Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

Chapter Forty-Eight
Flashes and Fondles


“Well, she’s pretty but a stick would look more relaxed in front of a camera,” groused Iris as she wiped a snowflake from her cheek.

Her granddaughter chuckled and shook her head in agreement. Jasmine said, “She looks good in that outfit. Maybe we should call Severus out to poke at her a bit.”

As Warren, the makeup artist wiggled his wand at Kiaya again to replace an errant blonde hair, Iris’s brows raised, “Severus… pokes her… and tells you about it?”

Standing next to Jasmine, looking four legged and furry, Sirius waffled in amusement.

Fumbling, Jasmine said, “Oh, well, I don’t think so – something about that potion is ‘non-pokeable’.” At Iris’s amused look, Jasmine gave a mock glare. Little old ladies weren’t supposed to go on like that. One would think that a woman of her years would be better behaved, not her Grandee, though. Jasmine said, “I just meant that he’ll tease or insult her and she’d stop looking at poor Gerald like he was going to attack her with his camera.”

Gerald’s flash went off several times, creating a strobe effect, while Warren, the cosmetics artist, hovered nearby.

“I don’t think that Gerald is who we have to worry about attacking her,” Iris said, looking instead at the palomino centaur watching the crowd of humans gathered in the snow at the edge of the Black Lake.

Dumbledore didn’t look at all concerned about the centaur as he sat in a comfortable chair with Arielle on his lap. His feet were propped on a table-mounted fire pit in front of him. No one quite knew where he Summoned it from, but Arielle was quite enjoying the marshmallows they toasted over the flames. Remus stood nearby, chatting with Dumbledore. They all wore thick, winter coats and Warming Charms.

Sirius nudged Jasmine’s hand with his nose, begging for attention. Being a sucker and attracted to him, she didn’t hesitate to scratch behind his ears as she mused on the afternoon. The morning’s photo shoot had gone smoothly, as always, with Arielle looking as cute as a bug’s ear in one of Iris’s little girl’s dresses in the play corner of the shop. Hestia Jones had been commandeered to pose in one of Rose’s creations – a modern suit for the working witch - in the shop’s office. Both sessions had taken two hours each and had gone off like clockwork. The afternoon, though…. Jasmine sighed. The afternoon’s photos should have been perfect. The scene was gorgeous: the forest backdrop shrouded in softly falling snow, the lake starting to freeze over and Kiaya looking like the queen of the ice sprites in one of Jasmine’s latest creations: an icy blue and silver gown sparkling with thousands of crystals. A ground-length velvet and fur topped it, but was only clasped at the neck, to show off the gown underneath. Several Warming Charms kept her from turning blue in the cold.

Kiaya, though… well, she was suited more to a laboratory than a magazine advertisement. She looked stiff and uncomfortable. Embarrassment made her smile insincere and every time she looked up from the ground to make eye contact with any of them, she’d blush. Jasmine decided that Kiaya looked like a little girl caught playing dress-up in her mum’s closet, makeup and jewels. There was, however, something terrifyingly stomach-tingly about the way the centaur was eyeing her though; Jasmine wondered if he’d allow photographs of himself to be taken. On second thought, she wondered if he knew what photographs even were.

Gerald must have had the same idea; he shouted something unintelligible that started with, “Oi! You there!” and pointed to a spot near the water’s edge.

Firenze cocked his head. Kiaya just looked hunted. The centaur flicked his tail over his withers and ambled where directed. Jasmine was rather impressed with her amateur thought projection. Firenze’s classically handsome face was fixed in an expression of amused puzzlement at the strange vagaries of mankind.

The photographer snapped several photos of Kiaya’s shy half-smile and Firenze’s formal bow to her. Warren, the “Magical Make-up Maestro” sent over from Myrtle’s for use during the day-long photo shoot for their annual Christmas time advertisement, looked horrified at having to make a centaur look presentable for the camera. Myrtle, the mortified maquillage maven, begged Iris’s forgiveness for the “nasty mirror business” of Death Eater produced enchantments used to spy on The Three Flowers. She acted as though the two dozen Spying and Scrying spells used to look into the Three Flowers were her fault! Even though none of it was her fault at all, she took a measure of responsibility because it was her mirror. The Flowers forgave her instantly – and put up a curtain anyway. The dress Kiaya was wearing was to be the focus of the new curtained display – as well as the advertisement.

Firenze stared at the all-black and silver bedecked Warren, observing his tirade on cleanliness, godliness and centaurs being neither, and proper depilatory charms – even for centaur studs.

“Are you not male?” Firenze interrupted in his sexy rumble. His astonishingly blue eyes were curious.

Warren spluttered to a stop, “Well, of course I am!”

“Why do you deport yourself as a female?”

Warren only gaped.

Iris hustled over to save the day. “You must be the Divination teacher that Dumbledore was talking about. It’s so nice to meet you!”

“Yes, I…”

“Iris! Did you hear….”

Iris interrupted whatever answer Warren and Firenze started to give by saying “That’s so nice. I’ll be back for a chat soon,” and set a grandmotherly hand on Warren’s shoulder. Her eyes twinkled behind her bejeweled glasses. She leaned in and stage whispered most outrageously, “You know, Warren, I may be a little old lady but I just love that rough and ready for some hot bend-you-over - and-make-you-scream look that he has, don’t you?”

Warren, obviously stunned by a hundred year old lady talking like a randy teenager, just nodded and allowed himself to be led away at a fast clip.

Iris guided him off to stand next to Dumbledore, leaving Firenze looking inscrutable and Kiaya like she was seriously reevaluating any and all thoughts that she had on centaurs and the “rough and ready” look.

