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

19 June
Dear Remus

As always, O.W.L.S. began on the 15th. I had expected a madhouse, but all of the upper level students are too busy studying to pull pranks and all of the younger students are too terrified of being hexed by older ones to do anything. I think we’re all too busy to even breathe without a book propped in front of our faces. If Ronald asks me how to do one more thing though, I might just turn his nose into a turnip.

You were right, the first O.W.L.S. weren’t horrific (only terrible) but I am certainly glad that I started studying this summer rather than waiting. I don’t think that I answered as completely as I could have, but the spaces to write were terribly small. I only know of one question that I got wrong, for sure, in Ancient Runes. I mistranslated “ewaz” instead of “eihwaz” I can’t believe I was that stupid. It was simply careless. It could be the difference between passing and failing, but since I think I did well on the others, I can only hope that it’ll be fine.

Charms was good (not excellent, mind), All I had to do in the practical was send a wine glass flying around the cubicle without spilling, make a thimble, grow, turn colors and tap dance. It didn’t turn as orange as I wanted it to, in fact, it looked more lemon than tangerine, but there isn’t a thing I can do about it now except panic. The written test was fine, though I may have mixed Diffindo with Discido.

In Transfiguration, I turned my rat into a passable footstool and it only had a small furry patch underneath. The auditor seemed impressed by the calico cat pattern I gave the upholstery, though I was aiming for leopard spots and velvet – I didn’t tell her that. In the written exam, I think I did well – at least I can’t think of any that I got wrong, though. Again, I didn’t do myself justice in the writing.

Someone’s let a Niffler into Umbridge’s office – I’m sure she’s going to blame Hagrid now. I will miss him but I can’t fathom why she wouldn’t sack him for it, even if he didn’t do it.

Why do you wish I wasn’t sixteen? Did you mean that you wish that you were still sixteen?

Be careful if you have to go to the werewolves. I have given great thought to the role of werewolves in the war and would like to discuss it with you at a time when we can both sit down and relax. Do keep me updated? I know you can’t and won’t tell me everything but I would still be terribly concerned if something happened to you.

I have the rest of my O.W.L.S. next week so I’d best get to studying.

Love,
Hermione

After dashing off her note, sealing it with a huff of irritation at her performance on her exams and a bulla marked with the impression of the small signet ring her parents had given her for her birthday, Hermione gathered her study materials for her Potions exam and went into the Gryffindor common room.

She looked at the boys who were diligently studying, though Ron was fiddling with a piece from his barbaric chess set while reading. Loathe to disturb them when they were actually working, she murmured, “Ron, Harry, I’m going to drop something off downstairs then spend some time in the library. Would you like to join me?”

Ron looked up with a jolt, eyes wide with a slightly panicked expression. “What are the uses of dragon’s blood in potions?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and gestured to the door. “Let’s go, I’ll tell you on the way. Harry, are you coming?”

He looked up from his second year Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, blinking. Hermione wasn’t completely sure that he’d heard her conversation with Ron. “Wha?”

“Harry! What is dragon’s blood used for?” Ron’s words were half-garbled.

“Uh…” Seemingly lost in thought, Harry gazed off into space as thought the dust motes would help him divine the answer.

Hermione dragged Ron by the arm, determined not to miss Professor Roundtree. Together they clambered out of the portrait hole.

“Oven Cleaner!”

Hermione peeked back inside the common room over Ron’s shoulder.

Looking triumphant, Harry held up Dumbledore’s Chocolate Frog card; he’d been using it as a place mark. “Dumbledore did it!” he explained, to the irritation of the other students in the room.

Smiling approvingly, Hermione commended his memory and closed the door. She looked at Ron’s befuddled expression as they walked down the staircase. Knowing he’d forget in ten minutes anyway, she explained, “Ronald, dragon’s blood is used in twelve different ways. Dumbledore himself, discovered them over a hundred years ago when he was working with Nicolas Flamel. It’s terribly difficult to come by because dragons aren’t bred to be slaughtered by potion and wand makers anymore. Instead they have to wait until one dies naturally, or rely on blood draws when one is captured.”

