FIC: Aftermaths, Part 60

[geri_chan]

Title: Aftermaths, Part 60
Rating: NC-17 overall, but most chapters are closer to PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Lupin, Theodore/Blaise, and a few other minor pairings
Word count: ~10,350
Warning: AU; written pre-HBP
Author's notes: {} Indicates character's unspoken thoughts
Disclaimer: No money is being made off this story; consider it a little wish fulfillment on my part.
Sequel to: Always, Summer Vacation, For Old Time's Sake, Three's a Crowd, Return of the Raven, Phoenix Reborn, Phoenix Rising
Summary: Lukas's trial continues, with Harry being put on the stand, and Lupin tries to comfort and distract a worried Snape.

Part 59 (Previous chapters can be found under the aftermaths tag.)

***

Meanwhile, in the Hufflepuff dorm, Tristan frowned as he watched Isabelle and several other girls talk about what had happened at the match. "It's so scary," Hannah Abbott said. "Like back in second year, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened, or in third year, when Sirius Black snuck into the castle. Of course, you weren't here back then, Isabelle..."

"No, but my mother told me how it was back in the old days, during the first war," Isabelle said solemnly. "She said that no one felt safe, and you didn't know which of your neighbors or coworkers might secretly be Death Eaters. They wiped out entire families--not just their enemies, but anyone related to them, even women and children."

"No wonder your mum fled the country," Hannah said.

Isabelle nodded. "Yes, she'll be worried when she hears about what happened. I should go write to her and let her know I'm all right."

Tristan quietly got up and went after Isabelle as she left the common room. "Isabelle!" he hissed. "I want to talk to you!"

She turned and smiled at him. "You know you're not allowed in the girls' dorm, Tristan."

"You and Stewart were behind that Dark Mark at the match, weren't you?" Tristan demanded in a hushed voice. "And those threats against Potter, too?"

"Shh!" Isabelle hissed, looking around nervously to see if anyone was within earshot. "You know better than to talk about things like that here!"

"Sending sugar skulls or threatening notes is one thing," Tristan continued, although he kept his voice down to a whisper, "but Snape's son almost got killed today!"

"What do you care what happens to him?" Isabelle retorted. "His father--both of his fathers--were Death Eaters. Don't you want revenge for your cousin's death? It didn't bother you when we hexed Dylan at the other match."

Tristan didn't really know why it bothered him, either. He had no love for Theodore Snape-formerly-Nott or either of his fathers. Maybe it had been the look of sheer terror on the faces of Theodore and the other Slytherins when they had seen the Dark Mark--not the glee and smugness, or even just confusion that he might have expected. Maybe it was simply that it was harder to see things as black and white now that Uncle Amos and Master Bleddri--no, Master Diggory, now--were feuding in court. Tristan's beloved uncle claimed that his teacher was a dangerous monster, while that teacher claimed that Uncle Amos had stolen his inheritance. Tristan's mother believed Master Diggory (it was so strange, calling him by that name!), but Tristan didn't know what to believe. All he knew was that no matter how things turned out, it seemed like his family was never going to be whole again.

But it was too hard to explain all these things to Isabelle, so all Tristan said was, "Of course I want revenge, but you should have told me what you were going to do. I thought we were all in on this together. Especially if it's something dangerous."

"It was just an illusion!" Isabelle whispered irritably. "We didn't plan for anyone to get hurt. Besides, we didn't want to bother you when you were so preoccupied with your uncle's trial..."

***

Susan had been distracted all day. She had been frightened by the Dark Mark, the same as everyone else, but something more than that was bothering her. So when Isabelle left the room, Susan hesitated for a couple of minutes, then followed her, and found Isabelle and Tristan arguing in hushed voices in the corridor between the common room and the girls' dorm. She couldn't hear what they were saying, catching just a snippet of their conversation:

"...didn't want to bother you when you were so preoccupied with your uncle's trial..."

"Isabelle? Tristan? What's going on?" Susan asked.

Both of her friends glanced up, looking first startled, then guilty, almost wary. Then Isabelle smiled pleasantly and said, "Nothing, Tristan was just a little shaken about what happened at the match today."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Tristan nodded. "Yeah, it was pretty scary. Well, I'll see you guys later. I still haven't started my Potions homework, and even a Death Eater attack's not gonna be a good enough excuse to Snape for not turning it in."

He returned to the common room, and Susan said to Isabelle, "It seemed like you were arguing about something."

Isabelle leaned over and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Yes, well, I didn't want to say anything in front of Tristan, but...he's actually more upset about his uncle's trial than the Dark Mark. He's very angry and confused, and he's been a little out of sorts recently. He was just...what's the phrase? Blowing off a little steam, I think. I don't mind; I know it's not really me that he's mad at. And of course he doesn't want to hurt his family's feelings by telling them that he's angry with them for fighting with each other."

That sounded very logical and reasonable, but just a little too smoothly worded somehow. "Isabelle," Susan said hesitantly, "you don't know anything about the Dark Mark that was cast at the match today, do you?"

"Of course not!" Isabelle exclaimed, looking shocked, and then hurt. "How could I?"

"I just meant," Susan said hastily, "that I wondered if you had any idea who did it?"

"Well, the Slytherins, of course," Isabelle replied promptly. "Probably the same ones who sent that note to Harry. Isn't that what we've suspected all along?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Susan said. "But do you think they're all involved, or is it just a few of them?"

"I don't know," Isabelle said with a shrug, "but I assume that the children of the Death Eaters are probably involved." She smiled confidently. "Don't worry, Susan. Stewart said two of his father's Auror friends came to the match today, and I'm sure that they'll take this threat seriously and get to the bottom of it."

Susan nodded and Isabelle continued on her way to her room, but Susan was still troubled. {Isabelle is my friend,} she told herself firmly. {She would never lie to me.} But she couldn't help but think that it was a remarkable coincidence that a threatening note had been sent to Harry right after she had expressed doubt that the Slytherins were guilty, and had said that if the Death Eaters were really involved, they would be attacking Harry Potter and the Gryffindors, not the Slytherins. But it had to be a coincidence, right? Just how far would Isabelle go to prove that the Slytherins were Death Eaters? Surely she wouldn't fabricate evidence...would she?

***

As they had threatened, Dawlish and Williamson spoke to the school board, which caused a minor uproar. However, most of the board still had faith in Dumbledore, who was, after all, a hero of the war, and did not try to remove him from his position. The Headmaster agreed to take some precautions, such as setting a curfew and having the staff patrol the halls in the evenings, and temporarily suspending the Quidditch matches.

