're top of my list

Of those I would destroy until none exist.

Forget manticores, chimaeras, nundos and dragons,

I'd rather watch werewolves be beaten or bludgeoned.

-x-

But which method of execution to choose?

A swarm of Dementors is sure to amuse.

Or possibly death by an angry lynch mob-

Magical or Muggle, they'd each do their job.

-x-

By weapon, by poison, by fire or by water,

Slow and painful is best, insufferable torture.

Lupin, oh Lupin, I hate you, you beast.

I long for the day they announce you deceased."

I wait for approval. Van Dalek takes a long deep breath before asking, "Was dis helpful to you in releasing your pent up aggression towards Remus, Severus?"

I consider this, watching the werewolf out of the corner of my eye- he is glaring at the carpet, jaw clenched tight. "Marginally."

Van Dalek notes this down, "Still, your fixation on killing Mister Lupin worries me."

I roll my eyes dramatically, "It's metaphorical," I try to explain, "My desire to kill Lupin is actually the manifestation of my subconscious desire to rid myself of my phobia. My use of Lupin's name is symbolic."

Van Dalek looks unconvinced. Lupin looks despairing.

The werewolf is requested, with a sympathetic smile from Van Dalek to read his poem entitled "Moonlit Musings"; a disastrous string of anguished verbosity making dire attempts to be artistically tragic. Van Dalek looks about to wipe a tear away. He chokes, "Dis is beautiful, Remus. You must continue with your writing, yah? I think you have a real talent for it- no, I do!" He reassures, more directed at Lupin's dubious expression than my own. "I believe dat it is through de arts dat you might learn to cope with your fears.

"But Severus, I think dat your evident penchant for de dramatic might be channelled more effectively into, say, role-playing."

I take it all back- everything I ever said about hating any one of the Potters, Sirius Black, the Dark Lord and most especially Remus Lupin. Until today, I thought I had known what it is to loath and felt it for afore mentioned individuals. I now know the word to have an altogether more potent meaning. Doctor Aesclapius Van Dalek has crossed the line.

Clearing the room to leave a large space in the centre, Van Dalek arranged an eerie midnight setting: full moon, wizened trees and hooting owls; while I admit the man's transfiguration skills by far exceed his abilities as a psychotherapist they lack accuracy. When I point out that the actual attack happened in an underground tunnel, Van Dalek snaps impatiently, "Tcha! Not important."

Conjuring a realistic winter night sky, he continues babbling an explanation for the torture with which we are about to be inflicted: "By reversing roles and re-enacting de incident, it may help you to better understand the other's part in the attack which neither of you seem to be able to put behind you." Then, without consultation, the imbecile decides to introduce costuming.

I am wearing a fuzzy grey-brown werewolf body suit.

I have pointed werewolf ears and a tufted werewolf tail.

I am not amused.

Hearing Lupin snigger, I turn to confront him. He is dressed in capacious black robes and cape, his hair is now longer and black. And his nose is... Lupin giggles, touches his nose, giggles again. On catching sight of me he collapses into hysterics.

"Oh... Oh, Severus," he gasps between fits of laughter, "We need a photograph taking!"

"Absolutely not!" If the students ever found out about this... The Longbottom saga as bad enough, but this is sinking to a new level.

Van Dalek, who is wheezing in the corner casts an 'Expelliarmus' before I can spell any changes to my outfit. Defenceless, I dare not protest when he directs us into starting positions, me behind an oak tree, Lupin in the far corner by the door. From there, he tells us, we must improvise, while he settles into his armchair to watch.

Still grinning stupidly, Lupin strides across the room, deliberately slowing his pace as he passes my tree. Without ceremony, I stroll around the trunk and, seizing the idiot by his robes, throw him to the floor- hard.

Lupin squeaks in surprise from where he is lying prone on the carpet, "Ouch!"

"Ouch?"

"That hurt," he mutters, sitting up and grimacing at a pain in his arm.

"You don't say 'ouch'! I'm a savage, rabid werewolf," I wave my paws for emphasis, "I'm about to bite you!"

