Infinity Times Infinity

“Look, all I’m saying is that the lake naturally grows those ingredients — we need them for the potion,” Fred remarked. 

George lowered his voice as the three of you walked into Potions. “You’re mad if you think I’m going for a swim in February.” 

“Rock Paper Scissors?”

“No.”

You playfully rolled your eyes as the two redheads continued discussing with each other. They were still in the process of experimenting with ingredients for their ideas. So far, only after having written down their ingredients, did they realize that they still needed to find a way on how to acquire them. 

Snape cleared his throat once everyone was inside and seated at their stations, making the two boys quiet down. They both dragged a scroll out of their respective satchels and began to scribble notes, showing each other while the brooding professor wasn’t watching. You brought out your own spare piece of parchment and copied down the instructions that were written down on the board. 

It seemed like everyone was going to work on different potions. On the board was a list of potions that were going to be on the O.W.L.s. Snape instructed that students were to partner up and choose one to complete before the end of the class. 

Soon, the class was busy working on their assigned potions. The classroom steadily grew warm like it usually did when it came to the brewing stage of the concoction. Steam rolled up and tickled your face making you wipe at the spot. You were used to it, having spent quite a bit of time brewing in your free time. The colder months were your favorite seeing as you had something to keep you warm, meaning you didn’t have to sweat as much. When the weather outside became warmer, however, that’s when it would become a bit more insufferable, just thinking about it made you cringe. 

“How much of the root power do I have to add in?” Your ears perked up at Fred’s voice. 

“Uhh…two pinches.”

Curious to see how their potion was turning out, you glanced at the cauldron and saw that their potion was an odd purple color, almost pearlescent. 

“What are you boys brewing?” You asked as you divided your attention to both them and your own task at hand. 

“Strengthening Solution,” Fred grabbed a pinch of the bright-colored powder. “We’re about done —”

Before he could hover his hand over the cauldron, you grabbed your wand and cast a quick protego. The powder rolled off of the transparent shield and onto the floor. They gave you an odd look, but George realized what they had almost done. 

“Fred, you did get Targarean root like I asked right?”

Fred grabbed the container and began reading it. “Yeah, I got the root from the cupboard — oh.”

“Oh?”

Fred turned the bottle around and showed the label. Tiberian. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose and at the same time whisked away the shield from the opening of the cauldron. 

“Tiberian root is volatile if mixed into a potion with powdered griffin claw while in the simmering process,” you sighed while trying your best to stifle a laugh, some still managed to slip out. “You have to be more careful!”

“I must’ve read the label wrong, sorry.” Fred pouted. “But hey! At least we have you to make sure we don’t accidentally blow ourselves to bits.” 

You stirred the contents of your own potion. “I’m not always going to be there to pull the two of you out of danger you know?” 

You set the knife in your hand down and carefully dropped in some of the liver pieces you just slivered into your potion. It turned a beautiful shade of honey yellow and you let it cook until it bubbled. 

“Where are you going then?” George mused. “If not with us?” 

You looked up ready to answer when Snape’s voice caught your attention. 

“Lupin — bring over that cauldron will you?” He didn’t look away from the chalkboard, instead, he prompted you with his chin before returning to draw what seemed to be a flower. 

You set your spoon down and vanished the flame before you left your station. Without paying much attention, you wrapped your hand around the handle and hauled it upwards. In a second, the cauldron rolled away from you, its contents spilled and spoiled all over the stone dungeon floor. You stepped away from the mess, hoping that the potion’s contents were not physically detrimental, and held your hand to your chest. 

The stinging pain on your hand raged wildly and you stared at Snape who returned an equally bewildered look. The rest of the students were watching, waiting for the older Slytherin to explode in a fit of rage… but that reaction never came. You looked down at the mess at your feet, then at the cauldron — realization dawned on you and as quickly as you could, you thought of an excuse. 

“Sorry, the handle was too hot.” You flexed your hand but quickly regretted it as pain flared through the raw skin. 

Snape watched you curiously. “But I place charms on all of my —” he stopped his reprimand short once he realized what cauldron he had told you to pick up. 

Silver. 

His eyes flitted back up to yours. “I must’ve forgotten to place a temperature charm on the cauldron. I apologize for my lack of caution.” You looked into his eyes and felt the sincerity. 

You clutched onto your hand as he walked closer, vanishing the spilled potion away with a flick of his hand. He stood close to you, carefully pulling your hand away to see the injury. Your hand had an odd raw look to it. Pink and red blotches of skin littered the inside of your palm and fingers. You were hoping that, even with the short encounter with the silver, it wouldn’t leave any scarring. Handling silver was always a risk and you tried to limit your amount of exposure to it, but it was a daunting task seeing as one of your house colors was silver. 

Something cold pressed against your other hand. You looked down and noticed Snape was trying to hand you something. Discreetly, he slid a small container with a thick, pasty substance into your non-injured hand and nudged you towards the exit. 