The Slytherins grumbled only halfheartedly about that, because they were all shaken by the sight of the Dark Mark in the sky, even if it had turned out to be a fake. The Slytherins, especially those whose parents had been Death Eaters, had a much clearer idea of the kinds of tortures the Death Eaters used to inflict on their victims than did most of the other students, and it was enough to give them restless and unpleasant dreams. One night Draco dreamed that his father was chasing him, screaming, "I'll show you how the Death Eaters punish traitors, Draco!" as a glowing green skull loomed above them in the sky. In his dream, he stumbled, and just as his father's hands closed around him, Draco woke, sitting bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath, his heart pounding at what felt like ten times its normal rate. It took a very long time for him to get back to sleep again.

He still felt fatigued and uneasy the next morning, and after classes were over for the day, he went to seek out Snape. He wasn't sure why; Snape wasn't exactly the type of person you would seek out to comfort you after a bad dream. But still, Snape had been a Death Eater, and somehow Draco felt that he would understand that sense of fear better than any of the other teachers, even Lupin. Maybe he just wanted reassurance that the Dark Mark really was a fake and that the Death Eaters hadn't returned. But when he got to the dungeon, Snape was already locking up his office and preparing to leave.

"Sir?" Draco said hesitantly. "Could I talk to you for just a minute?"

"I'm sorry, Draco," Snape said distractedly. "I was on my way to the hospital wing to visit Theodore. Can it wait till later?"

"Uh...sure," Draco said. "It wasn't really important anyway." The Potions Master nodded, and hurried on his way, and Draco slowly walked to the Slytherin dorm, feeling a little sulky and disgruntled. In the old days, everyone in Slytherin had deferred to him, and he had been Snape's favored student. Now, no one paid him much heed, and he had to play second fiddle to Dylan and Theodore. He knew that he shouldn't resent them, because Dylan and Theo had remained his friends when they could have abandoned him, but it just didn't seem fair, somehow. Draco had once been first in all things, and now he felt almost like an afterthought.

"Is something wrong, Draco?" Serafina asked later that evening, when she saw him moping in the common room.

What was he supposed to say? That he was jealous because he wasn't Snape's favorite anymore? That he wished his daddy, the big bad Death Eater, was still alive so that he could push everyone in Slytherin around like he used to?

"Nothing," Draco sighed.

"Well, you can help me entertain Bast, then," Serafina said, tossing a catnip mouse onto his lap, and the kitten immediately pounced in pursuit of her toy. So Draco laughed and the two of them played with Bast, although he still continued to brood a little. Serafina noticed, but didn't say anything. She assumed that he was upset about the Dark Mark--it had scared her as well--and he was probably too proud to admit how frightened he had been. It wasn't really in her nature to pressure him to talk about it; if and when he was ready to talk, she would listen, otherwise, she would let him be.

As for Snape, he had meant to seek out Draco later and see what he wanted. But he was distracted by his concern for Theodore, and his fear of what the mysterious prankster might do next, not to mention his changed relationship with his mother which, while welcome, was still a little awkward for both of them. And with so many things on his mind, Snape completely forgot about Draco.

Draco said nothing, but deep inside of him, a tiny seed of resentment began to fester.

***

Takeshi Kimura was working at the charity clinic one morning with Kian, a young, dark-haired werewolf who was one of Lukas's pack members. (The unemployed werewolves worked regularly at the clinic, and even the ones who had jobs often stopped by in their free time to help out.) They were both surprised when Lukas walked through the door, clad in fine velvet robes, and Kian bounded over to greet his pack leader with a puppy-like air of eagerness.

"Wow!" Kian exclaimed. "Don't you look posh--just as fine as any of those snooty purebloods!"

"That's the idea," Lukas said dryly. "Morrigan says that I have to look like one of them if I'm going to win my case."

"You ARE one of them," Takeshi pointed out with a smile, and Lukas gave him a sour look, as if the mediwizard had just insulted him. "Are you on your way to court, Lukas?"

"Yes, I just thought I'd stop by and say hello since I was in the neighborhood."

"I can't wait to see your mansion!" Kian said eagerly.

"You could be waiting a long time, cub," Lukas sighed. "The trial will likely drag out for months, and it's by no means certain that I'll win."

The young werewolf looked crestfallen, but he said loyally, "I'm sure you'll win, Lukas."

"I've been reading a lot of outrageous things in the Daily Prophet about Death Eaters attacking Hogwarts," Takeshi said anxiously. "I'm sure most of it's nonsense, but could you tell us what really happened, Lukas? The paper said that Theodore Snape was injured."

So Lukas explained about the pranks and the false Dark Mark. "Theodore's injury appears to have been an accident. Everyone was too distracted to pay attention to the Bludgers, and the Bludger was only doing what it was supposed to do--no one needed to hex it, as it's already enchanted to attack the nearest player." He shook his head. "Sometimes I think wizards are crazy; why would anyone want to play a game where the equipment is out to kill you?"

"No one's been killed during a Quidditch match in years," Kian protested.

"I think it must have been invented by a bunch of purebloods with too much time on their hands," Lukas continued, ignoring him. "Only the idle rich could have come up with such a silly game."

"Silly?" Kian cried indignantly.

"But Theodore is all right?" Takeshi asked impatiently. "And the other students?"

"Theodore was the only student who was hurt, and Madam Pomfrey says he'll be fine," Lukas replied, looking a little puzzled. "Didn't Aric write to tell you what happened?"

"Ah...well..." Takeshi temporized, a sheepish look on his face.

Lukas grinned. "Still not speaking to each other, eh? Can't say I blame you; Dietrich can be an obnoxious little git at times. Well, most times, actually."

Takeshi sighed. He had deliberately been avoiding Aric ever since their argument, which he supposed was a bit childish of him. After all, he was supposed to be the more mature one. Besides, he really shouldn't hold a grudge; Aric had only been parroting what he'd learned from his parents and his peers at Durmstrang. Takeshi had certainly heard similar or even worse things from his classmates at Hogwarts, mainly the Slytherins, but the other Houses were by no means immune to bigotry. He didn't know why Aric's offhand insult, which had not even been aimed at him, should have stung so much.

"He's just a kid," Takeshi said aloud. "He doesn't know any better. He's spent his entire life having all that pureblood prejudice drilled into him by his family. But I suppose what's frustrating is that he has the potential to be so much more than just another obnoxious little git, as you put it."