"Please don't," he whines anxiously. Are those vampire rumours still doing the rounds?

I sigh dramatically, "Not literally, you retarded Flobberworm." I sneer at the thought- Lupin looks relieved.

"But if I was you wouldn't be sat there rubbing your shoulder saying 'ouch'!"

Van Dalek interrupts, "Can we get back on track, yah?"

We wait, seconds stretching to minutes for the other to make a move or say something. Lupin, to break the silence looks pleadingly in Van Dalek's direction and murmurs, "I'm really not very good at this."

"What do you think, or what can you remember Severus doing at dis point?" Van Dalek prompts.

I watch as Lupin decides to try to scramble away on his hands and knees, and place my foot over the edge of his cape; stumbling and falling flat on his face, Lupin continues attempting to pull himself free but eventually gives in and lies there.

"Severus? Do you not think dat de werewolf should be a little more physical in his methods of restraint?"

I should have known the pillock wouldn't be able to resist criticising.

"Doctor, no amount of galleons could persuade me to roll around on the floor with Lupin," I reply with a sneer.

The dear Doctor, in turn, sighs impatiently, "You must at least act remotely like a werewolf!"

"Rah," I growl with minimal enthusiasm.

Lupin snorts but quails under Van Dalek's disapproving glare.

"I want some emotion, yah! Where is de terror? De unbridled trepidation?"

"My costume is chaffing," I complain, vainly attempting to reposition my tail inconspicuously. This sets Lupin off on another round of giggles.

Annoyed, and jealous of his more voluminous attire, I kick him. The outrage from both Lupin and Van Dalek is uncalled for.

"Zeverus, dat was unnecessary!"

"You said be more physical!"

"I was not condoning violence!"

Lupin, who is still in possession of his wand retaliates by summoning a tree branch and directing it to strike me repeatedly over the head. Yelping in a most undignified manner, I abandon all proper decorum and fall to brawling on the floor with the werewolf, despite all previous reservations.

"Enough!" Van Dalek snaps and with a sweep of his wand we are caught by an 'Immobulus' in a most embarrassingly compromising position. "Dis is getting us nowhere!"

It took the idiot this long to realise these sessions are a pointless waste of time? Van Dalek levitates us apart muttering about "never having seen grown adults act in such a way" and "Hogwarts Professors are meant to be role models for the next generation". Reversing the transfiguration of the room, followed by our robes, Van Dalek shows some mercy in relieving me of my furry apparel and releasing us from the Freezing Charm.

"I think perhaps, we should stick to de more conventional methods," he mutters, and waddles over to his desk to rummage through its contents. While we wait, I glare darkly at Lupin who pointedly ignores me. "I presume you have both used a pensieve before?" That said, Van Dalek produces a familiar bowl shaped object from the depths of a compartment I had not noticed before. The pensieve he places on the table before us is less ornate than Dumbledore's but functional nonetheless.

Momentarily puzzled by our lack of vocal response, Van Dalek releases us from our magic-induced state of muteness and returns my wand.

"I would like to revisit de attack directly through your memory, Severus," he announces, eyeing me critically. "It is my belief dat if you can come to terms with de incident, really overcome de trauma of de event, you may be able to not only forgive Remus, but also yourself."

Sweet Merlin, give me strength. "Forgive myself? What could there possibly be to forgive? I was the victim! None of this was my fault!"

Van Dalek shushes me and continues, "You are unable to forgive yourself your own weakness, Severus. Your pride is damaged by de knowledge dat you are a slave to your own fear and it is dis anger towards yourself dat you project onto Mister Lupin."

The man's twisted logic is infuriating.

"You will volunteer your memory, Severus?"

Reluctantly, I take my wand and focus on my recollections of the attempt on my sixteen year old life. The sensation of the memory being wrenched from my mind and forming as a strand of elastic silver smoke is unpleasant as ever, like the slow extraction of a hair from the scalp with an unmistakable pop as it is breaks away from the mind, leaving a vague emptiness and the certainty that something is missing. Wizarding psychiatrists in the 1950s had believed that by extracting painful memories from the mind of troubled patients and placing these memories in secured pensieves they could remove with the memory all the negative emotions that had stemmed from it, and with them, the unfortunate wizard or witch's psychosis. However, this technique proved ineffective and many of those it was performed on ended up in St Mungo's, their brains addled beyond repair.