Just then, Severus stalked out of the forest. Sirius went stiff-legged and grumbled his displeasure. Jasmine stroked his large head. Gerald took several photographs in rapid succession as Kiaya saw Severus.

As Severus approached her, Kiaya’s smile changed from uncomfortable to that mysterious, inviting smile that women give to their lovers before she ducked her chin down and looked up at him through her eyelashes. By the time he was standing in front of her, his hands on his hips, her face was schooled into a perfect blank. Gerald took it all in with his camera, his constant flash almost blinding Jasmine.

Jasmine watched it all, silently. She knew that the last photos would be the ones they used. They would be exquisite. Severus hadn’t greeted first – he hadn’t even greeted her at all. No matter what sour thing he’d said to Kiaya, he’d still approached the other woman first though he readily lifted Arielle into his arms when the little girl demanded it. Her brain spun, working hard at coming to terms with the knowledge that even though she didn’t want Severus anymore and hadn’t for a long, long time, Severus really, absolutely, and in every way, was no longer her property.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Jasmine was still deep in thought when Remus set his fork down on the edge of his plate.

“I’m sorry, but I’m just not hungry again tonight, Jasmine, but thank you.”

Sirius prodded him, “C’mon, Moony, eat up. You need your strength.”

Jasmine was worried. Remus looked even worse than he did last week. Last night’s change had left him looking thinner, greyer and older than any man under forty ought. She resolved to have Mopsy find a recipe for some kind of meal that had a lot of calories in a small amount of food so he could eat the lot and still get the nutrition that he needed. Come to think of it, Kiaya might… Jasmine took a deep breath and swore not to growl since she really was nice. Severus would just laugh at her, but Kiaya might know of some vitamin potion to induce werewolf hunger.

The silver water clock struck six and Remus apologetically excused himself to the barn. As the weather turned cold, he and Sirius had reinforced the last stall just in case the potion failed. Buckbeak lived in the stall next door and they all figured that he could take care of himself next to a werewolf. With a searing look at Jasmine, a rakish smile, and a ruffle of Arielle’s black curls, Sirius followed Remus.

For the next hour, Jasmine played with Arielle. Since homework and reading were done, they dressed dolls and played with magic. With a wave of Jasmine’s wand, bikinis turned into ball gowns, candy stripes turned into glittering, twinkling stars and back again and the plastic dolls danced across the table to Arielle’s delight. The room echoed with Jasmine and Arielle using different falsetto voices since Jasmine never could figure out how to make the dolls speak for themselves.

At long last, twin howls echoed through Dumbledore’s Garden. The neighbors often wondered amongst themselves about the sounds coming from Jasmine’s property. The mountain, in its terrifying, ageless wisdom, already knew but protected her secrets.

“That’s Remus and Sirius, right, Mama?” Arielle asked in response to the howls.

Jasmine hummed her assent.

“But why are they in the barn?”

“Because I don’t think that being in the house would be very safe and it’s too cold and wet to stay outside for long.”

Arielle nodded, for she’d had enough of the snow, too.

“We care for Remus and that’s why he has a home here, but it’s just safer with walls between us all when he’s transformed.” They had the conversation every time Remus changed, including last night, but Jasmine was of the mind that the repetition would eventually keep Arielle from being one of the typical biased twits that were passing anti-werewolf legislation left and right. “He has a disease. He’s not a bad person and we shouldn’t be scared of him. We should just take precautions to protect everyone during the full moon.”

As she dressed yet another doll, Arielle asked, “So Sirius can turn into a dog in the full moon and Remus….”

Jasmine corrected, “Sirius can transform into a dog anytime he wants to,” she cut off the next question, “yes, he really was our dog but we didn’t know because Professor Grandpa kept it a secret. Remus is a werewolf, though. He can’t stop the change.”

“He changes into a wolf or a big old werewolf in the moonlight.” She said it as if by rote – which, by now, it was.

“Right! But remember…”

Together they said, “… it’s a secret.”

Jasmine didn’t add that Arielle had been bewitched to think of other things as soon as the thought of mentioning either the werewolf of Sirius came to her lips anywhere outside of the house. She adored her child, but Jasmine wasn’t stupid.

Arielle finished. “I know, Mama. I didn’t even tell Moira or Maribelle. Miss Anne was talking about werewolves today in school and she said that they were dangerous and scary.

Jasmine discreetly rolled her eyes. “Well, Miss Anne is both right and she wrong. Remus takes his potion now, so he’s not nearly as dangerous s other werewolves who don’t take the potion.”

“The one Daddy and Miss Kiaya make, right?”

“Right. That helps a lot.”

Arielle nodded again. She’d heard it all before. “He’s dangerous but not as dangerous.”

“Right. But he’s not dangerous when he’s not furry,” said Jasmine and tickled Ari’s tummy.

Arielle giggled, wriggled away and begged for the hundredth time, “Can I see him when he’s a wolf?”

“Nope.”

“But, please? Remus likes me. I promise not to touch and I’ll run away if he tries to bite me,” she wheedled.

“No, Arielle, and if I ever even think that you’re doing something that dangerous, I’ll spank your bottom so hard that you won’t sit down for a week.” Jasmine said with finality. They’d had this part of the conversation so many times that the threat wasn’t heated but it was certainly consistent.

Arielle mock-pouted just as the water clock chimed.

“Go put your pajamas on, please. It’s bedtime.”

“Can I have a glass of water?”

Jasmine raised an eyebrow.

“Please?”

“Better manners, thank you. You may, but you’ll need to get up later,” Jasmine warned.

“I will!” promised Arielle a bit too loudly and scampered to the sink and gulped down far too much water to allow for a full night’s sleep.