"He's a talented student," Lukas agreed. "And occasionally he shows brief flashes of humanity. But not knowing any better excuses only so much. Sure, he's heard all the typical pureblood propaganda at home and school, but sooner or later you have to learn to think for yourself and take responsibility for your actions. Snape grew up in a family as prejudiced as Aric's, if not more so, but he chose to reject their values."

"I think that's because he's in love with Remus," Takeshi said, smiling a little.

"Yes, but my point is, a proper pureblood wouldn't have fallen in love with a werewolf," Lukas said. "Or at the very least, he would have made a proper marriage and continued to see his werewolf lover on the sly. Snape chose love over propriety. The Death Eaters' children chose not to follow in their fathers' footsteps. Someday Aric will have to make a choice, too. Or he could refuse to acknowledge that he has a choice--which is a choice in itself. And he's not just a kid; he's nearly a man."

"Well, I know he's a seventh-year, but--" Takeshi started to say.

"No, I meant literally," Lukas interrupted. "He turns eighteen this Sunday, at which time he'll be legally old enough to drink, get married, own property, go to prison..."

"Oh," Takeshi said, looking startled. "I didn't realize that his birthday was coming up. How did you know?"

Lukas shrugged. "I just happened to notice it when I was reading his transcript awhile back. He challenged me on the first day of class, and after that, I thought I should learn a little more about him." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Well, I'd better get going. I'm sure it will look bad if I'm late for my own trial."

"Why don't you stop by for lunch afterwards?" Kian suggested. "Takeshi's mum promised to send some food over."

"Thanks, but I'm not sure what time court will get out," Lukas said evasively.

"We're not going anywhere," Kian said with a puzzled frown. "We'll save you some food, even if you're late."

"Er...it's just that...I sort of have an appointment," Lukas hedged.

Kian grinned widely. "Ah, with a woman? Who's the lucky lady?"

"It's not like that, you dolt!" Lukas snarled, flushing a little. "I'm just...going over some strategy with Morrigan, that's all."

"Ah, the lady lawyer," Kian said knowingly. "Well, she's very pretty."

"I said it's not like that!" Lukas growled. "It's strictly business, and besides, she's not my type!"

"Yes, it's difficult to picture you dating a pureblood," Kian agreed. "Although since she took your case, I suppose she can't be as prejudiced as most of them are."

Lukas turned and stalked out of the clinic without another word, slamming the door hard behind him. "What's eating him?" Kian asked in a hurt voice.

"I'm sure the trial is very stressful for him," Takeshi said gently. "And I don't think that he cares to discuss his personal life with us."

"Oh, I was just teasing him a little," Kian laughed, his good mood suddenly restored. "And besides, we're pack; everyone is always getting into everyone else's business! But you're right, Lukas doesn't like to talk about his lovelife. And our pack leader's a bit grumpy, in case you haven't noticed. He doesn't have much of a sense of humor."

"I've noticed," Takeshi said with a smile.

***

Lukas testified in court as to how the Diggorys and Gravenors had conspired to fake his death and hide him away on the Gravenor estate. Lamont Whitby, of course, protested that this was all hearsay and that there was no proof to support his claims.

"The fact that Master Diggory is alive should be proof enough that something is amiss," Morrigan said mildly, "since his family claimed that he was dead. But I have witnesses who will testify that Amos Diggory admitted to having a part in the scheme to cheat his nephew of his inheritance."

"Then call forth your witnesses," Madam Bones said.

"My first witness is Harry Potter," Morrigan declared dramatically, and the spectators gasped. Harry entered the room and nervously took a seat in the chain-covered chair. He had stood trial here himself once, the summer just before he'd started his fifth year at Hogwarts, and he didn't have fond memories of either the chair or the room.

"Mr. Potter," Morrigan said, "you witnessed a confrontation between Amos Diggory and Selima Snape after the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match in November, did you not?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied.

"Please tell the court what you heard, Mr. Potter."

Harry squirmed in his seat slightly, and the chains rustled, clinking in a restless manner. He cast an apologetic glance at Mr. Diggory, but Cedric's father refused to meet his gaze, staring straight ahead at the Wizengamot, looking rigid and tense, as if he were fighting to hold his anger in.

"Mr. Potter?" Morrigan said gently.

Harry took a deep breath and said, "Mr. Diggory said that it would have disgraced the Diggory name if a werewolf inherited the title. And he said that Master Bleddri's--I mean, Master Diggory's father squandered the family wealth trying to buy a cure for lycanthropy. Then Lady Selima accused him of killing Master Diggory's father."

"And what did Amos Diggory say in response, Mr. Potter?" Morrigan asked.

"He denied it," Harry replied. "He seemed very upset by that accusation, and he said, 'I loved my brother, even though I thought he was a fool! I admit that my parents and I conspired with the Gravenors to fake Cyril's death, but I did not kill Cynric!'"

"Are you absolutely sure that is what he said, Mr. Potter?" Morrigan asked.

"Yes," Harry said, nodding. "I'm positive. I remember it clearly because it was such a shock. I had no idea that Master Bleddri was related to the Diggorys."

"Harry, do you like Master Diggory?" Morrigan asked.

Harry was startled by the question. Ms. De Lacy had talked with him before the trial, explaining the kinds of questions she intended to ask him, but this had not been one of them. "Er...I guess so," he replied, not sure how he should answer. Did she want him to tell the court that Master Diggory was a good teacher? Then he belatedly realized that his response sounded rather unenthusiastic, and hastily clarified, "I mean, he's a very strict teacher, but his classes are interesting, and I've learned a lot from them."

"Not as strict as Professor Snape, I'll bet," Morrigan said with a mischievous smile, and Harry couldn't help but grin in response, and several people in the courtroom chuckled.

Madam Bones pounded her gavel on the desk, and the laughter died away. "If you could get to the point, Ms. De Lacy?" she said impatiently.

"Mr. Potter," Morrigan said, her manner brisk and professional once more, "do you like Master Diggory well enough to lie for him?"

"No!" Harry said, even more startled by this question. "Of course not! I mean, not that I don't like him, but..."

"You would not give false testimony to help him?" Morrigan asked.

Harry finally caught on to the purpose behind her questions, and answered firmly, "No, I wouldn't."

"Do you have any grudge against the Diggory family?" Morrigan persisted. "Is there any reason you might want to hurt them, by favoring your teacher's claim over that of Amos Diggory?"

"No!" Harry protested. "I...I liked Cedric. He treated me like a friend, and we worked together to win the Triwizard Tournament. I don't want to hurt his parents. I feel bad about even being here...I don't know whose side to take. I like Master Bleddri, but I don't want to do anything to hurt Cedric's dad, either."