Ron grunted. His face was skewed up, as though making a funny face would help him remember things he ought to have learned five years earlier.

“The first use of the blood, which Harry pointed out, is as an oven cleaner. When distilled and mixed with common sand as an abrasive…” They managed to avoid Peeves in the Great Hall; he was urinating what appeared to be fruit punch on first year Hufflepuffs. Hermione didn’t really see the point in trying to stop him. He wouldn’t listen and the children were dirty already. She didn’t stop her discourse, “… hot salsa. It’s terribly expensive, but then again, it ought to be, since it has dragon’s blood in it.” Hermione lectured until they reached their potion’s classroom.

“Why are we here? Our test isn’t until Monday. Is it Monday already?” Ron blinked, befuddled again. “Did I miss the weekend? I didn’t study. Hermione, what do I do?” He banged his head against the wall.

Halfway in the room, headed toward Professor Snape’s office, Hermione called back, “No. Just stay there. I’ll be right back. Stop doing that!” Hermione didn’t think he stopped hitting his head, but she had made an effort.

Hermione knocked on the professors’ door; it opened quickly, revealing Professors Snape and Roundtree both looking expectant. While Professor Roundtree’s smile was welcome, Snape glared and then ignored her. Deciding that it was probably a good thing, Hermione offered the letter to Professor Roundtree.

“To go to London?” Kiaya asked, peeking at Snape under her lashes.

Hermione nodded, not wanting to say too much where Snape could hear, even though he knew where the letters went. “As always. Thank you very much, Professor.”

“It’s no problem at all, Miss Granger. I’ll have a few things to send tomorrow morning and will include this.”

“I really appreciate it, Professor.”

“I’m glad to be of assistance,” Kiaya smiled.

Snape barked, “If you’re quite finished? At least one of us is actually working and I’m sure another should be studying for exams.”

Both Kiaya and Hermione apologized for disturbing him, but he spoke over them. “I’m sure your time dawdling will be evidenced on your exam marks, Granger. I, for one, will not be shocked if your know-it-all reputation gets knocked down a peg or two.”

Hermione gasped in indignation, but bit her lip. She didn’t want to get into a battle of wits with Snape. Even if he didn’t win, he would take away points for cheek in answering back. Instead, she ground out another polite ‘thank you’ to Professor Roundtree and left.

“Really, she was just being polite,” Kiaya sniffed.

“I have better things to do than…”

Snape was interrupted by a shout from the hallway. A quick glance at the Student Roll told both of them that Malfoy, D. was “doing something stupid” in the potions corridor.

Kiaya made it to the door first by sheer dint of sitting closer to it. Directly outside the classroom door, Malfoy and several of his henchmen (Kiaya couldn’t help but think of them as that) had Granger and a red head at wand point. The boy, probably a Weasley by the look of him, had his face mashed into the wall with Malfoy’s wand pressed against the back of his neck.

“What’s going on here?” demanded Kiaya, running down the hallway.

Malfoy dropped his wand and stepped back; his greasy smile oozed charm. “Professor Roundtree, my father…”

She interrupted, “Mr. Malfoy, I don’t care about your father at the moment. I want to know what is going on. Miss Granger, please explain yourself.”

Hermione huffed and said, “I came out of your office and saw Malfoy push Ron against the wall. We weren’t doing anything to provoke it.”

Kiaya took a deep breath, annoyed at the interruption and the politics of children. “Mr. Weasley, is it?” The boy rubbed his cheek and nodded. Glad that she was correct in her assessment, Kiaya continued, “What happened?”

“I was waiting here for Hermione to go to our Potions exam, even though I didn’t study, and Malfoy here pushed me into the wall.” The boy sounded panicked and enraged.

Over the snickers coming from the Slytherins, Kiaya said, “But your exam isn’t until Monday.”

Weasley blinked, “But I…” he deflated.

