First Moon
Severus can almost feel Minerva’s agitation even before she raps on Dumbledore’s office door, then marches in without invitation, interrupting the lecture Dumbledore is (again) delivering to Dorian Penumbra. Severus is only present as a silent threat as the most accomplished Ligilimens in the school. Severus doesn’t need the skill to see Minerva’s nerves are spiking with mild alarm.
”Minerva?” Dumbledore questions, eyebrows dropping with concern. “I take it you found her?”
”Swimming,” she confirms, eyes ticking to Severus and back to Dumbledore, who nods her on. “She’s burning off the excess energy, apparently, from the upcoming moonrise.”
Severus’ gut clenches when the thought fully settles, because…
”Planet-wide genetic shifters,” he murmurs, now realizing. “She’s a werewolf.”
“She’s—“ Penumbra gulps loudly, then scowls at Dumbledore, like this new information changes anything. “It’s no wonder she reacted to—“ he heaves out. “You can’t possibly let her stay!” He half-whines, half-snarls, then shrinks in his seat when Severus, Albus and Minerva all glare him into silence.
”She’s bound to the grounds, Dorian,” Albus states quietly. “We cannot and will not force her out.”
”She insists she’s perfectly safe,” Minerva continues, agitation settling now that she’s relayed her worry. “Evidentially born shifters of her last world are far more stable and that she normally sleeps right through full moons and has since she was a small child.”
”And this excess energy of hers…” Severus surmises, “needs to mingle with this world’s magic to settle?”
Minerva fish-mouths for a second at such an accurate guess, then jerks a nod. “Exactly.”
“Need a cage,” Penumbra mumbles to himself. “It’s the only way any of us will be safe!” He declares, straightening and looks to Dumbledore again only to be cut off before he manages another word.
”There will be no need for that,” Dumbledore says patiently, but sternly. “Fate would hardly bind her to a school full of children if that were the case. Minerva, I know she’s not in your house, but—“
”I’ll monitor her,” Severus interrupts, surprising even himself and earns him a half-knowing look from the headmaster, though he nods agreeably anyhow.
”There really ought to be two,” Minerva sighs but doesn’t look overjoyed by the prospect of a sleepless night with a potentially volatile shifter.
”Filius might agree to be the second,” Severus opines because he does seem somewhat fond of the girl/not-girl.
”Why not me?” Penumbra demands, glowering. “I’m the Defense Against the—“
”I doubt she’d want to be monitored by someone who’s already attacked her, Dorian,” Minerva bites out and now is when the rest of the shades of the room begin hollering their own opinions until Dumbledore shushes them all.
”If Filius is unavailable, we’ll consider you the second, Dorian.” Before Penumbra can so much as think to gloat, Dumbledore continues. “And then I’d expect you to do what you can to earn back her trust.”
Penumbra’s eyes flash moodily, but he jerks a nod. “Of course, Headmaster.” Severus isn’t the only one who hears the undertone of bitter anger there and hopes for the jinxed position to rid the school of the smarmy man sooner rather than later.
The day after the Mystery and Moody visit, I can’t sit still. I spend the morning surprising what staff is out and about by jogging the perimeter of the grounds that don’t include the lake, and then again after that. When I still feel energy buzzing along my skin, I finally give in, apologize to the occupants of the lake, and do Olympic-level butterfly stroke half-laps until my limbs all feel like noodles. McGonagall is waiting at the docks when I finally return, a towel in hand.
“While logically, we know Fate won’t let you drown,” she sighs, “we still don’t recommend swimming alone, nor without letting at least one staff member know first.”
I nod exhaustedly, and wrap myself until I dry. On any other day, I'd just crank my dragon-ish traits on. It being today, a quick head-to-toe drying charm is all it takes, then another to have myself clean and fully dressed again, all without showing an inch of indecent skin. McGonagall looks a bit concerned still, so I try to ease her mind.
“Sorry, this doesn’t happen very often,” I sigh back, now almost ready for a nap. Even knowing I’ll feel hyper-twitchy all over again the second I wake, I maybe should catch a quick nap while I can before someone finds a more 'useful' way to help me burn off the energy. “It's just the full moon,” I offer when she gives me a curious look, then elaborate when she looks expectant. “I can usually sleep right through full moons, same as I have since I was four- just spend the day a little twitchy, but... the magic here, unlike my last reality, is perfectly compatible and super fueling it. It’s normally only very young children who feel the need to shift this badly. I should be fine by midnight.," I assure, then wave a lazy hand up and over the tree line. ”Daytime moonrise in a few hours, then I'll be hyper-energized until the magic settles at moonset and levels out to my new 'normal'."
She stops in her tracks, eyes widening. “Shift— you’re a werewolf?!” She exclaims, alarmed.