Tears filled Harry's eyes, and Morrigan suppressed a smile of satisfaction. She felt a little bad about manipulating the boy like this, but his sincerity was making an obvious impression on the court. "You don't have to take sides, Harry," she said gently. "That's the Wizengamot's job. All you have to do is tell the truth."

"Everything I've said is true," Harry said softly.

"Then I have no more questions," Morrigan said.

She took her seat, and Lamont Whitby stepped up to question Harry. "Mr. Potter," he said with a pleasant smile that didn't reach his eyes, "is Professor Remus Lupin a friend of yours?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, eyeing the lawyer warily.

"He was your father's best friend, if I am not mistaken?" Whitby asked casually. "And your godfather's as well?"

"Yes," Harry said. "They all went to school together."

"And are you very close to Professor Lupin?" Whitby continued. "Do you regard him as, perhaps, an uncle?"

"I suppose so," Harry replied cautiously.

"Professor Lupin is a werewolf," Whitby said, still with that false smile. "As is Master Bleddri--" He paused, then continued in a voice tinged with sarcasm, "Excuse me, I mean, Master Diggory. Who is also a friend of Professor Lupin's, I believe."

"Yes, but--" Harry said, beginning to see where Whitby was going with this.

"Perhaps you would not lie to help Master Diggory," Whitby practically purred. "But might you not be tempted to stretch the truth a little in order to help your late father's dear friend?"

"How does helping Master Diggory help Professor Lupin?" Harry demanded.

"Professor Lupin has led a life of hardship and poverty because of his lycanthropy," Whitby replied. "It would be a great triumph for all werewolves if Master Diggory became the head of an old, respected, and wealthy family. And of course I'm sure that the Professor would like to see his friend win an inheritance."

"I didn't lie!" Harry said hotly.

"Not even to help a friend?" Whitby asked.

"No!" Harry insisted.

"Are you telling me that you've never lied before, Mr. Potter?" Whitby asked skeptically. "Not even, say, to avoid getting into trouble at school because of some boyish mischief or prank?" Whitby grinned in a genial manner as Harry flushed. "Nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Potter; all boys get up to a little harmless mischief."

"I wouldn't lie about something this important!" Harry said.

"You wouldn't lie about something important?" Whitby asked, his face serious now. "Not even to save someone's life or correct an injustice? You didn't lie to help your godfather escape capture when he was a fugitive? Or lie to Headmistress Umbridge about participating in an illegal secret society?"

"Sirius was innocent!" Harry protested. "And in the D.A., we were just learning spells to protect ourselves--"

"Oh, I'm sure you had good reasons," Whitby said soothingly. "Perhaps you thought you had good reason for helping Master Diggory--"

"I'm not lying!" Harry shouted.

"I must object," Morrigan said, rising to her feet. "Is Mr. Whitby calling Mr. Potter's integrity into question? May I remind the court that Mr. Potter defeated Lord Voldemort at great risk to his own life?"

"No one is questioning Mr. Potter's bravery or heroism," Whitby said. "I'm only saying that a young boy might be a little misguided, with the best of intentions..."

"Mr. Potter," Madam Bones said, "are you absolutely certain that your testimony is accurate?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said firmly.

"You did not, as Mr. Whitby phrased it, stretch the truth a little, either of your own will or at someone else's urging?"

"No, ma'am!" Harry said emphatically. "I felt bad about testifying against Mr. Diggory, but Professor Lupin, Ms. De Lacy, my godfather, and my..." He faltered a little, as he sought the right word to describe Professor Blackmore. "...my stepmother all told me to tell the truth. No one asked me to lie."

"Very well, then," Bones said. "You have Mr. Potter's statement, Mr. Whitby. I suggest you move on to a different line of questioning."

"No further questions," Whitby said sullenly.

"I have one more question for Mr. Potter," Morrigan said. "Why wouldn't you lie to help Master Diggory, if it would help all werewolves and make Professor Lupin happy?"

Harry stared at her in confusion. "Because...it wouldn't make him happy, ma'am. I mean, I'm sure he'd like to see Master Diggory get his inheritance, but he wouldn't want to do it in an underhanded way. He said it wasn't up to me to determine Mr. Diggory's guilt or innocence, and that I should just tell the truth about what I heard. He told me that I didn't have to take sides." He thought of how hard Lupin had tried to be fair to the Slytherins, and of how he had disapproved of the pranks that James and Sirius used to play. "I think...I think he'd be disappointed in me if I lied."

"And Professor Lupin's opinion means a lot to you, Harry?" Morrigan asked quietly.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said firmly.

"No further questions," Morrigan said with a satisfied smile. She called a few more witnesses, including a couple of Hogwarts staff members who testified to hearing the same thing that Harry had, and upon further questioning, stated that while they respected Master Diggory as a colleague, they were not particularly close to him.

"He's polite, but keeps to himself," Professor Vector explained. "He doesn't socialize much with the staff, except perhaps Professor Lupin and Professor Snape."

"Werewolves stick together," Whitby said, sneering a little.

"I suppose so," Vector replied, giving him a distasteful look. "Now, if we're done here, I have a class to teach."

Morrigan's last witness was Dumbledore. Whitby made a point of noting that the Headmaster was friendly with Master Diggory and had personally brought him on the staff, but didn't quite dare to accuse Dumbledore of lying. "No further questions," Whitby said in a resigned voice, tacitly admitting defeat. After a brief, whispered consultation with his client, Whitby called Amos Diggory to the stand.

"Mr. Diggory," he asked, "did you conspire to fake your nephew's death?"

"Yes, I did," Amos replied in a level voice.

"So Harry Potter is not a liar after all," Morrigan said in a tart voice.

Madam Bones rapped her gavel sharply on her desk. "That will be enough, Ms. De Lacy," she said sternly. "You will have a chance to question the witness later."

"I beg the court's pardon," Morrigan murmured, bowing her head in a show of contrition--and to hide the faint smile that crossed her lips.

Whitby glared at her, then continued, "And why did you do that, Mr. Diggory?"

"To protect my family, and Cyril himself," Amos replied. Lukas snorted contemptuously, and Morrigan placed her hand on his arm and shook her head slightly as Madam Bones gave him a disapproving look. The werewolf subsided, but glared at his uncle.

"What do you mean, Mr. Diggory?" Whitby asked innocently.