The little girl trundled upstairs, showered and pajama’d herself while Jasmine sorted out her ledger, inputting receipts for purchases and notes of payments received into opposing columns in the magical book. She described specific garments, along with time and materials spent. She tapped her wand to drawings of the things that she’d bothered to sketch and they folded and shrunk themselves down and attached to the ledger book with the rest of the record. Flaps and pages unfolded from nowhere to hold receipts and copies, then folded away again. Arielle was kissed and tucked into bed. Skeevers and Faust were petted somewhere in the middle of noting a gold shawl for “Hooch, Rolanda (Hog)” and a black velvet cloak for “Midgeon, Flora”. Berri curled up in her lap as she noted her work for Celestina Warbeck.

The water clock chimed nine just as Jasmine finished her last receipt.

She muttered, “Damn – forgot the animals.” She shoved the ledgers away and bustled into the pantry, muttering, “It’s a bloody wonder that Buckbeak hasn’t clawed his way in here to eat me.”

She set several animal food bowls out and methodically filled each with the preferred goodies. It was cat kibble for Berri – bacon and carp flavor – she always avoided “roast hen” so he wouldn’t get the idea to go after the chickens. Mealworms (under a Stasis Charm), carrots and rice were poured and stuffed into various Puffskein toys to keep the little furball entertained and fed. Corn, millet and more mealworms were dumped into a trough for the chickens. Faust and Florentine’s hunter skills were supplemented with pellets and the mealworms. Berri slunk into the kitchen as she worked and wended himself around her ankles. Jasmine tried not to trip, but cats are both wily and determined. To avoid certain death, she set his food down. That was Faust’s cue to appear on the back of a chair and trill for dinner. The mealworms were pecked away before Jasmine even noticed him eating. She rolled her eyes at him but didn’t bother to stop the phoenix from eating. He’d probably take her hand off, anyway, it was so late. Instead, she prepared bowls for the others. Joe and Glastig got vegetables in a bowl that she’d split between them once she was in the barn. The rabbits, clabberts and flobberworms were on their own as usual.

With the barn residents’ bowls stacked, she opened the door to the barn. Later, she would muse that she’d become complacent in men’s presence in her home and her life, despite the conversation she’d just had with Arielle just a few hours before. Now, though, she blissfully opened the door and walked into the barn.

When she opened the door, nothing seemed amiss, other than the door to the meadow still being open. She muttered about being forgetful. Unconcerned, she filled and distributed feed bowls and apologized for the lateness of dinner to Joe. The ancient horse was quite put out, as evidenced by his whicker of displeasure.

She closed the door to Buckbeak’s stall and turned, her eyes falling on the last door. It was open. The stall was empty but for the moonlight streaming in. Stall. Moonlight. Remus.

“Oh, shit.”

A long, dark muzzled poked into the barn. Rangy shoulders followed. She wasn’t lucky enough for that nose to be snub and the shoulders to be huge and bearlike. The ears were erect, not soft and floppy. He was unmistakably lupine.

She swallowed an instinctive scream and her toes dug into the soles of her woolen clogs, ready to run or fight. Slowly, she drew her wand as she backed toward the door to the house.

Her mind spun with spells were that were discarded as deadly as soon as they sprang into her head. The voice in her head chanted, “Don’t hurt him. Don’t get killed. Don’t let him in the door. Don’t get killed.”

A cacophony of barking sounded from around the corner. Before Jasmine could really tell what happened, Remus was knocked off balance and went skidding into the wall.

A very canine Sirius stood in front of the werewolf with stiff legs and hackles raised, his lips lifted in a snarl. Moonlight flashed on his huge teeth. Black ears were pinned back and his tail was straight out. Low rumbling growls warned the wolf. Remus yipped and grumbled back. They seemed to be conversing, muzzle to muzzle. A snuffle from each seemed to end the chat and Remus sat on his haunches, looking everywhere but at Jasmine.

The gigantic dog that was Sirius turned and advanced on her. Hackles still up and stiff legged, he stalked her through the barn. She gulped and backed up. He growled. Another tremor of fear started in her belly. He wasn’t behaving like her former pet, lover or even polite houseguest. This was a dangerous, aggressive dog big enough to do a great deal of damage. She inched away. She tried to reassure herself that he wouldn’t hurt her – he was Sirius, after all. He lifted his lip over his canine teeth again. The bright white flashed in the moonlight, through the window.

Jasmine stumbled as she backed up the stairs. Only a yard away, Sirius edged her further, until she backed into the door. He kept coming. She fumbled for the handle.

Remus gave a short burst of lupine yips and rumbles, as though questioning the dog.

Sirius, responded in angry, deep barks and a flash of huge teeth.

Remus settled, watching.

Jasmine gulped. As she twisted the door handle, Sirius nudged his muzzle into her belly, hard enough to shove her back. The force sent her careening back into the house.

So distracted by her loss of footing, she didn’t see him transform into his two-legged self and slam the door closed. He growled at her; the sound was almost as menacing as it was only moments before. His eyes were hard slate and his voice was cold.

He demanded, “Are you trying to get killed? Is that it?”

“No, I…”

He growled through clenched teeth. His voice felt like a razor on her thinly wound nerves. “Do you understand that he will rip you to shreds and chew your bones for dessert? Or were you wanting to be turned into a monster yourself?”

“No! I forgot!” she protested. Her husky contralto was tinged with feminine concern.

Dangerously powerful iron fingers clasped her shoulders, as if to shake some sense into her, but instead pushed her back against the door with controlled force. Leaning in so close that his beard brushed her cheek, he ordered, “You can’t forget. Ever! He’s calm now and the potion does tremendous good, but if the beast wasn’t contained by it…” his voice trailed off before he marshaled himself to speak again, “you would die.”