“I... thought I’d mentioned it? It’s not like shifters of this reality, at all. It’s not something that can be passed on with a curse or a bite, nor are there any... half-shifts? Exactly,” I mutter, shaking off the canid desire to tilt my head to explain. “For me, the worst that might happen is my teeth going a little sharp... and my eyes might gain a sheen in dim lighting, like a cat’s.”
Still, she’s giving me wary looks now, and I hate it. It might not qualify as obvious discrimination, but it’s there anyway, at a low level. I wonder what their reaction would be if I confess that I’d been a dragon shifter since my last life here. Lesser telltale signs: some minor scaling and excessive body heat. Extreme telltale sign: scales everywhere, horns, and a wingspan half the length of the Great Hall.
“Please be honest: is there a danger to anyone else?” She asks bluntly.
“No?” I try, because I don’t think so, but that’d sound even more uncertain and won’t help anything. I aim for what truth I can give. “No, there’s no blackout phases, no accidental half-shifting, and no aggression that I can’t attribute to my own temper,” I assure. “Excessive energy that I can usually exercise away and additional hunger for meat or additional hunger for everything if I opt for full shift, which is just that: an option and not a requirement. I wouldn't risk anyone else's life that way, and certainly not those of the kids who will be living here. If there ever is a major, immediate risk with anything to do with me, I won't be lying about it. It goes against everything I believe in. I might be twitchy, but everyone is safe.“
“Hmph,” is her reply, now giving me a once-over. “I’ll have to tell the Headmaster, of course,” she adds, and I’m already nodding. “And there might be potion options that can relieve some of the symptoms—“
“No, no,” I argue, head shaking now. “Definitely not. There’s no telling what my altered biology might do and I won’t risk it when there’s no real danger factor. This will pass, probably quicker, if I do full shift, but—“
“But if you’re seen, there’ll no doubt be... complications,” she concludes, nodding and sighing.
"Exactly. Please trust that I know every part of me, both physiologically and magically well enough to know for certain what is best for myself." She's prepared to trust me, I can tell, just very, very grudgingly.
“Well, if you change your mind, please, just talk to one of us. For all you know, there might be something new that’s been discovered in the last few hundred years.”
"I hope you don't mean a cure of some kind," I retort quietly and she straightens with another frown. "Because there's nothing wrong with me that needs any kind of curing."
At this, she frowns more and all but confirms her opinion.
"I wasn't born with a disease, Professor. I was born with a gift that ties me to nature in a way most people will never be privileged enough to understand, largely because most people are too busy thinking themselves too smart and well-educated to remember that humans, magical or not, are also animals and therefor have instincts too. I'm no more murderous as a wolf than you are as a cat." I say it all as levelly as I can because for as brilliant as she is, she's still got a few hang ups that I'm certain she'd be happier without. So, maybe with time she'll understand, but going by her expression, that time definitely isn't now.
"Then something for the symptoms," she says again, though gentler, and I sigh, but let it pass. No need to make this a bigger issue than it really is when time will prove my point for me.
"I'll keep it in mind," I agree, just to put her at ease. A single day and night of proof, and this too will pass and leave my reputation no worse than it is now. Besides, it’s not like the teachers are all terrible gossips, after all.
***
When I leave the Hufflepuff common room next to head toward dinner, both Snape and Penumbra are waiting there in the hallway, the latter almost half-hidden behind Snape, like he’s scared to get too close and Snape audibly grinding his teeth at Penumbra’s obviously unneeded and unwanted presence.
“So,” I correct myself, somewhat ruefully, “the teachers are all terrible gossips.”
Snape hums his annoyance, but doesn’t refute it and Penumbra narrows his eyes at me.“So this is why you really spelled—“
“Quiet,” Snape orders and Penumbra’s mouth snaps shut, then lets out a sound suspiciously close to a growl; I sigh at them both as patiently as I can while Snape continues. “It’s school policy to notify certain staff members when certain... afflictions—“
“Nevermind that it’s not,” I mutter with annoyance, but Snape carries on anyway.
“—are present, and then only at such times until safety can be assured.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I’m not going in a cage,” I say flatly, then add: “And there’s no cage made by hand or by magic that could hold me anyway.”
This time, it’s Penumbra grinding his teeth, but he scuttles back behind Snape when I set my exasperated eyes on him before I refocus on Snape.
“Of course not, but you’ll be supervised for the night, so proof can be registered, if it’s ever needed," he adds smoothly, like it's already a concession they're giving me and not simply a lesser invasion of my personal rights.
“Supervised,” I repeat, my voice still flat.
“Once,” Snape huffs, something like cautious sympathy well-hidden in his eyes. "If you simply prefer to sleep through it, you'll get a cot in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey and either Professor Sprout or Professor McGonagall nearby."
“Only once because the Headmaster’s clearly afraid of what you’d do to—“ Penumbra begins muttering and I snort, interrupting his nervous moping.