“Monday, Ron. Not now,” said Hermione.

“Oh. Right, then. Never mind.”

Kiaya rolled her eyes, and turned her attention to Malfoy. “What did Mr. Weasley do to cause you to push him into the wall and hold your wand on him?”

“He was…”

“Yes? I can’t imagine much that would cause you to do that, especially when you could have found a teacher to assist you.”

“The Headmistress and High Inquisitor, Professor Umbridge, has forbidden loitering. Weasley here was just hanging about. It looked as though he was about to set off a Dungbomb or some such thing.”

“Did you see him with a Dungbomb?”

“No, but…”

“But nothing, Mr. Malfoy. In the future, please take a few moments to figure out what is really going on before you take such extreme action.”

“Yes, Miss,” said Malfoy. His eyes were narrowed in rebellion. Before Kiaya could say anything else, Malfoy’s eyes shifted to look behind her. Pursing his lips, he nodded and excused himself. The cronies trundled behind.

Kiaya turned to see what Malfoy had been looking at. Snape stood several feet behind her. His arms were crossed and he wore a sour expression. Turning back to the young Gryffindors, Kiaya nodded, excused them and headed back to her office. As she brushed by Snape, he grabbed her arm.

“You would do well to leave Mr. Malfoy alone,” he said under his breath.

“He was bullying other students. I’m not going to tolerate…”

“Leave Malfoy alone.”

“But…”

His grip tightened on her arm, but Kiaya refused to squeak. He leaned over and growled into her ear, “These are dangerous times. You’d be smart to keep a low profile in and out of the school. Just smile pretty, brew up a few cauldrons of something that smells nice and shut the hell up.”

“He’s a bully. It’s not acceptable.”

“I’m sure Weasley did something to provoke him.”

“You heard him! His excuse was utterly lame. He was bullying them and you know it.”

“I’ll take care of it in the appropriate manner. Keep your nose out of what you know nothing about.”

His voice made her want to curl up and purr like a contented kitten, even though his words were cause enough for her to scratch. Kiaya straightened her shoulders and turned her head to look at him. Their noses kissed but neither jolted back from the contact. Kiaya took a shallow gulp of air before she spoke. The bit of her brain that was far in the back of her head and could usually be counted on to come up with something foolish to say noted that his breath smelled pleasantly of coffee and that his eyes really were fathomless black, not dark brown. Gazing into his eyes, she whispered, “This isn’t the first time you’ve grabbed me. An observer might think that you actually wanted to touch me.”

Severus’s lips curled in derision. He dropped his hand and stepped back. With enough venom to poison her, he said, “Typical Gryffindor, more mouth than brains.”

“Oh, so you’ve been looking at my mouth Professor Snape; how interesting.” The détente broke and she blushed, not quite believing that she’d said such a thing. Ducking her head, she started walking back to the office, intending to collect her belongings and finish marking papers at home.

He smirked and said, “If I was looking at your mouth, it’s because I am amazed at the utter tripe issuing from it. I cannot think of any other reason why I would be looking at any part of your anatomy. I prefer a real woman as opposed to some gypsy ragamuffin - slip of a female that barely looks to be out of her sixth year.”

She stopped walking. Not looking back, she snarled, “I look young, do I? You’ve been standing awfully close recently. Have a thing for children, do you?”

With that, she entered the office, slammed the door out of spite and started tossing books, quills and the essays that she was marking into her bag, not caring if they were mixed together or being crushed. One particularly messy paper caught her eye. It read: “scurvy-grass, lovage, and sneezewort ‘These plants are most effective in the inflaming of the brain, and are therefore used alot in confusing and beduddlemate potions, where the wizard wants to produce hot-headedness and recklessness.” She glanced at the name – typical little Slytherin berk. Couldn’t think for himself and thought that she was stupid enough to either not recognize her own textbook’s verbiage – misspellings be damned, or not do anything about blatant plagiarism. With no small amount of vicious pleasure, she scrawled a bright red zero on the top of the page and then tossed it in the bag. Hermione’s letter in hand and bag hoisted over her shoulder, Kiaya flounced out of the room. Snape was nowhere to be seen.