I place the strand in the stone basin and watch it swirl then settle, pale and ethereal like liquid moonlight; how very appropriate. The surface ripples occasionally as though moved by some invisible wind, then begins to pulsate, then stills. I shake myself from the trance I have fallen into and raise my eyes to meet Van Dalek's.

"After you," he gestures.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Lupin and Snape, closely followed by Van Dalek, find themselves transported to the mouth of a tunnel. The full moon shining through the entrance three feet above them causes the night time frost to glitter coldly like splinters of glass on the dry dirt floor. The frost stops where the shadows begin. The dry scent of old earth hangs heavy in the air and tangles with something distinctly animal- wet fur, faeces, the sour tang of blood.

A dark, thin figure, clutching its robes about him walks soundlessly some way ahead, barely visible in the darkness. The three visitors wander slowly towards him but he does not see them. The younger Snape is searching the walls and the shallow ceiling for some trapdoor or passageway to poke his unusually large nose in. The darkness seems to press in closer with every second and the young wizard casts a 'lumos' to light the way, his words vaporising on the chill air.

The tunnel stretches out for minutes, the only alteration to its unchanging interior being the height of the ceiling. Lupin, Older Snape and Van Dalek walk on in silence, Van Dalek occasionally throwing such questions at them as: "How do you think you will react, upon seeing yourself in wolf form, Remus?" and "Do you think it would be beneficial if we were to spend one session revisiting the Whomping Willow, Severus?" Their respective answers being "I don't know" and "no".

The downward incline of the tunnel changes abruptly to a steep upward slope and in seconds the door to the Shrieking Shack is looming ahead. Snape the younger walks more purposefully and pauses to listen for some telltale noise that might give him a clue as to what illegal secret might lie ahead. Only silence replies. The older Snape and Lupin both inhale and unconsciously hold their breath as the naive boy before them pushes against the door which lets out a juddering creak as it swings wide open. Then silence blares obscenely once more in the ears of the observers who wait for something to happen. The young Snape frowns, peering into the dilapidated old cottage which has been ravaged by decay and something with worryingly large claws.

The younger Snape feels compelled to call out "Black? Lupin? I know you're there..." Silence. "What is this? Your cosy little love nest?" No response. Then from far away comes the low rumble of an animal's growl. The ignorant young Slytherin steps beyond the threshold and into the jaws of what could have been certain death. The growl becomes less distant and is accompanied by snuffling, scraping, the rasping of nails against wood. The grunts grow louder, the creature is moving closer, and Snape continues to move forward into the Shack, transfixed by the strange noises emanating from the room on his left, the door to which is collapsed on the floor. As he does so, the visitors hear the echo of footsteps pounding up the tunnel, but the boy does not; he is moving closer to the doorway.

The boy stops, stands petrified, staring into the room. The visitors watch his face flood with utter fright. Without warning he is knocked to the floor as a great hulking mound of grey fur and powerful muscle pounce, its claws effortlessly shredding robes to ribbons. The footsteps are close now. The werewolf's snout is inches above Snape's face and he is trying to look away, sobbing desperately.

"Mooney!" The voice of James Potter calls out from the doorway and the werewolf raises its head, distracted. Apparently deciding to injure its prey so as to lessen its chances of escape, the werewolf swipes a mighty claw across its victim's head, spattering droplets of red on the floorboards then bounds away towards the new arrival.

But before the visitors have a chance to witness anymore, the younger Snape whose memory they are intruding on blacks out and the walls of the tunnel and of the shack blur and implode on themselves. Colours, sounds, smells morph and twist and reshape themselves into Hogwarts' lawns, the castle and forest in the distance, the ghostly lit sky above, and the sight of Snape being none too gently shaken awake by James Potter. In the blur of events that had passed in the Shrieking Shack, neither the older Lupin nor Snape had been allowed time to react to the other boy's presence. Now though, Snape visibly recoils at the sight of his former enemy in the flesh, and Lupin steps forward, inexplicably drawn to the memory of his dead friend who is pulling young Snape to his feet.