“You think he's afraid of me?" I ask, surprised. "Of me?" At the man's obviously grumpy confused expression, I roll my eyes. "I think you might be projecting your own insecurities there--"
"No," Penumbra grinds out, lying through his clenched teeth while spots of color appear on his cheeks. "But you're obviously hiding things--"
"There's a big ass spell that literally coats the planet that's hiding things about me," I interrupt back. "And that's not something I'm in charge of, genius. Even if it were, that's no excuse for forcing your way in--"
"I didn't--"
"Oh, sure, you were perfectly gentle about it. How does that excuse any," I emphasize softly, "portion of you entering any portion of me?" I ask quietly, pausing mid-step when Snape's hand settles cautiously onto my shoulder, keeping me from stalking any further-- oh. Yeah, I'm all but pinning the weasel-faced ass hat to the wall of the hallway and... hadn't noticed, so yeah. Time to pin my feet in place, especially since the jackass half cowering in front of me has just lost that indignant, embarrassed flush of his cheeks when all the blood drained out of his face.
"I'm essentially a walking lie detector," I sigh out, stepping back again and casually tuck my thumbs into my pockets. "Between your scent and your heartbeat, it's easy enough to suss out. Lie to yourself all you want, but you can't lie to me. This has nothing to do with me being a shifter and everything to do with you being butt hurt about being called out on your shit in front of a group of people who likely respected you a lot more two days ago than they do now or will any time in the near future." The way he swallows as his eyes tick away and down is all the visual proof I need and I scoff quietly.
"You're not even sorry you did it," I add just as quietly. "You're only sorry you got caught. Time to retire that high horse you're sitting on, Professor. Between the two of us, only one has the right to feel pissy about being violated."
At this, Penumbra glowers at the hallway floor, head shaking. "Werewolves always--"
"The werewolves of my last reality always what?" I cut in, exasperation giving way to impatience. "How about the weretigers? Or the were-rhinos? How many people died per full moon, on average, worldwide? Or, more specifically, how many died by violence?"
Penumbra flaps his lips soundlessly, caught off guard, then just glowers when he comes up blank.
"Exactly," I huff, shaking my own head. "You know nothing of either born shifters or the realities they come from and certainly nothing of my last reality. Consider this a lesson, then. In America, where I grew up, those violent deaths were few and far between barring inner city gang disputes, which the muggle newspapers of this world claim are still a problem regardless. Violent moon deaths were one per ten million, and most of those were proven to be premeditated murder and not some crazed moon psychosis." Penumbra gapes, like he's only just now realizing his folly, so I continue. "Brazil had an average of one in a thousand while South Africa had one per five hundred--"
"But that only proves--" the man splutters, now apparently grabbing for any excuse he thinks he can reach, but Snape's apparently reached his limit with the moron and finally cuts him off.
“Silence,” Snape grinds out, and this time, Penumbra might actually shrink a bit, wide eyes no longer on me when Snape turns on him and huh— yeah, Penumbra might’ve genuinely shrunk a little (or Snape has gained a few inches via his annoyance alone) and looks terrified, (again) like a wimp of a bully caught in the act by someone much bigger and meaner. “Leave,” Snape adds, so softly, seriously, and genuinely deadly-sounding that only idiots would argue that instruction. So of course: Penumbra.
“But— there’s meant to be two staff—“ he protests, now looking like he’s just had a promised treat taken back, but the quick, skipping steps now coming down the hall distract him from whatever he’d been ready to argue.
“Yes, yes,” Flitwick says, all fake happiness evident as he comes to a stop at my elbow, but offers me a genuine smile. “Sorry I’m late. Got caught at the hearth with my mother, and even at her age, she's a bit of a talker. Thank you, Professor Penumbra, I believe the Headmaster said you’ve a few crates of pixies to settle in tonight? Best you get a move on, then? They’ll be twice as active after the moon’s fully risen.”
In my opinion, there’s almost nothing more pathetic-looking than an adult pouting like a bratty toddler, and Penumbra, as he sulks, mopes and pouts his way back down the hall, only proves it. Only after he’s out of sight do I finally speak.
“So... the castle hinted at his current position being cursed? Not that I'm wishing any kind of harm on him, but is there a countdown clock to his eventual removal?” I wonder aloud, but Snape and Flitwick both weirdly go a little shifty-eyed and cagey-looking, like they’re not meant to talk about it.
“Maybe,” Flitwick finally mutters low under his breath. “Sadly inconsequential since he’s here now. So! What shall we be doing this evening?” His cheerful gaze flits between Snape and I over and over until I eye them both and shrug.
“As long as I’m not in a ridiculous cage of some kind, I’m not picky. I don’t think watching me be jittery for a few hours is going to be that exciting. Honestly, I usually just sleep right through it, but I'm thinking my magic might just need tonight to finish resettling and readjusting to what my level of ‘normal’ is in this reality. I highly doubt it’ll happen again.”