“You should go to Madam Pomfrey. She should have some tonic for that burn.” 

You spared the twins a glance as you walked towards the door, concern written all over their faces. You tried to dismiss their worry by flashing them a smile and a thumbs-up before walking out of the classroom. 

As soon as you walked out of the room, you heard Snape’s voice boom inside. “What are you dimwits waiting for? Your potions are all turning different shades of the rainbow! McFarland! Why is your potion —” 

You giggled a bit, taken aback by his sudden change in heart and tone. You glanced down at the container and opened it. It smelled soothing as the sweet apricot scent from the agrimony wafted from the container. There were hints of other plants and herbs like onion and such, but they were surprisingly not as potent. And that was saying something since you had an enhanced sense of smell. 

You shrugged and smeared some over the fussy skin of your palm. Almost immediately, the soothing relief from the ointment worked and you released a sigh. You didn’t have to go to Pomfrey’s. That was just a ruse so that students wouldn’t get suspicious of your injury if Snape were to personally tend to it. 

Thinking about how you could spend the rest of your time, you mindlessly walked through the castle’s lone hallways. It was the perfect weather outside. Not too cold, not too warm. There was a slight breeze that wove through your hair and robes that made you feel at ease. 

It was rare now to find a feeling like this. Fifth-year was slowly becoming increasingly unbearable. With O.W.L.s dangerously close, all fifth years were trying their best to study and make it out alive… somehow. You were particularly anxious although you shouldn’t be. 

That caused a stutter in your step.

Laws were being passed. Harsh, discriminatory laws that were causing problems for those with… fury little problems. It was becoming increasingly harder for people who shared the same affliction with you to get jobs, apply for internships, etc. It was getting worse and the Ministry was allowing it. 

A voice in your head popped up, one that constantly nagged you ever since you learned firsthand how society treated people like you. 

Why were you studying so hard? 

Why were you working yourself down to the bone — why were you pushing yourself past the brink only to shed tears over tests that wouldn’t matter at all if your employers knew of your lycanthropy. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if.’ Of course, they would know. Both you and your father were registered in the Ministry’s Werewolf Registry. Those who worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and other high-ranking departments had access to the list. However, to your luck, not many gave a rat’s ass about checking it as often as they should. They probably didn’t even know of your father’s name and yours being there, to begin with. 

It all felt like a game of fate. All it took was one glance and it could all be gone. 

Walking through a mostly empty courtyard, another thought came to mind, one that didn’t make you feel like garbage. You picked up your pace as you made your way up to the third floor and pushed aside the downcutting thoughts you had just conjured. You knew how to spend the rest of your time… your dad didn’t have a class at the moment. 

– – – – – 

After a few minutes, you made it to his classroom and knocked on the door before waltzing in without further instruction. Your dad was by his desk, reorganizing some books on the shelf behind it. He glanced at your approaching figure and smiled, then did a double-take, his eyebrows pulling taught. 

“You’re not in class?”

You pulled a chair from somewhere, you didn’t really pay attention from where and dragged it with you before taking a seat right in front of his desk. 

“No.” You raised a bandaged hand and turned it lazily. “Accident in Potions. Snape sent me out to see the matron but that was only an excuse.” 

“I assume you’re okay then.” He put down his stack of books and approached you. At the same time, you showed him the container Snape had given you. “What happened?”

“Snape asked me to bring him a cauldron. I thought it best not to use magic because I didn’t want to cause a reaction — I didn’t know it was silver and well…” 

Remus’ jaw clenched as continued to inspect your hand. 

“He didn’t do it on purpose did he?”

You snapped out of your quiet state and shot your father a confused look. 

“What?” You stopped rubbing the tender skin of your clothed palm. “No – why would he do that on purpose?”

Remus bit the inside of his cheek, unsure if he wanted to tell you about the dispute he and Severus had before winter break. In the end, he thought it would be better to tell you than to keep you in the dark. He cleared his throat before proceeding. 

“Snape assigned my third-years an essay on werewolves.” 

And again, all you could mutter was a — “What?” 

“An essay on how to identify and kill a werewolf,” he sighed. Believing you would end it there, he picked up his quill and decided to start grading the few scrolls he had left. But of course, you wouldn’t leave if there.  

“Dad, why would Snape do that?”

He scribbled a quick word, then put the quill back down — he never looked up to meet your eyes. 

“Severus and I had a little dispute before winter break,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. “I said some things I shouldn’t have said out of frustration. I guess this was his retaliation for my outburst.”

You looked at him, bewildered beyond reason. “How are you not stressed out by this? Your students can potentially know what you — what we — are!” 

It wasn’t unreasonable to feel a rage so profound that you feared the wolf in you would tear its way out. Seriously. You had worked so hard the past five years to not make others suspicious. You took so many health potions, conducted crazy amounts of research to study lycanthropy, you even lied to your closest friends about what you truly were… and Snape had nearly thrown that information out like it was nothing? 