Trotting down the outside stairs, Kiaya breathed a sigh of relief for her unimpeded escape. Again, she snarled in indignation. Snape’s behavior was unbelievable. He was bordering on sexual harassment – or was she? Kiaya couldn’t tell, but didn’t think it mattered. The school year was almost over and she would not be returning next year for love or money. She respected herself enough not to tolerate Snape anymore. Also, she had enough money to take care of anything and everything she’d ever want or need, thanks to Mr.Basilton.

“Kiaya Roundtree, do you have a stone in your hoof?”

Whirling around, Kiaya searched for the speaker. Next to the stairs, with his legs tucked underneath him, lay Firenze. A basket of fruit and vegetables was next to him; he reached for a radish and chewed the leaves.

“A what?”

“Do you have a stone in your hoof or a briar in your mane?”

“Er… no. Why do you ask?” asked Kiaya, now thoroughly confused.

“You have an irritated expression on your face,” replied Firenze.

“Oh. Yes. I am. Irritated, that is.” She felt like she was fumbling for words around the handsome male. He still had the same intoxicating effect on her, though at a distance, she didn’t feel like she was falling over her own feet to get closer to him.

As always, he was serene in his question. “Why are you irritated, Kiaya Roundtree?”

Taking a deep breath, Kiaya shrugged and explained, “Snape was obnoxious. He’s a bully training children to be bullies! I’m going home to get my work done so I don’t have to listen to him anymore- at least for tonight.” Kiaya knew the distance from Snape would do her good, but she was beginning to think that she ought to remove herself from Firenze’s presence, too.

“I have heard mated pairs speak that way of each other.”

“Mates? We’re not mates. I can’t stand the man!” Shifting the heavy bag more to the center of her back instead of casting a Weightlifting Charm, Kiaya shot her hip to the side for balance.

“I have heard human females say that about centaurs.”

“There’s a reason for that, you know.”

“Fear. It is quickly overcome, however,” said Firenze. A human male would have sounded cocky. From the centaur, such confidence could only have been a biological truth.

Kiaya shivered even though there was only a slight rose-scented breeze coming from the direction of Hogwart’s formal gardens. She took an involuntary step backward and narrowly missed turning her ankle. Discussing the mating habits of centaurs seemed like a rather foolhardy thing to do when standing alone on a warm summer evening. The centaur in question did have lovely fur, though – coat... er…hair… er….

“You are frightened of me, are you not?” asked Firenze. His smile was gentle but his blue eyes seemed far too perceptive. He picked an apple from the basket and offered it to her.

“A bit,” admitted Kaiya. Denial was pointless but she silently vowed not to give in to the fear of being seduced by a horse. She dropped the bag at her feet, as though it would provide a barrier, though she wasn’t sure she really wanted one. Shoring up her courage, she accepted the apple and took a bite, though wondering if her name should have been Eve.

“Do not be.” He plucked a carrot from the basket and chewed the leaves thoughtfully. “I am only sixty of your human years old; far too young to take a mate. Most of my herd waits until they are at least one hundred years old.”

“You’re no longer with your herd though,” ventured Kaiya, biting the apple again.

“That is true,” he said around the last bite of carrot.

Kiaya waited for him to explain, but he did not.

“You are not mated to your professor…” started Firenze.

“He’s not my professor!” interrupted Kiaya.

“Why are you not mated to another male, human or not? You are beautiful and intelligent enough to be allowed to mate,” asked Firenze.

“Er, thank you. Like you, I’m too young to even think about that. I’m only twenty – seven,” said Kiaya with a blush. This creature was certainly forthright, she could certainly play that game, too – though she knew that with the centaur, it was not a game.

“Many of your kind temporarily mate or court when they are but foals. Surely age is not the reason?” Firenze seemed genuinely confused.