“So you don’t... uh...” Flitwick waves a lazy hand that could mean anything.
“Go on a murderous rampage?” I offer with a snort. “Never. My senses heighten, as does my energy, I actually crave meat, even if it doesn’t settle well, but turning into an actual wolf and howling at the moon are entirely optional.”
“...That’s it?” Snape demands, surprised, and waves us onward down the hall, hopefully toward the Great Hall and food. “That’s...”
“Underwhelming?” I suggest dryly, then shrug. “A bit, but in my last reality, it was normal for almost everyone. It was rare that someone is born without a shifter gene of some kind active. In some of the wealthier countries, the lack of it often qualified as a medical handicap. You were the one to call it an affliction," I point out with a teasing smirk. "Not me.”
“So in that reality, it was well balanced?” Snape surmises, looking thoughtful (and ignoring my jab entirely).
“Nearly always,” I confirm. “As it also should be here, regardless of how the change happened, born, bitten, scratched or cursed. But since a part of natural shift happens strictly in the mind, there are some who’ll struggle with it. A bit like someone might stutter when they’re overexcited. The natural remedy for shifters is being in a soothing, relaxing environment, hopefully with some trusted family or friends nearby. Honestly, the most troublesome part in that reality was that there were fifty-seven different kinds of shifters worldwide, so there were occasional territory disputes between were-species, and even those were largely placated by mostly-friendly rival games on moon days.”
“But balanced enough to achieve a full shift to wolf or other shift-species without trouble?” Flitwick wonders, intrigued.
***
I’d hardly noticed that our continued discussion took us to the Great Hall for dinner (if I happened to eat three rare steaks and a full rack of barbecued pork ribs, neither professor mentioned it) then for a longer and equally relaxing walk and talk around the grounds and in full moonlight while they peppered me with every question possible.
Then came a friendly debate on whether charms or potions (I advocated heartily for both sides to keep it interesting) would be more beneficial to help an ailing or struggling werewolf of this world. I hadn’t noticed much at all until I heard the faintest howling from deep in the forest, a call of joy and peace and wonderment, and while I didn’t answer, it felt like a ‘welcome home’ of a different kind.
It wasn’t until Flitwick began yawning that I noticed it was now well past 2 a.m., three hours past moonset, and that was the end of that.
***
The castle was buzzing the next day, a final day of preparation before the students arrived and I kept myself as occupied as I could, helping Professor Sprout sort through the ‘loaner’ sets of dragon-skin safety gloves, (even if it made my own skin crawl to handle them,) a bit of my spare magic reinforcing bits and seams that’ve gotten too thin. With every glove I repaired, it made it slightly less likely a dragon would be executed just to protect vulnerable human skin.
Hagrid ended up with an entire tribe of ailing fire sprites that couldn’t seem to keep themselves lit without help; one of the locals had spread dampening powder around his property, tired of finding patches of his crops singed and burned so often. A quick lava bath fixed them right up on the condition they’d leave the man’s house and farm well alone. Hagrid gave me one of his fresh-baked 'cookies' as a thanks before sending me off. I nibbled off what I could, but honestly, it made more sense to use it as a paperweight. (My dragon would've liked them, though.)
A task here and a task there until the final evening staff meal to ‘officially’ welcome the two newest professors while I dined alone atop the astronomy tower until the stars sprinkled into view. After the second elf and second professor commented on my luxurious hair, I officially decided to give myself a small charmed makeover. My hair shortens to a slightly shaggy (but fashionable) bob, the color blending and lightening until it’s a gentle brown with three auburn shaded highlights mixed in while my green eyes simply shift to Wyn's dark honey shade that I’ve always loved. With robes on and a slightly hunched, shy demeanor, I look more like the first year I’m meant to be, which is perfect. Blending in made easy.
I was back up in the astronomy tower sixteen hours later to watch, just at a distance, the infamous Hogwarts Express finally roll into the station bringing with it a near-psychic wave of excitement and curiosity and only when Hagrid finally led the first-year boats out to the water did I come down to meet them and to play my new roll.
***
The sorting is simple, everyone laughs at the hat’s new welcome song, and the feast is marvelous, as always (with a bonus of the few 'vegetarian' dishes I enjoy set near me). I try my best to keep my conversations friendly-quiet, but my brief and embarrassed light blushing worked perhaps too well because Annie the prefect now seems inclined to forcibly adopt me to help me conquer my nerves. My shy male counterpart Artie (now the smallest student in the school and also newly, forcibly adopted) seems half in love with Annie and useless at conversation when she's nearby. No one remarks on my absence on the train, nor on my absence on the boats and I'm soon laughing along with my roommates as we settle in for bed.
Tomorrow: first day of class.