"My brother broke the law when he did not register Cyril as a werewolf with the Ministry," Amos explained. "Perhaps things are a little different now, but back then, werewolves were feared and despised, and regarded as monsters. Cynric wanted his son to pass as human, to avoid him being ostracized by society, and also to avoid tarnishing the family reputation. But as Cyril grew older, it became harder and harder to hide his lycanthropy, to explain why he wasn't going to school. Then my brother was killed in an accident...and well, I know what we did was wrong, but I was afraid that the Ministry might punish my family if they knew that we had been harboring an unregistered werewolf." He added virtuously, "I did not care about myself so much, but my parents were in poor health, and I was afraid that they would not survive a trial and possible prison sentence, or even just the stress and humiliation of a public reprimand." A few members of the Wizengamot made sympathetic noises, and Lukas's face turned red with anger. Morrigan whispered into his ear, urging him to remain calm.

"You were concerned about Cyril also?" Whitby prompted.

"Yes," Amos said. "I was afraid that the Ministry might take him away, lock him up in Azkaban or some institution. But neither was my family equipped to deal with a werewolf--you must understand, there was no Wolfsbane Potion back then, no way to safely control a werewolf during the full moon." He shuddered. "If you have ever heard the sound of a werewolf's howls, the sound of him hurling himself against the door so hard that it seemed it would break off its hinges...and that was when Cyril was just a child. Can you imagine trying to deal with a full-grown werewolf?"

"You liar!" Lukas shouted, jumping to his feet. "You never even came near me during the full moon! We moved out of the mansion when I was four years old, because your parents wouldn't allow a werewolf to live in their home!"

"Master Diggory!" Madam Bones cried, pounding the gavel loudly. "You will restrain yourself if you do not want be found in contempt of court!"

Morrigan grabbed Lukas's arm and hissed, "Stop it! You're playing right into their hands!"

Lukas looked over and saw Whitby's and Amos's smug smiles. He took a deep breath, then bowed in the direction of the Wizengamot, and said, "I apologize for losing my temper."

Bones nodded curtly, and Arthur Weasley gave him a small, sympathetic smile. "Take your seat then, Master Diggory. And I expect there to be no further interruptions; your lawyer will have a chance to challenge the veracity of Mr. Diggory's statements, if you feel they are in doubt."

"Yes, ma'am," Lukas said through gritted teeth as Amos and Whitby continued to smirk, then bowed again and took his seat.

"Now, if you can pick up where you left off, before you were so rudely interrupted?" Whitby said pointedly, and Bones frowned, giving him a look of warning.

"We did not want Cyril to be taken away--he could have been imprisoned, or even put down, as an unregistered werewolf," Amos replied promptly. "On the other hand, we didn't feel that we were equipped to deal with restraining a werewolf during the full moon. And my sister-in-law was in a state of shock following my brother's death; she was clearly not up to handling the problem, either. My in-laws, the Gravenors, had a country estate in Wales, and they offered to shelter both Anya and Cyril. It was far from civilization, and it would be much easier to hide a werewolf there. We told everyone that Cyril had died in the accident with his father, so that no one would wonder why he had disappeared."

"So you left your nephew in the custody of his maternal grandparents, believing that he was in a place where he would be well-cared for by his family, yet not a danger to anyone else?" Whitby asked.

Amos nodded. "Yes. I know that we broke the law, but it seemed like the best thing to do at the time, to protect both my family and Cyril."

"No further questions," Whitby said.

Morrigan stood and walked over to question Amos. "To protect Cyril?" she asked sarcastically. "Wasn't it actually to protect your family's reputation? Didn't you say at the Quidditch match that it would have disgraced the family name if a werewolf inherited the title?" Amos hesitated, as if trying to decide whether or not he should try to deny it. "I can call back my witnesses to jog your memory," Morrigan offered helpfully.

Amos glared at her. "Yes, that would have disgraced my family. Back then, lycanthropy was regarded as something shameful. Many people still think it is."

"Including you?" Morrigan asked. Amos remained silent, and she did not press him, but moved on to her next question. "So, this is more about the inheritance than about a desire to protect your nephew, isn't it? Isn't it true that your brother was first in line to inherit the title? But when he died, and his son was conveniently declared dead and spirited away, you became the heir instead."

"I didn't do it for the title!" Amos insisted. "I did it to protect my family!"

"But Cyril is the son of the eldest son of the Diggory clan, so he should have inherited the title, not you."

"That's not true!" Amos snarled. "The eldest son is customarily the heir, but the head of the clan can choose someone else if he wishes! My father wanted to disown Cynric, but my dear brother threatened to go public with Cyril's lycanthropy if he did! He said he would tell everyone that the lycanthropy came from our side of the family, even though no one knew for sure where it came from!"

"Weren't you also concerned about the amount of money that Cynric was wasting, trying to buy cures for his son's lycanthropy?" Morrigan demanded. "Didn't you say that he was squandering the family wealth? I don't hear a great deal of love and concern in your words, Mr. Diggory--at least, not for your brother and nephew. It sounds like you were more concerned about preserving the family fortune."

"I was concerned that there would not be enough money left to support my parents in their old age, yes," Amos said, glaring at Morrigan hatefully. "I often fought with my brother, and we never saw eye-to-eye, but..." His voice shook, and tears gleamed in his eyes. "But he was still my brother, and I loved him. I was devastated when he died."

"So devastated," Morrigan said skeptically, "that you immediately faked your nephew's death and shipped him off to the Welsh countryside."

"For his own protection!" Amos protested.

"For his own protection," Morrigan said softly, "Cyril and his mother were imprisoned in a small, leaky cottage where they had no contact with other people, where they were not even allowed to visit their relatives in the nearby Gravenor mansion, where Anya Diggory fell ill and died for lack of medical care?"

"I didn't know anything about that!" Amos said defensively. "The Gravenors were supposed to be taking care of them!"

"You never once visited the nephew you claim to have been so concerned about?" Morrigan asked relentlessly. "You never once stopped by to make sure that he was being well cared for? You never once stopped by to comfort your brother's widow in her grief?"

Amos flushed. "The thought of seeing them brought back painful memories of my brother," he said. "I regretted that Cynric died while we were still at odds with each other. So I did not visit my nephew and sister-in-law. That is shameful on my part, perhaps, but Anya was the Gravenors' daughter. I assumed that they would take good care of her and Cyril."

"And when Cyril ran away, after Anya died?" Morrigan persisted. "Didn't you think that you should find your nephew, to make sure that he would be protected--or at least to protect the public from an unregistered werewolf on the loose?"