“Perhaps I’m waiting for a man who knows how to control my mouth,” she offered with an impudent grin then blushed a deeper shade of pink. Her mouth would surely get her in trouble one day; she’d inadvertently issued an invitation if she’d ever heard one. She thought that it was probably rather unattractive, but wouldn’t give into the desire to cover her cheeks with her hands. Instead, she took another bite of apple. As he seemed content to wait, she finished chewing and said, “I’ve never found anyone who I wished to…mate with.”

“You are untouched, then?”

“That’s rather bold, isn’t it?”

“The stars foretold it. When the sage burns, Virgo dances with the Pleiades and Lyra plays its lonely tune. Why do you not sit down?”

Though she took astronomy in school, Kiaya had no clue what he’d just said. Instead, she just nodded as thought it had some meaning to her and ate her apple. As it didn’t look like the conversation would be ending soon, and she didn’t want to be rude to a centaur (they were known to take offense easily) Kiaya sat in the grass – not close enough for him to be able to reach her, but close enough to be polite. She was also close enough to see the lights from inside shine on his coat – it really was very pretty and smooth. Running her fingers through the grass, she replied, “Er, thanks.”

“You are fidgeting. That is a common human trait. Why do you do it?”

Unsure of why she’d sat down and growing faintly irritated at being interrogated, Kiaya tossed the apple core under a camellia hedge and sniffed, “I was avoiding asking if I could pet you.”

“That was wasteful and I am not a pet, Kiaya Roundtree,” said Firenze, for the first time, his lips pursed and he looked less than serene.

“No… not like that. ‘Pet’ as in stroke. Not like to make an animal a pet- and most humans don’t eat that part of the apple. It’s only good for the seeds and to rot into compost,” she stammered.

“I understand now. If it would please you to pet me, you may,’ he said, holding out his arm.

“Not your arm,” she laughed, though was still embarrassed and not quite sure what it was that he understood, “your back. Er… your hindquarters.”

He raised an eyebrow.

Her blush flamed again. “Your fur! Not your…” she waved at his rear; his tail slapped at a buzzing fly. Dropping her head to her chest, she sighed. “Never mind.”

“Kiaya Roundtree, you may stroke my withers, if you wish.”

“No, really. I was just being cheeky. Thanks, though.” She’d learned her lesson with that one. Perhaps it would be best if she kept her bloody mouth shut. Making to stand, Kiaya twisted a leg around and said, “I should go.”

“The stars are not yet out. Sit and pet me awhile,” he invited. “No one has ever requested to do that.”

She hesitated. At that moment, an owl landed in front of her holding two letters, distracting them. It dropped both and hooted. She looked around for something to give it as a treat. “I have nothing for you, I’m sorry.”

It clacked its beak in irritation.

Firenze tossed it a grape. The bird sniffed at it, clacked its beak again, but ate and flew off.

“Thank you. You didn’t need to give up your dinner. It didn’t need a treat. They get enough,” she said and settled again to open her mail. The first letter was on beautiful, heavy vellum; her name was written in a beautiful though very masculine hand. She turned it over curiously. The bulla was black wax impressed with a serpent.

“Humans consider owls to be clever, wise creatures. They are, in fact, stupid and greedy. Some have been foolish enough to nip when they do not get what they want. I did not want you to be injured, Kiaya Roundtree,” he said as he cracked a walnut in his hand.

Slightly stunned by his thoughtfulness and strength, Kiaya gave her thanks, forgot about leaving immediately, and opened the letter.

Dear Kiaya,

I hope all is well with you and the school year has gone smoothly. I understand from my son that the year is almost over and I apologize for my lack of attention to you. I had meant to write to you much earlier to offer any assistance that I can, in the administration of Edward Basilton’s estate. Forgive my lateness in the offer but please do consider it.

I have a wonderful accountant who is quite thorough and will be very happy to take on your accounts, should you wish it. I would be delighted to go over said person’s qualifications at lunch sometime next week. I am also perfectly willing to discuss various investment opportunities, should you wish to tuck your fortune away someplace other than Gringott’s. Please send a return owl with a time and location. I will treat you to lunch and be grateful for the company.