She looked as contrite as she felt but wasn’t terribly reassured that he wasn’t going to turn her over his knee.

He gestured to the barn with his chin. “That wolf is curious about the house and everyone in it. Including the adult female that smells like flowers and sex. The beast – and trust that I have seen it many times – isn’t curious. He’s just hungry.

She looked into his eyes and dared to bring her arms up and around his back. Her fingers tangled in his long, black hair in a well-calculated ploy to soothe the savage beast. Lips near his, she asked, “Won’t he attack you?”

His tone grew deeper and quieter but his eyes gleamed with the knowledge of her tactic. His fingers tightened at her shoulders but she felt no pain. All careless masculine arrogance, he assured her, “I can handle myself.”

A doubtful crook of her brow was her only response.

“Jasmine, I’ve been dealing with him since we were kids. Long before he started taking that potion.”

“But….”

He explained, as if to a child who was finally willing to stop screaming to listen to sweet reason, “That’s why I’m so big. No normal dog is this large; it’s a spell that we incorporated into the Animagus stuff we learned as kids. I’m lucky that he remembers that Prongs and I used to take him to the floor, force him to submit and follow ‘bigger and meaner’.

Jasmine watched his lips as he spoke but her eyes flicked to his when she asked, “Which were you?”

His eyes stayed on hers as his lips closed in. Just before they touched, he murmured, “Both.”

There was no hesitation in her response when he fitted his lips to hers with exquisite savagery. His silk-bristled mustache and beard tickled her tender skin, but only for the tiniest inkling of a moment before she pressed closer, offering what he claimed. Gentleness was only a dream as his tongue thrust between her lips; tenderness wasn’t what she needed to quell the last vestiges of fear. The flash of heat of his mouth consumed her. She gave over to him – anything he wanted, she offered as she pressed her full, aching breasts against his chest. Heat chased shivers over her spine as she trembled in need.

Her muffled moan was lost in his growl of desire as she slid her tongue along his, meeting his needs and demanding more. Her silver nails scratched down his back in delicate greed, clawing at the cotton of his shirt. Her bones turned to butter as he pressed closer, fitting his hips into the cradle of hers. The hard length of him burned her belly as they locked together, seeking more. His rough hands made their way under her blouse, exploring her delicate skin.

“Mama?” asked a sleepy little voice from the second floor balcony.

Sirius wrenched his lips from Jasmine’s with a thinly veiled expletive. His normally easy motion was jerky when he stepped away from her.

“I have to go to the toilet.”

“Then go, little one,” Jasmine said, her voice none too steady. She stayed pressed against the door for her own balance.

“Sirius, what’re you doing?” Arielle asked through a yawn.

Hands shoved into his pockets, he took several deep, calming breaths before he rumbled. “I’m kissing your mum. Is that alright?”

A look of sleepy confusion crossed Arielle’s face. She thought about it for a few moments then nodded slowly. “I guess so,” she said and toddled into the toilet.

Face aflame, Jasmine straightened her clothes, smoothed her hair and gestured to the landing. She muttered, “I have to….”

At the same moment, Remus howled outside.

Sirius gave her a tender half-smile as he gestured to the barn and murmured, “And I have to….”

Jasmine nodded and stared into his grey eyes. It was a moment, listening to the howling and then the toilet flush that she realized that he couldn’t go outside until she moved. Damn that man, he’d muddled her brain. She scooted aside, muttering “Sorry.”

“’S’all right,” he said and turned the handle to finish his werewolf-sitting duty.

“Sirius?”

He murmured his attention.

“Soon,” she promised, watching him from under her lashes.

“I know,” he said. His kiss reddened lips formed a rakish grin and he stepped through the door.


*~*~*~*~*~*


“Many of the healing ingredients can be found easily, either in nature or even at a local spice merchant. Honey has been used for hundreds of years by natives, Muggles and wizards alike to prevent infection. Primitive Muggles would smear honey onto an open wound or make a poultice of birch bark or turmeric. Wizards have traditionally done the same, though usually add the saliva of Spring Fairies and murtletap slime to the mixture…” Dumbledore looked up from the student’s homework piled on her podium. His eyes twinkled behind his crescent moon glasses. “Mr. Corner certainly knows his antibiotics.”

Kiaya replied, somewhat distractedly as she rushed through recording her most recent notes on the Lycanthropy Potion and cleaning up. “Mr. Corner is an excellent mimic and very talented at regurgitating lectures and his textbook information.”

Dumbledore chuckled, “Some would say that’s what school is all about.”

“I’d rather there was a touch more research put into it so I knew they were doing more than parroting my own words back at me.”

“True. I do remember the days,” Dumbledore said.

Kiaya paused to look at him as she was tossing a lemon rind away. She knew that his prosaic small talk was leading up to something but decided to play along. Perhaps Snape was rubbing off on her. She quashed the delicious shiver the image brought forth. “I’m sorry; I forgot that you’d been a professor here, too, amid everything else you’ve done.”

He nodded and wandered closer to nose around her research log. “Transfigurations – it’s what brought me to Hogwarts to begin with. I taught for… a very long time.”

She pasted a smile on her face and said inanely, “That’s interesting. I would have pegged you for Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Previous headmasters did try to have me teach that. I was never very interested in it.” He looked over the rim of his glasses. “As I recall, neither were you.”

Kiaya winced and shook her head. Of course he’d already have known that. “Not really, no. I was rather … untalented at both Transfigurations and Charms, actually. Still am, really.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled even more as he nodded gravely. “Perfection is always a goal, but never attainable. Alas, I cannot – or should not – carry a tune in a bucket and my stick figures make even the youngest of children laugh.”