"I--I didn't know about that," Amos said quickly. "The Gravenors said that Anya and Cyril both died of the same illness. I never saw the body, but I had no reason to believe that they were lying. We couldn't have another funeral for him, since he had already been publicly declared dead."

"Very convenient," Morrigan drawled, "how Cyril keeps dying. And it's also very convenient that the Gravenors are dead and unable to contest your version of events."

"Believe it or not, it's the truth!" Amos snapped.

"So you say," Morrigan said with obvious sarcasm.

"Objection!" shouted Whitby.

"Was that a question, Ms. De Lacy?" Bones asked, a note of warning in her voice.

"No, ma'am," Morrigan replied. "I'll move on. Mr. Diggory, as you can see, your nephew is not dead. If you were as concerned about him as you claimed to be, should you not be overjoyed? He is no longer a danger to himself or anyone else, thanks to the invention of the Wolfsbane Potion. Your objection to Cyril inheriting the title is no longer valid, so should you not cede the title to him?"

"I will not!" shouted Amos. "I promised my parents that I would protect the family honor and that I would never let Cynric's son inherit the title!"

"Master Diggory cannot be denied the title simply because he is a werewolf," Morrigan said. "Werewolves are now equal to humans under the law."

"Cynric was not worthy of the title!" Amos shouted. "He blackmailed and threatened my parents, he broke the law many times over--not just by failing to register Cyril, but by purchasing illegal potions every time some swindler claimed to have a cure for lycanthropy, and he wasted not just his own money, but the family fortune on those potions, most of which were useless!"

"Even if what you say is true," Morrigan said, "those sound like the actions of a loving parent, desperate to help his only son, who was suffering from a debilitating disease. And even if that is reason enough to deny Cynric the title, Cyril was only a child at the time. He did nothing wrong."

"Did nothing wrong?" Amos asked incredulously. "I've heard that he was a criminal--a thief and a smuggler and Merlin knows what else!"

"'You've heard'?" Morrigan asked mockingly. "As I recall, your lawyer objected to what he called 'hearsay'."

"Those are serious accusations, Mr. Diggory," Bones said sternly. "Do you have any proof to back them up?"

Amos looked at Whitby, who hesitated, then said, "Not yet, Madam Bones, but we are in the process of gathering evidence to prove that Master Diggory is unfit to inherit the title."

"Very well," Bones said. "When you have such evidence, you may present it, but until then, the court judges only evidence, not unfounded rumors."

As Amos fumed, Morrigan smiled and said, "I have no more questions for Mr. Diggory."

Neither side had any more witnesses to call, so court was adjourned for the day.

"We didn't do too badly," Morrigan told Lukas. "Harry's testimony went very well; Lamont was a fool to try and call him a liar. It only made Amos look like the liar, to deny what he said, and then be forced to admit that he did say it after all. And it became pretty clear in court today that Amos is a bigot; unfortunately, half of the Wizengamot shares that bigotry. And also, if Amos's unfounded rumors about you are inadmissible, so are your suspicions that your father may have been murdered. We can prove that Amos faked your death, but we can't prove that the Gravenors mistreated you and tried to kill you. Everyone involved is dead, except for Amos, so it's your word against his." She gave him a stern look. "And you mustn't lose control like that again! I told you before, it will only give credence to Amos's claims that you are a beast."

"I'm sorry," Lukas muttered. "It was hard, having to sit there and listen to all those lies."

"I know," Morrigan said sympathetically. "But your behavior must be beyond reproach, since at least half of the people in that courtroom don't think you're really human." She smiled. "Bear with it for the duration of the trial, and then you can laugh in their faces when you're named Lord Diggory."

"You're right," Lukas said. "I won't lose control again. And I really appreciate everything you're doing for me."

"No need to thank me," Morrigan said with a smile. "It's my job, and Lady Selima is paying me quite well, I assure you. By the way, we'll have to come up with a way to counter Lamont, if he can come up with proof of your past illegal activities. Your status as a war hero will help cancel that out, but still..."

"Don't worry," Lukas said with a sly grin. "I have an idea."

Morrigan laughed when he explained his idea to her. "Of course! I should have thought of that myself!" She glanced at her watch. "Would you like to discuss it over lunch?"

"Er...I was supposed to meet a friend for lunch," Lukas said. "Is it all right if I owl the information to your office later?"

"Of course," Morrigan replied, giving Lukas a smile that was a little too knowing for his comfort. I'll see you next week, then, Master Diggory."

Lukas headed to the Leaky Cauldron, wondering why everyone and his mother suddenly seemed to be interested in his personal life. Increasing his irritation was the fact that the innkeeper smiled knowingly when he asked for a private room. This was the third week in a row that he was meeting Narcissa here, and he supposed that it must be obvious that he was having an assignation, even if no one knew Narcissa's identity, as she was careful to come in disguise. They might have to find a new meeting place--in fact, it would probably be wiser to break the whole thing off.

But then Narcissa walked into the room, and his bad mood suddenly vanished as the wolf's heart leapt with joy. That was bad; the mere sight of this arrogant, spoiled pureblood woman should not make him so happy. Never before had the human half of him been so divided from the wolf. But then Narcissa stepped forward and kissed him, and the wolf took over. He returned the kiss, his tongue sliding between her parted lips, his hands caressing her breasts and tugging at the fastenings of her robes.

{This is only sex, nothing more!} Lukas told himself almost desperately, before the desire of the wolf overwhelmed him and temporarily obliterated all trace of rational thought.

***

Madam Pomfrey deemed Theodore well enough to move back into the dorm and resume classes, although she said that he should take it easy for at least another week--which meant no Physical Defense classes and no Quidditch practice. He was pleased about the former, and expressed disappointment about the latter, but Snape thought that he actually looked a little relieved. Theodore still seemed shaken--not so much by nearly getting killed by the Bludger, but by the false Dark Mark, which must have brought back unpleasant memories of the Death Eaters and his parents. He didn't actually say so, but Snape could see the shadows lurking in the boy's eyes, and he silently cursed the perpetrator of the prank for having tainted the simple pleasure and joy that Theodore took in playing Quidditch.

But he said nothing, not wanting to upset his son further. And at least Theodore seemed happy to be returning back to the dorm, where he was enthusiastically greeted by his friends and foster brother.