I have also enclosed your invitation to the annual Wizard’s Ball. It is my most hopeful wish that you attend so that we may share a conversation even more lovely then we did last year.

Your servant,
Lucius Malfoy

Kiaya winced and carefully set the letter aside. Opening and reading the invitation, she sighed.

“Do your letters bring sadness?” inquired Firenze, speaking around a persimmon.

“No, just… disquiet, I suppose. I didn’t want either letter but I’ll have to do something about them,” she said.

“Will you tell me why they are upsetting?” Firenze patted his flank.

With a sigh, she moved over and stroked his fur-covered withers. He was warm, strong, and silk smooth. It was possibly better than petting the cat she’d had as a child. Under her hands, she could feel one of his hearts beating and the ridges of muscle-covered ribs under his coat. She used her nails and scratched as he sighed in apparent pleasure. Laughing, she said, “It seems you like to be petted.”

“Indeed I do. You may pet me anytime you wish, Kiaya Roundtree. It is most pleasant,” he said, though it was as close to a purr as a horse could have made.

“I’m glad you like it,” she laughed. “You’re very nice to pet.”

“Thank you. Your letters?” Firenze asked, gazing at her in his most disconcerting way. Suddenly, his head turned.

Kiaya followed his eyes. Standing on the edge of the forest, stood three centaurs, staring at them. Unfolding himself, Firenze stood and stared back at them. For several long moments, none of them moved. Kiaya curled her legs tighter to her body, uncomfortable with the silent exchange. As quickly as they appeared, the three centaurs disappeared into the forest. Firenze looked after them for a minute then folded his legs down once again and looked at her.

“Forgive me, Kiaya Roundtree. Will you tell me about why your letters made you sad?” he asked, offering no explanation for the display.

She chose her words carefully, not wanting to offend. “Is there something that I can help you with? Should we go inside or something?”

“No, Kiaya Roundtree. The stars have foretold exile for the best possible future to come to pass. I have chosen to fulfill my destiny as my conscience dictates,” he said. Once again, he was serene. “Sheltering inside the castle would do nothing to stop that.”

“I see. I’m sorry that you were exiled,” she said, feeling like the expression of sympathy was lame but necessary.

“Why are you sorry? You did nothing to precipitate it, in intention or in action.”

“True, but…”

“Kiaya Roundtree, tell me why your letters made you sad.”

Giving over to the topic change, Kiaya held up Malfoy’s letter, “This came from Lucius Malfoy. He invited me to lunch to discuss business, and sent along the invitation to the Ministry of Magic’s annual ball.”

“And?”

Kiaya told Firenze all about the discomfort at last year’s ball, everything she knew about Malfoy, her thoughts of when they met, and Snape’s accusations that Malfoy was seeking a mistress in her. She spared no detail or supposition and all the while, Kiaya slowly stroked Firenze’s coat until long after sundown.

***************

Remus pointed to a small enclosure in the kitchen corner filled with rats either franticly seeking escape or sleeping in a pile. The owl that had just delivered empty phials to fill with his mid-cycle blood from Potion Master Roundtree and Hermione’s letter flapped her way to it. She spent a moment perusing the selection as though shopping for a lobster at the local market before swooping in, plucking her wriggling victim and flapping out the window to eat in peace. Much to Molly’s very vocal dismay, Sirius had set the cage up after Christmas once the kids had left. Molly thought it barbaric though Sirius had decreed that the pen was the best way to keep fresh rats for Buckbeak and the owls when they were found in the house. He’d also said that if they ever ran out of food, the rats would do in a pinch – they weren’t terrible when roasted over a spit. Though all of the inhabitants were cash-poor, they were rat-rich and had very happy birds. Buckbeak, in particular, seemed to enjoy playing with his dinner before settling down to eat. He had destroyed the late Mrs. Black’s bedroom while chasing rats around. Though Remus, by no means squeamish, didn’t enjoy watching the birds catch their prey, Sirius seemed to enjoy the small, daily drama of life and death every time he witnessed it. Molly spent less time bustling about the kitchen and more time in her bedroom because of it and cast a Masking Charm over the corner when she came in to cook.