She giggled obligingly.

“Now, tell me how you’re getting along with the Lycanthropy Potion improvement.”

The remnants of her smile disappeared as she shook her head and said flatly, “I must be untalented at potion making, too, because it’s all for naught. Not much that I’m trying is worth the cost of the ingredients.”

He gestured to her notes. “May I?”

Well used to having her work inspected, she deferred to him.

He nodded approvingly over her charts and margin notes. “Rosemary, menthol and catmint in addition to a willow bark tincture?”

“I’m trying to make the transformation less painful. I’m increasing the amount, then processing the willow even more to try to increase its effectiveness. The other ingredients also have painkilling effects.”

“How are you processing the willow bark?” Dumbledore sounded more than just professionally interested.

Far more comfortable now that the subject was potions related, she said, “Just concentrating the willow bark more than has previously been done. I’m using more willow bark then, instead of removing the leftovers after it's boiled to the normal color, I'm pulverizing it into the paste and cooking it down even more.” She handed him a small dish of brown sludge. “It’s a wonderful painkiller, but I’m still having trouble with bleeding.”

“How so?” asked Dumbledore as he propped his hip on a stool.

She showed him two dishes coated in a shallow layer of blood. Pointing to one, she said, “This one is normal. The other one, though, she wiggled the dish. The bloody slurry swished rather than oozed. “See how thin it is?” when Dumbledore nodded, she continued, “They’ll bleed more - skin rips, fur growth, fangs – they all cause bleeding. The more I add, to aid the pain, the worse it is.

“Ah, the search for other painkillers, then, to add without the bleeding.”

She nodded.

“What have you come up with?”

“Poppies.”

“Time tested and true. What else?”

“Marijuana – helped along with dragon-dung fertilizer.”

Again, Dumbledore nodded. “And the effects?”

She shook her head and contained a sigh of frustration. She said, “Bad. Thus far, I still can’t find a better painkiller than the willow bark that doesn’t have an adverse reaction with the aconite.”

“What kind of adverse reaction?”

“The fatal kind.”

He leaned forward, his twinkling eyes suddenly piercing. “How do you fix it?”

Her expression was matter of fact and her flat tone bordered on rude. “I don’t know. Any fool can kill pain, Headmaster. With a normal human, you throw poppies at it and worry about addiction after the disease or injury has been dealt with. You throw poppies at a werewolf within twenty-four hours of a transformation, he’ll die.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know – but I’m not going to waste time to find out. I’m just avoiding them.”

“And do we need to warn Remus not to wander into any poppy fields under a full moon?”

An automatic snide remark about putting the man out of his misery sprang to her lips. Luckily, the expression on Dumbledore’s face caught her attitude before she was sacked. Instead, she said, “I would certainly recommend that he not have any kind of possibility of ingesting poppy near a time of transformation.”

“And the marijuana?”

“I’m still working on that, but Professor Sprout seemed to think it was a bad idea to grow on school grounds. Thus, I have to have it imported – which can prove to be problematical sometimes. Apparently the Muggles have an aversion to selling it to just anyone.”

“Ah yes. If it’s needed though, I know a gentleman who is rather talented at acquiring those things that may be considered questionable to both worlds. Without it, though, what is the solution?”

“Thus far, the only things I’m sure of are the more concentrated willow bark tincture and mooncalfslip and primerosa flowers added to the rest of the potion.”

Though he said nothing, his expression demanded more information.

“Mr. Basilton’s potions mixtures and discoveries always contained minimal amounts of most ingredients to reduce potential side effects.” She tried to smile through her frustration and give enough information for a master but so not much as to bore. “Fewer ingredients in the smallest amounts equal fewer problems and smaller complications.”

Dumbledore nodded and smiled a half smile, “Edward was so very fond of the K.I.S.S. principle and lex parsimoniae.”

Kiaya smile became wistful but her green eyes were delighted. Edward Basilton had indeed preached about the Law of Parsimony and railed at his apprentices to ‘keep it simple, stupid’. “Yes, Sir. He never did apply that to this potion, though. He had me mucking with it until the day he died.” She thought back to that day and added, “Literally.”

With a gentle smile, Dumbledore asked, “And what’s next?”

Her look was wry as she deadpanned, “Wild speculation and educated guesses.”

Dumbledore looked at her over the rim of his glasses.

“Albert Einstein said, ‘If we knew what we were doing, it wouldn't be called research,’ however,” she pointed out before giving over and pointing to her notes, “continuing with the rosemary and menthol, catgloves and mint and silver sage with myrtletap goo and the usual with different varieties of aconite and other related buttercups combined with moonstones, ginger and sopohorous .”

“Calming, sleeping, less pain and less twitching,” said Dumbledore, identifying what most of the ingredients were used for. “What does Severus think of your direction?”

That made her blink. She didn’t know that she was supposed to be conversing with the man on a regular basis, of course, anything else she did with him…. “We don’t really discuss it. I gather that he’s busy with… other things.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Indeed. I’m curious, what do you chat with him about? Classes? The potion?”

Her mind raced. A wash of heat covered her cheeks. They didn’t talk about anything, really – in fact, she rather tried to avoid the man altogether these days. Snape was like a great, solitary panther next to her meal-sized fluffy little housecat – no, kitten – a wide-eyed kitten, he’d called her when they…. She steered away from that thought. They had almost nothing in common, except the… no. “Erm, not much, really. Professor Snape isn’t the chatty sort.”

“No, he really isn’t. Never has been – not even as a child. Fiercely intelligent, he is, though, with the knowledge and skills of a renaissance man – but no, he doesn’t talk much.”