Having seen Theodore safely to the dorm after dinner, Snape returned to his quarters with Lupin, lit the fireplace with a flick of his wand, then sank down onto the couch with a small sigh of relief. It had been an exhausting ordeal, and this was the first night since the Quidditch match that he and Lupin would be spending in the comfort of their own rooms. Dumbledore had laid powerful protections upon the hospital wing, but Snape was paranoid as only a former Death Eater and spy could be, and he hadn't wanted to leave Theodore there alone at night, so he and Lupin had been sleeping in the hospital wing. Originally they were going to take turns spending the night there, but Snape found that his quarters just seemed too empty and lonely without Lupin there, and Lupin felt the same way, so they both ended up sleeping in the hospital wing until Theodore recovered.

"It's nice to have things returning to normal," Lupin sighed, and he flopped down on the couch and stretched out, laying his head in Snape's lap. Snape reached down to stroke Lupin's long, silky hair, and Lupin made a small noise of contentment, then turned his head slightly and pressed his lips against Snape's thigh. Snape gasped as the heat of that kiss seemed to burn through the cloth of his trousers and travel in a straight line to his groin. Lupin looked up and said with an impish grin, "And as much as I love Theo, it's also nice to have some privacy," then continued to kiss his way up and down Snape's thigh. A low, soft moan escaped from Snape's lips, and Lupin slid off the couch and knelt in front of his lover, gently pushing apart Snape's legs and playfully brushing his lips across the already visible bulge that was straining against the black cloth of the Potions Master's trousers. Snape moaned again, more loudly this time, and Lupin smiled in satisfaction and deftly unfastened Snape's trousers.

"Ah..." Snape gasped as Lupin's nimble fingers freed his erection from the restraining cloth, gently stroking and teasing. Then the werewolf's lips and tongue replaced his fingers, and if Snape had not been leaning against the couch, he probably would have collapsed in ecstasy as he felt himself slowly being drawn into Lupin's mouth, a delicious sensation of being enveloped in warmth and wetness.

Lupin paused and pulled back so that he could see his lover's face, head tilted back and eyes closed, dark lashes resting against pale skin. Severus hardly ever closed his eyes when they made love, and it pleased Lupin to see him lost in the pleasure of the moment, giving up his self-control for once. Severus had been exhausted with worry and anger ever since the Quidditch match on Saturday, and Lupin wanted to give him comfort, let him relax and forget his worries, even if for only a little while--and this seemed like the simplest way to do it. The Potions Master didn't let his guard down often, except in bed. Well, technically they weren't exactly in bed, but close enough, Lupin figured.

However, while Lupin was sitting back admiring his handiwork, Snape's eyes opened and focused on him, giving him a look that was halfway between a plea and a glare. "Why did you stop?" he demanded, and his cranky tone made Lupin laugh affectionately.

"I was just trying to decide what to do next, my love," Lupin purred in a sultry voice that made Snape raise his eyebrows.

"Is it getting close to the full moon again?" Snape asked, trying to figure out how many days had passed since the last full moon, but he was finding it a little difficult to concentrate in his current condition.

"You will have to begin brewing the Wolfsbane Potion again in a few days, yes," Lupin said, his blue eyes glowing with both love and lust. "But I think the fact that we haven't had sex since before the Quidditch match might have something to do with it, too."

"Oh, right," Snape said. They'd been sleeping in the hospital wing, which obviously meant no sex at night, and they'd been too busy and stressed to even have a quickie between classes during the day.

"In fact," Lupin said, rising to his feet and slowly undressing as Snape watched as if spellbound, "I think it's the longest dry spell we've had since I started teaching at Hogwarts again." He climbed onto Snape's lap and slowly began to lower himself down. "So I would say that we need to make up for lost time."

"Lupin, wait," Snape protested, not very coherently. "I'm not...you're not...oh!"

Lupin didn't care about the lack of preparation or the fact that Severus was still--mostly--dressed. This had started out as a means to comfort and distract Severus, but now Lupin found that his teasing words were true, and that the wolf was eager and hungry after that "dry spell." He continued to push downwards, wincing at the slight pain of being stretched open and filled, while growling in pleasure at the same time. As he had told Severus more than once, werewolves were resilient, and besides, the wolf found a small amount of pain titillating. As if reading Lupin's mind, Severus gave up his feeble protests and leaned forward, scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin of Lupin's throat, sending another surge of pleasure-pain through his body. Lupin whined, nipping at his lover's throat in turn, but Severus's high-collared robes got in his way. It was a little frustrating, but at the same time, the feeling of his bare skin sliding against the plush wool of Severus's robes was strangely sensuous and exciting. He leaned forward, deliberately pressing his chest against Severus's, and he laid his head on Severus's shoulder for a moment, rubbing his cheek against the soft wool there. Then the wolf took over, and Lupin growled and whined, his voice filled with growing urgency. He resumed moving up and down, but faster now, grinding down hard into Severus's lap, pain giving way to pleasure, until that pleasure in turn grew almost painful in its intensity. Severus tried to thrust upwards every now and then, but his position on the couch made it difficult, so mostly he leaned back and let Lupin ride him, groaning almost helplessly. That sound further enflamed Lupin's inner wolf, and he threw back his head and howled his pleasure out loud. Severus suddenly bit down hard on Lupin's exposed throat, and the world around him seemed to explode in a blinding flash of ecstasy.

It was no wonder that the French called an orgasm "the little death," Lupin thought to himself when consciousness returned. He slumped against Severus's chest, panting softly, and the Potions Master reached up to stroke Lupin's hair, his own labored breathing echoing Lupin's.

"You couldn't even wait for me to get my clothes off?" Snape asked, chuckling.

"The wolf was impatient," said Lupin, nibbling gently on Snape's earlobe. "However," he added, undoing the fastenings on Snape's robes, "I believe that we can remedy that situation now."

"Ah...Lupin?" Snape said, looking startled.

Lupin gave him a cheerfully lascivious grin in response. "Why, Sev, you didn't think that we were done here, did you?" he asked. "We have a great deal of lost time to make up for...but don't worry, I'll give you sufficient time to recover." His grin grew wider. "Although I hope you don't take too long."

Snape laughed and wrapped his arms around Lupin. "I suppose there's no point in arguing with a hormonal werewolf."

"None at all," Lupin agreed, and indeed, he kept the Potions Master very busy all that night, and for at least a few hours, Death Eaters, Aurors, and dangerous pranks were the furthest thing from their minds.