Sighing, Remus sliced his finger, filled the phials with blood and sealed them into an envelope to return. A flick of his battered wand healed the cut as he read over Kiaya’s letter. It seemed that she had noted minute size and texture changes in his blood cells throughout the lunar cycle and would be trying to isolate the healthiest cells in the lot to study. She’d only seen them working late one night. Moonlight had passed over the glass dish while the cells were engorged for her research. They both had decided that no one had seen it before since most Ministry potions researchers worked during the daytime and Mr. Basilton had been an early riser. He bundled a return note and the phial envelope, scribbled an encouraging note to Hermione, tied the lot to the now-fed owl’s leg and sent her on her way.

Hermione’s latest letter had proven interesting. Remus chuckled at his friend’s note, dashed off after her Arithmancy exam - which she thought she had done alright in…meaning that the thing was probably perfect and she’d come up with answers to stun the examiners into new enlightenment on the subject.

“Hermione again?” asked Sirius, entering the kitchen.

“Indeed. She said she was in a panic over her potions N.E.W.T. and wasn’t amused over…”

“O.W.L.,” Sirius corrected.

“What?”

“She’s only sixteen. She’s taking her O.W.L.S.”

Remus paused for a moment, his scarred face carefully blank. “O.W.L.S. Right. She wasn’t amused during her potion’s O.W.L. There was a question about Polyjuice potion. She did get to note, from experience, that one shouldn’t use it with animal hair,” Remus chuckled. “She seems to think that someone told the Ministry about her little mishap when she was younger.”

Sirius flopped into a backwards chair and tilted it back. He jutted his chin to the letter, “What else? Any word of Harry?”

“No, not in this one, just that they are all studying hard, took their potions exams, she got a bowtrukle scratch in magical creatures, took arithmancy and half of astronomy,” Remus replied as he scanned the hastily written note.

“You certainly do get a lot of letters from Hermione,” Sirius said, opening the old copy of the Daily Prophet on the table.

“I send them, too,” said Remus, casually scanning Hermione’s letter again.

“Indeed you do. You do remember that she’s only sixteen years old, right?” said Sirius, studiously reading an article on Sirius Black recently being spotted in Leicester. He felt a tinge of sympathy; Stubby Boardman didn’t deserve to have his reputation smeared just because he happened to have long black hair and grey eyes, too.

He gathered his writing supplies. Knowing what Sirius was thinking, Remus raised his eyebrow and said, “I can’t possibly forget now, can I?”

“As long as you remember – and take it into account when you talk…”

Remus looked at Sirius. “You aren’t saying…”

“She’s a good kid, Mooney. It’s all I’m saying.”

“She is a good young lady.” Remus corrected. “She’s a very intelligent young lady. Emphasis on ‘young’, Padfoot.” Remus made sure that his expression stayed mild while his words were full of meaning.

“You need a real woman, not correspondence with a sixteen year old. Now, I’ll admit, it’s legal and she’ll be seventeen soon, but still…”

“Shut up, Sirius.” He said with patently false pleasantness.

“You’re an old man before your time, Remus!” He pointed at Remus and pronounced, “You need to get laid.”

“I’ve always been an old man,” groused Remus, pointing to his face. “It’s the scars.” Crumpling the letter and striding to the door, Remus left his friend at the table. “And you’ve been bonkers since you got laid last time. I don’t need that happening to me. Like it or not, I’ll stay celibate, thanks.”

“I am perfectly sane, you wank.” He may have been sane, but Sirius sounded sad.

Deciding that Sirius’s sadness was another slice of his recently mercurial temperament, Remus snickered and left the room. He called back, “Right, then. Keep thinking that. I’ll stick with my own brand of insanity without adding woman trouble to it, too.”