Kiaya’s smile was a polite mask as she frantically wondered where this all was going. The more that she thought about Snape, the more often she had to spend ‘quality time with her wand’. It felt good, but was hardly as satisfying as that horrid man’s hands. Since there was no change of Snape ever lov…. She’d really tried rather hard not to think about Snape during all of this – or at all, for that matter.

“Kiaya, there’s going to be a great deal of playacting involved for you in the coming months. Severus is well used to it – and I seriously doubt he knows how to behave in any other way. But you are different. I want to make sure, without Severus around to influence your words – that you know and are prepared for anything and everything that will be involved. Are you really prepared to have this role become a reality, for as long as it takes?”

The question jarred her out of the emotional blankness that she’d been trying – rather successfully – to live in. She’s deliberately fallen into a pattern of wake – teach – mark – research/brew – sleep to keep her mind occupied and focused on anything other than her feelings about Severus Snape and the mess she’d managed to get into. A tiny, hot flash of resentment stirred in her belly. She said she’d do it, damn it. She didn’t want to ruddy well chat about it.

Kiaya’s eyes slid to the dish of blood at Dumbledore’s elbow. She started to lie and assure him about it all. The words rose, half-formed in her throat and her face started to bend into a reassuring smile. A small sound that he made drew her eyes to his face. The smile stalled and words failed on her tongue. His eyes held hers and she felt like she was falling into a warm, tropical blue sea. He drew her fear up and out, letting her find the words without actually having to feel the terror that ate at her belly when she thought of Snape.

She shook her head. The motion seemed to loose the tumble of words she’d only acknowledged at midnight, curled in her bed. Unbidden, the truth poured from her lips. “I don’t think I can do it. I can’t … pretend to be in love with him. I… I… have feelings for… about him that….” She stumbled over the words, not wanting to share so much – and not wanting to look like some foolish bint to the most respected man in their world. When he silently nodded, encouraging her, she bumbled along, “I… erm… well, being headmaster, I guess you know that Snape and I...” she stopped and rolled her eyes heavenward, muttering to herself, “… why the hell am I even saying this?”

Dumbledore smiled benignly but did not break his gaze from her face.

Plunging in with feet and mouth first, she said, “Snape and I have … s…something. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what I feel about it or him because it’s all mixed up in feels-good and is-bad and maybe-love and a love of dislike and oh…” she sighed, “and what-on-earth- would-my-mother- say-if-she-knew?”

Dumbledore smiled and leaned forward. “Would it help, should there be any… negative publicity, if I spoke with your mother personally?”

Kiaya could only offer a lame chuckle and a limp nod. “I can only imagine what she’ll say when she learn that I’m…” Kiaya flailed her hands, “… being… immoral with an evil Death Eater.”

“No, Kiaya, Severus is not evil. Merely unpleasant," said Dumbledore with a sigh and a smile. “Severus is… sometimes a very difficult man to know. Please be patient with him, more patient than you are with even the children.”

“That’s a trial in and of itself,” she murmured.

“And there will be more trials, I’m sorry to say.” Dumbledore leaned forward and stared at her intently. He said, “It has been said that Severus … when these tests of his character and of his soul are finished… that he should either be alone or dead. I cannot subject him to that fate, if I can help it at all. He deserves so much better, for so many reasons.”

Kiaya bit the inside of her lip until she tasted blood, but remained silent.

“Sometimes, he’ll come to you covered in blood that’s not his own. Don’t recoil from him – please just love him. Sometimes, he has nightmares. When he does, please care for him without mocking or belittling his terrors. Sometime, in the middle of all of this, he will come to you, having just done some something so horrific that your single instinct is to call the Ministry – don’t, I beg of you.” When Kiaya stared at him, scared and puzzled, he continued, “It is what it is. It is always and only for a reason and he's better off for having done it. This cause is better off with eighty fewer people on this planet than losing one man - this man to Voldemort because he refuses. There can’t be an official punishment for anything that he does, but trust that he will always punish himself.”

Gulping, she nodded. Dumbledore…. Dumbledore really was the general that he was rumored to be. He was willing to make sacrifices of people like pawns on a chess board. This thing was bigger and more important than her piddly emotions about Snape. She knew she’d only be a pawn, too, but maybe it was worth it. Maybe it had to be. She knew her face was a mask of confusion edged with blind terror, but she nodded anyway. She didn’t know how she was going to manage it or how she could manage anything during all of this, but she would, just the same. Croaking through a suddenly tight throat, she said, “I can do it. I promise.”

Dumbledore nodded with finality and patted her hand before he rose and trudged out of the classroom, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Kiaya was thankfully able to spend the evening in blessed silence, now that the students were away for the Christmas holidays. She was able to continue researching the Lycanthropy Potion. Her distraction was such that she accidentally boiled several dishes of Remus’s blood cells. The smell, similar to meat cooking, turned her stomach. Unfortunately it was snowing heavily, so she couldn’t open a window and had to rely on a Cleaning Charm that left the air in the room stale. Very little was accomplished, though she did find out that sugar, citrus juice, congealed werewolf blood and alcohol absolutely did not enhance the effectiveness of the potion or settle her thoughts.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Slamming the door in a flash of righteous indignation, Minerva McGonagall pronounced, “There is no way on God’s green earth that she is going to wear that… Persian prostitute’s garb – she’s near tears as it is.”

Snape and Dumbledore stood, wearing expressions of irritated resignation and polite interest respectively.

“Then it’s exactly what I thought it to be?” asked Dumbledore.

“It’s fit only for nightclothes and then only if you have an active fantasy life. There are women that wear things like that, but they are usually getting paid for services rendered.”