The next time you saw Snape you would — 

“I would be if it weren’t for the fact that,” he chuckled dryly into his hand. You had no idea how he could be laughing, but before you could retort, he regained his composure. “Apparently, most of my students put off the assignment. I told them they didn’t have to do it. Can you believe teenage laziness?”

Oh. That was a relief. 

“So… we don’t have to worry about that then?”

You wished it could be that easy, but something told you it wouldn’t be. 

He sighed — yup it wasn’t. 

“Two of my students finished the essay: Hermione and Neville. Although, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. It’s not like we can tell them to forget about it. It’ll make us look more suspicious if they have or haven’t put two and two together.” 

“We can always obliviate them?” You offered, your tone ambiguous (but hinting that you probably should). 

Bewildered amber eyes locked with yours. “No!”

You put your hands up. “I’m only joking.” 

Now it was his turn to give you a pointed glare. “I don’t think you are.”  

You shrugged. “I mean, there’s a possibility that we can be outed. Both of us have worked hard to be where we’re at, I’m not going to let two kids ruin that for us.” 

Remus placed his intertwined hands over the work he was grading, then sighed. It wasn’t favorable, knowing that the smartest witch and most easygoing, yet timid, boy might know their secret, but he trusted that they wouldn’t tell anyone. It might be stupid of him to think so, but thinking of it realistically, they couldn’t have much say. Dumbledore and the rest of the staff knew and the student population might not believe them due to their reputation. It was sad but true. 

One thought was all it took to plant suspicion into someone’s mind; plant a seed and watch it grow… it was very dangerous. 

“Don’t think that I’m not worried either, but I trust my students.” He gave you a reassuring smile. “Anyway, it’s not as if I wasn’t planning on teaching them the subject. I did write it into the curriculum.” 

“Really?” You asked, truly curious of your father’s intentions. 

“I think it would be rather insightful coming from yours truly,” he chuckled, some bitterness rising to the tip of his tongue. “I mean, tell me what you remember about your lesson on werewolves — it wasn’t much now, was it?”

Thinking back to your own third year, you could barely remember what Professor Quirrell had taught the class. Aside from your own research, of course, you were taught basically nothing useful. It was just the bare minimum: how to identify a werewolf and what it could do if it bit you. 

You had to agree with him, but — “I still think we should obliviate them.” 

He sighed dramatically which made you burst out laughing. You almost regretted bringing up the idea when your dad tried to make you write lines about not obliviating people, but you both ended up joking about other things. 

A soft knock interrupted your banter. Your dad welcomed the stranger, smiling once again when he saw who it was. You looked over your shoulder and saw the signature messy black hair and scar. The younger Gryffindor looked between the two of you and raised an awkward hand. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were busy. I can come back later.”

“Nonsense, Harry. Come on in.” 

“I was just about to go anyway.” You packed your bag and slung it over your shoulder. “I have to go meet up with the twins — make sure they’re not planning any mischief without me.” 

Your dad chuckled. “Make sure they complete the essay I assigned. It’s due next class.”

“Don’t worry, they already have it done.” You placed the final scroll inside your bag, casting an anti-wrinkle charm before you closed it. “They love your class, they do all their work on time.” 

Remus’ face turned a soft shade of pink, still not used to the students’ fondness of him or the subject. You waved him goodbye, then waved at Harry who waved back. You walked past him and almost made it out, but you were drawn back in by Harry’s voice. 

“I—” You stopped and turned to face him. He looked at you curiously, regretting having said anything at all, but followed through regardless. “I was wondering if you could conjure a patronus?” 

You glanced up at your dad before looking back at Harry. He’d told you all about Harry’s predicament and the unusual attraction of dementors that he seemed to have. It wasn’t the first time you had stumbled upon their patronus lessons anyway. 

“I can, yes.” 

He anxiously fiddled with the strap of his bag. “Is it too much to ask if I can see it?”

You shook your head, a soft smile on your lips. “It’s no problem at all.” 

His green eyes shone and you almost chuckled at his excitement. You extracted your wand from its holster and took in a deep breath as you looked through your mind for a happy memory. Once you found one, you allowed yourself to be consumed by the feeling and let it flow through you until you expelled it through your wand. 

A soft blueish white light poured out of your wand like vapor before taking shape. The animal weaved through the air, moving throughout the classroom and between your father and Harry before coming back towards you. It enclosed you, its light feeling warm against you before disappearing. 

“Woah.” 

“Cool, right?” You pocketed your wand and rightened the bag on your shoulder. “Shame that I don’t need to use it often.” 

“Luckily, you don’t have to use it.” Your dad reminded you. 

“Right, right.” You waved your hand, dismissing the concern. “Anyway, I have to go. Good luck with the charm, Harry — I know you can do it! Besides, you’re being taught by the best Defense professor Hogwarts has ever had.” 

You flashed the Gryffindor a thumbs up before disappearing through the classroom door, not missing the embarrassed face your father tried hiding behind his hand.