"What the hell were you playing at?" Potter yells, causing the other boy wince. He is groggy and still swaying slightly from the blow to his head. Snape's robes are torn and his arms and chest are scored with claw marks, blood is trickling through his lank hair and dripping down his neck- he looks a sorry sight.

"Lupin's a werewolf?" Snape blurts out, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disgust.

James Potter's elfin features contort with rage, "Stupid nosey fucker," he spits and punches Snape. A painful crunch sounds and the Slytherin keels over, clutching his nose while blood and spittle dribble from his mouth. "You say one word," he kicks the boy in the stomach for emphasis, "of this to anyone and I'll kill you myself, got that?"

Snape remembers thinking 'but when I tell the Headmaster, I won't have to worry about death threats from James Potter. When the Headmaster finds out about this, Potter and Black and Pettigrew will be expelled from Hogwarts for good. And that monster will be disposed of.'

But that wasn't what happened at all, because Dumbledore had masterminded the whole sordid conspiracy.

And so was marked the first of Severus Snape's steps away from all that is 'light and honourable and good', towards the darkness and the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord.

-x-x-x-x-x-

On returning to Van Dalek's office I sink somewhat shakily onto the threadbare sofa and concentrate on consciously striving to steady my heart rate. Lupin's eyes dart to my face and away again repeatedly until I want to gouge them from their sockets.

"Zeverus, you look pale," Van Dalek states bluntly.

"I live in a dungeon," I bark testily, "Such circumstances tend to leave one without much colour."

Van Dalek frowns, "How are you feeling?"

"Why must you always ask us how we feel?" I snarl at his infernal concerned expression. "Perhaps I don't feel anything." It is certainly a popular opinion throughout Hogwarts.

"Well, you obviously feel something or de memory would not still affect you so."

"Fine; anger, bitterness, loathing, detestation, abhorrence, resentment-"

"Towards Remus?"

"Towards the whole group of them."

"The other, er, Mischief Makers?"

"Marauders," Lupin and I correct simultaneously.

"Yah."

"Yah," I repeat, though he ignores my mocking.

"They were de one's who lured you to Remus?"

"It was their idea of a practical joke," I say, shooting a venomous glare in Lupin's direction.

"I had nothing to do with it, as I have repeatedly told you before, Severus." My incredulous look only fuels his determination to explain, "Do you honestly still believe, after attending these sessions that I would have wanted to harm you when it is my greatest fear? Be rational!"

"Black and Potter planned it, then," I concede.

Lupin shakes his head wearily, "James didn't know what Sirius had done until he bragged about it later."

"And decided to take it upon himself to play hero, how selfless, how benevolent."

Van Dalek is scribbling something down, looking perfectly smug. "Displacement," he exclaims suddenly. "Severus, you are projecting all of your old hatred onto Remus, the only remaining Marauder and dis is why de two of you are unable to get along!" He considers this for a moment then adds, "As well as your lycanthrophobia, deep-rooted jealousy and lingering childhood rivalry." Van Dalek snaps shut our file and smiles broadly at us, "I think we shall conclude here for today."

Praise Agrippa, Merlin and Circe, Paracelsus, Ptolemy, Morgana-

"Severus?" I stop walking and turn slowly, already part way towards the door. "I would like you to read dis before de next session, yah?"

Van Dalek takes up a rather battered copy of "Hairy Snout, Human Heart" from his desk and pushes it into my hands. I splutter in objection, "Doctor, I hardly think with my busy schedule-"

"And Remus, you will continue with your poetry yah?" The werewolf nods and smiles politely. "I will, of course, be reporting back to Albus Dumbledore on de progress you are making," he continues, his words laden with implication. I clench my teeth and walk away. "I will see you on Wednesday, Sever-"

I slam the door with a burst of wandless magic.

To Be Continued