“I’m sure that’s why Malfoy had it made,” replied Snape.

McGonagall spluttered in indignation, “Well, I’m sure that he….”

Dumbledore interrupted, “The letter included in the box from Madam Malkin states that Mr. Malfoy personally designed the costumes for each participant along an ‘Arabian Nights’ theme for the Ministry.”

Snape grimaced and waved the antechamber door open with a sharp gesture of his hand. He ordered, “Just come out and get it over with.”

A tiny, tremulous voice declined.

Snape marched to the door and snapped, “Whatever you’re hiding, I’ve already seen and the Headmaster doesn’t care about. Come here.”

Dumbledore choked his response and McGonagall gasped in outrage.

Kiaya crept around the corner, hunched forward and clutching the front edges of a vest as close as possible with one hand; the other draped over the front of her body, trying to cover as much of her exposed belly as possible and hold up a pair of dangerously low - dangerously sheer trousers. Red faced with eyes glistening with tears, she whispered, “I can’t wear this.”

Dumbledore hummed and drummed his spidery fingers on his desk before bowing to Kiaya. He said, “I agree; this ensemble is more suited to the boudoir than a charitable fundraiser held in a school.”

McGonagall whisked her tartan shawl around Kiaya’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, dear. We’ll transfigure it into something more respectable.”

Snape stalked back to his chair and flopped into it, his face an inscrutable mask. His hooded eyes never left Kiaya’s shrouded body. He asked, “Headmaster, what did he send you?” Snape asked.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore replied, “It is marginally better, though some might be annoyed.”

Clothing flew from an untidy heap on his desk to float in the air above. It was an improbable pair of Bermuda length shorts and a tunic in a rustic looking cotton. The color was identical to the one that Kiaya wore, though.

“Malfoy’s a petty idiot. That’s just to make you grumble and show his disrespect in a way that he can call a jest,” Snape said and rolled his eyes.

McGonagall huffed and flicked her wand. The shorts lengthened to trousers. The clothing now looked rather like very comfortable pajamas. “Better. Would you like robes to go with it?”

Dumbledore lifted his hand, “Thank you, Minerva, but this will be quite adequate to wear for my activity with the winner. Robes would get in the way.”

“What will you be doing?” she asked as she went back to comforting Kiaya.

“The winner and I will spend some time visiting, have a nice meal and then we shall go bowling.”

McGonagall shook her head at the strange hobby and asked Kiaya, who seemed to be inching closer to the door, “What have you offered for the auction?”

Kiaya shook her head and wrapped the woolen tartan shroud even tighter. “I don’t think I can…”

Snape interrupted, “She’s offering a full two days of her services as a Potions Mistress with no less than fifteen potions brewed.”

“But this…”

“You agreed to it. You’re doing it. Now take that off and let me see,” said Snape, quashing her protestations.

They waged a silent battle of wills. Snape gave no quarter though Kiaya begged for mercy. Tears overflowed and slid down her cheeks. Green eyes begged and her lips formed a please that wasn’t uttered. His black gaze was implacable. He’d given a direct order and expected nothing but obedience.

Her eyes dipped to the floor in submissive acquiescence and the shawl slid down over her shoulders and back. The front parted and the fabric puddled on the thick rug. She blindly handed the shawl back to McGonagall. She didn’t look up from the floor. Hands falling to her sides, she revealed a sheer, short, tight sleeveless vest, held together with only a thread-like ribbon. The top bunched oddly, with the fitting darts in the wrong place. Harem trousers in matching sheer, creamy white barely stayed on her hips, they were cut so low. When she shifted her weight, they could see that the trousers were slit all the way up the sides, to the waistband. The worst part was that the fabric was sheer enough to reveal the exact cut and color of Kiaya’s lingerie. It was definitely meant for the boudoir – and bare skin.

Dumbledore murmured, “Oh my.”

Kiaya’s hands fluttered up but fell again when Snape growled.

Dumbledore stood, smiled gently and said, “Miss Roundtree, forgive my staring, you are a lovely young woman – and, as old as I am, I can still appreciate that outfit, regardless of how much it offends your sensibilities.”

Eyes still on the floor, Kiaya blushed even more, though she didn’t think it was at all possible. The tears that threatened glistened in response to Dumbledore’s comment. Her mutter was barely audible and wholly insincere. “Thanks, erm.. I guess.”

“Good, now, let’s see what this old transfiguration teacher can do to make you a little more comfortable,” he stopped as he had a thought, “Severus, would you please Floo my daughter. I want her to tell me if there is a way for this material to be made a little bit more opaque without applying shadows that anyone could remove.”

“Of course, Headmaster.”

As Snape called Iris at the Three Flowers, Dumbledore said, “I really should just call Jasmine up to do this whole thing, but I think I should do my part in annoying Mr. Malfoy.”

Just then, Iris stuck her head through the fireplace. She offered a merry greeting. “How may I help?”

“Iris, we seem to have a small problem with Professor Roundtree’s costume here. What can be done to make it possible to wear in public?”

Iris looked the outfit over and murmured, “Oh dear.”

McGonagall offered a succinct, “Exactly.”

Snape was silent and stone-faced. Kiaya sniffled her tears away.

Iris drummed her fingernails on the fireplace grate, “First, transfigure the georgette fabric to something else. Gazar or grenadine would be easiest since they start with “G” but neither one will flow and move like you need it to for that outfit. The georgette really is just perfect.”

“Can it be made to be less…” asked Dumbledore.

“Transparent? Not reliably. I suggest that you transfigure it to sandwashed silk. It’s a pity to waste the georgette, but you can transfigure it back again when you’re done with it,” said Iris.