***

On Sunday morning, Aric sat at the Slytherin table, pushing his food around his plate with his fork, feeling grumpy and a little depressed. It was his birthday, but nobody here knew or cared about it. Well, actually, Theo probably knew, but Aric certainly wasn't expecting to get a birthday present from his cousin. If he'd been at Durmstrang, his friends would've given him presents and thrown a party for him. Last year, they'd snuck out after hours and one of his friends had somehow managed to smuggle a bottle of Firewhiskey into the school. They grew a bit too boisterous under the influence of the Firewhiskey, though, and they had just barely managed to escape discovery--and detention--by fleeing back to the dorms before the teachers caught them.

The Dietrich family owl arrived and dropped off a few packages--the usual presents from his parents and grandparents, which didn't really cheer him up very much. Another owl arrived with a card and a pouch of Galleons from his sister. She offered to put in a good word for him if he wanted to work at Gringotts after graduation; Aric hadn't yet told his family that he wanted to become a mediwizard, because he wasn't sure they'd approve. It was a respectable job, to be sure, but they probably would prefer that he take a high-paying job at Gringotts like Erika, or even apply to the Ministry of Magic. It was every Slytherin's dream to get a job at the Ministry and perhaps work their way up to Minister of Magic someday. Of course, Rafe had been a mediwizard, but Rafe had also been a Gryffindor, the opposite of everything that his family stood for, yet he had managed to get away with it, thanks to his incredible charm. Tears stung his eyes, and Aric quickly blinked them away; he was absolutely not going to cry in front of all his housemates!

"Is it your birthday or something, Dietrich?" Patrick Parkinson asked curiously, which provided a welcome distraction by startling Aric and cutting off his train of thought.

"Yeah," Aric replied gruffly.

"Another year older, another year more obnoxious," Draco sneered.

"Well, you should know, Malfoy," Aric sneered back. "You seem to be an expert on being obnoxious."

Several students laughed, and Draco turned red with anger. "Oh, don't mind him," Dylan said dismissively. "Who cares what he thinks?" He changed the subject to Quidditch, and soon he and Draco and several other boys got into a spirited debate on the merits of their favorite professional teams, and who was likely to win the League Cup this year.

No one wished Aric a happy birthday. No one even bothered to argue with him. The other Slytherins were wrapped up in conversations of their own; they all had their own little groups and cliques, of which Aric was not a part. It made him feel suddenly small and insignificant, like a nobody, and he hated that feeling. Being insulted was far preferable to being ignored, and Aric was tempted to pick a fight with Malfoy or Theo when another owl flew into the Great Hall and dropped a package in front of him.

Puzzled, Aric picked it up to see who it was from, and his spirits suddenly lifted when he recognized the return address in London. Inside the package were two small gift-wrapped items and a card. The first gift was a tiny bag made of brocaded cloth, embroidered with Japanese characters that Aric couldn't read, and the other was a small onyx carving of a howling wolf. The card read: "Happy birthday, Aric. Since your N.E.W.T.s are coming up, I got you an omamori, a Japanese good-luck charm; this one is specifically for luck in passing exams, which hopefully will come in handy. Anyway, I figured it couldn't hurt! The wolf is a charm for strength and courage; they've become very popular lately, and seem to have been inspired by the heroism of our werewolf friends. Keep it as a reminder of the work you've done here at the clinic for us. I hope you'll be able to volunteer again for us sometime--although I hope it won't be because you have detention! Hope you have a happy birthday at Hogwarts. Takeshi."

There was no mention of their argument over Theo, no hint of censure, just the same tone of good-natured humor that Takeshi's letters usually contained. Apparently the mediwizard had decided to forgive him. Aric slipped the good-luck charms into his pocket, feeling so relieved that he completely forgot that he had (in his mind) done nothing that required forgiveness.

Takeshi's gifts had attracted the attention of some of the other students. "What are those?" Malcolm Baddock asked.

"Good-luck charms," Aric replied casually. "Just a gift from a friend."

"I didn't know you had any," Draco muttered under his breath.

"Those wolf charms are the in thing right now," Yvonne declared, temporarily forgetting that she was supposed to be mad at Aric. "I want to get one, but something prettier and more delicate--maybe clear crystal or rose quartz."

Theodore, for some reason, looked amused. "They're charms to give one the strength and courage of a wolf. It would sort of be defeating the point to make one that was delicate."

"Well, I still want a pretty one," Yvonne said stubbornly, then frowned. "Mummy and Daddy won't buy me one, though." She glanced at the head table where Lupin was sitting; he was gazing at the Slytherin table, a smile on his face. Yvonne lowered her voice, whispering, "Because they don't approve of werewolves. They won't listen when I tell them how nice Professor Lupin is."

Aric wondered how Theo knew about the wolf charms, then decided that he must have heard about them from Lupin, if the charms had been inspired by werewolves. He shrugged it off and began eating his breakfast with more appetite. Another owl arrived, bearing several birthday cards from his friends at Durmstrang, which cheered him up further.

He did some studying in the library and then, despite the chill air, threw on a warm cloak and went up to the Astronomy Tower to write some letters to his friends and family. He wanted to avoid his housemates, most of whom he disliked as much as they disliked him, and besides, this was practically a balmy spring day compared to the weather at Durmstrang. He was nearly done when a house-elf appeared before him, carrying a small plate that contained a cupcake with a single lit candle stuck in it. The house-elf held out the plate to him and Aric stared at it in surprise, not just because of the cupcake, but because the elf was wearing clothing--mismatched sweater, hat, and socks. He realized that it must be the Malfoys' former house-elf, Dobby, who had been freed by Harry Potter.

Dobby held out the plate, and Aric just stared at it in confusion, wondering if this was some sort of Hogwarts tradition. Maybe they gave every student a special treat on his or her birthday, but Aric had certainly never noticed it happening before. For that matter, the house-elves almost never showed themselves to the students, except for the ones who snuck into the kitchen to cadge treats.

"What is this?" he asked.

"For Mr. Dietrich from Professor Lupin," Dobby said. "Professor Lupin says, 'Happy birthday.'"

Feeling a little dazed, Aric took the plate and the house-elf scampered off. He stared at the cupcake, thinking to himself that it was just the sort of silly Gryffindorish thing one might expect Lupin to do. Honestly, a birthday cupcake--wasn't he a little old for that? Did the werewolf think he was still a first-year or something?

Still, he could use a snack, and there was no point in wasting an edible and very tasty-looking cupcake (chocolate, his favorite). He shrugged and said, "Happy birthday to me," blew out the candle, and took a bite. He had to admit that the food at Hogwarts was far superior to the food at Durmstrang. He munched on the cupcake and finished his letters, thinking to himself that maybe this birthday hadn't really been so bad after all.

Part 61