“Would you, please?” asked Kiaya in a tiny voice. Her hands were clenched in fists, to keep herself from trying to cover up again.

“Of course, dear,” said Iris. “Did you see the advertisement? It’s just lovely – and out today,” she said, conversationally sticking her wand through the fireplace. When Kiaya shook her head, Iris said, “I’ll send a copy over for you.” Iris flicked her wand and muttered something. The fabric transformed into something thicker – totally opaque, but that hung very like the other stuff. It looked like it would feel like sin to the touch. “That’s better. I can’t imagine why that idiot Vesta Malkin would make a garment like that for the event. Everything else that I’ve heard about was made to at least cover a body. She is such a….”

Dumbledore cut her off. “Would you suggest anything else?”

Kiaya looked calmer immediately. She peeked up and breathed a small sigh of relief. While the costume was still ill fitting and stupid, she wasn’t on display nearly as much.

Iris pointed at the vest and said, “That wasn’t made to fit her. The darts are all wrong. Kiaya here is petite. That was made for a woman with a much bigger bosom.”

“I….”

Iris kept talking, “That ribbon should just barely be able to tie that – and it should be open in the front at least an inch, maybe more.”

“That won’t be a problem,” said Snape.

“It won’t? But...” started Iris.

Snape shook his head. Dumbledore pursed his lips and turned back to his daughter.

“Thank you for your help, Iris. I appreciate it,” said Dumbledore, excusing her. “I’ll give you an update later.”

Kiaya looked confused but thanked Iris for her help. When the older woman was gone, she asked, “Why shouldn’t the top be fixed?”

Snape fished a jar from his robes and lobbed it to her. She fumbled it but finally managed to grasp in both hands. Suspicious, she examined the jar - it was unlabeled and quite unremarkable. Even more suspicious, she eyed him and twisted the cap off. She looked at it - the potion was a light brown, shiny cream with black… with black things suspended in it. Her eyes narrowed. The black balls looked like caviar but she had a sneaking suspicion they were not.

“The Dark Lord and Malfoy’s ilk know my … predilection for large breasted wenches,” Snape smirked salaciously. “I think it’s highly likely that Malfoy had this made with that in mind. It isn’t the shirt that’s to be adjusted.”

Puffer fish eyes. The key ingredient in a Swelling Solution. Damn that man. Her eyes filed with tears again. She was trembling with rage when she whispered, “I hate you.”

Aghast, Minerva asked, “Did you know about this, Severus?”

Dumbledore shot her a look that said quite plainly that the children needed to work it out for themselves.

Snape spared Minerva a glance before capturing Kiaya’s gaze again, “I figured he’d do something like this. He made a comment just the other day that he was surprised that you were so… slight.”

Ugly tears of humiliation slid down her cheeks. Mortification flashed through her entire body and she’d never felt so hideous and inadequate. Her nose reddened and turned runny and she prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her.

She whirled around and dashed for the door – which slammed before she reached it. Whirling back to face him, she spat, “There is no way in hell that I’m doing it. I like the way I am and I have no need to look like some… swaybacked Jersey heifer that hasn’t been milked in a week!”

He strode close and grasped her chin. She tried to yank away from him but he held tight and stood far too close. She contemplated kicking him.

“Shut up.” He snarled, “You will do it.”

“Severus, she thinks...” started McGonagall.

Dumbledore stopped her with one word, “Beautiful.”

Without releasing Kiaya’s chin, Snape looked at Dumbledore then back at Kiaya. “Is that it? Is that what you’re blubbering about?”

Kiaya growled at him and scrubbed at her dripping nose. Her ears roared and her knees felt like butter. A splitting headache clawed up the back of her neck.

“Woman, you are…” he swallowed his first opinion of her and glared. His voice was flat and brusque when he said, “You are beautiful. You are stunning. You are a delight to the senses.” Out of sight, the fingers of his other hand stroked the side of her breast. “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t have my hands down your pants on a semi-regular basis and still want more.”

She looked horrified and shot a glance at Dumbledore whose beard and mustache covered his expression rather well. McGonagall, however, had her hand to her throat and looked close to fainting. Snape tugged at Kiaya’s chin to capture her attention again.

“However, the more you look and do as you’re expected, the less thinking there will be on the part of the Dark Lord and his little friends. If you make them start thinking about you and why you’re somehow different from any other bitch I’ve bedded, they’ll start thinking far harder about me and my actions than I really want them to.”

The stroking of his fingers and the look in his eyes made it hard to think through the flashes of pleasure, but she knew she still disliked him intensely just then. “You…”

“So shut up and do what you’re told – and we’ll all make it out of this in more or less one piece.” His grip was a shade too hard not to be painful. His other hand dropped away from her breast.

Kiaya snarled sarcastically, through her tears and sniffles, “Yes, Master.”

“Oh good, you’ve remembered your role – keep practicing it. You might get it right one of these days. Hopefully it’ll be before we both get killed.” He released her and headed toward the door. His hand on the knob, he looked down at the jar still in her hand and instructed, “Use that stuff until you fill the top more than you think you should then figure out another way to close it as much as possible. I may not object to you having the teats of a heifer, but I don’t want anyone else able to see them.”

The sound of the door’s slam echoed through the room just before a half-shriek of utter frustration pierced the air.


***~~**~~**~~**

A/N – I’m so sorry that I missed last month. I acquired The WIKTT Archives, a Harry Potter fanfiction and fanart archive and spent well over a month getting it sorted out on my server at http://www.themasque.net/wiktt Please feel free to explore the archive and the rest of the site – and to upload your own work there. It will be much appreciated!

Please leave a comment that you read this chapter. I never do know if it’s being read and appreciated.