Mind-Warping

Disclaimer: (In the spirit of Crimson Starlight)

Kim: *blink* Where did everyone go?

Snape: *Smirking*

Shana: *glaring at Snape*

Snape: *acting all innocent*

Shana: What did you do with them?

Snape: Hmmmm?

Shana: 'Dan and 'Ro. What did you do with them?

Kim: Yeah!

Snape: *eyebrow* I returned them to their owner.

Shana: *wide-eyed. Flips cell phone open and hits speed dial* I don't trust you.

Snape: *smirking evilly*

Shana: *on phone* Yeah, did you get the boys back in one piece?

*sounds of screaming from phone*

Kim: That can't be good.

Shana: *glaring, face turning red*

Snape: I belong to JK Rowling. Those insufferable elves belong to JRR Tolkien. Shaluinn, the plot, and all related to her, belong to Shanastay. She makes no monies from this work, whether real or virtual. Please, sue her. I, at least, would find that eminently amusing.

Kim: *hurls copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince at Snape* You bastard!

Snape: *Disapparates before book gets to him*

Shana: *snaps phone shut* He's in deep shit whenever he decides to come back.

Kim: Indeed.

WARNING: Polyjuiced, gender-bending solo action contained within this chapter. Or as LadyoftheMasque likes to call it: a baby crack-plot-bunny.

Chapter 14: Mind-Warping

Shaluinn trudged up the slope and made her way to the Entrance Hall. She was chilled and soaked to the skin, tremors beginning to move through her extremities. She paused for a moment, one hand against the wall to hold her up as a particularly strong shiver ran through her.

Blast and damnation. I should've known better. I can't handle inclement weather like I used to. I keep forgetting the limitations of this damn, disease-ridden body. Sheer strength of will only goes so far with a compromised immune system. Damnit, damnit, damnit! Gads! Feels like the cold is working its way out from the inside. Chilled to the bone indeed. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Through berating herself for the moment, she shoved off the wall, making her way forward. I better not get lost again. She fought to keep her attention on making her way to her rooms and off the increasingly severe tremors rippling through her.

The staircases seemed to be cooperating, even shifting to send her on a more direct path to her rooms. Or so it seemed.

She made it to the third floor before she stumbled, her right shoulder contacting painfully with a stone wall. Her teeth were chattering audibly by now, her arms wrapped around her torso in a futile attempt to stay warm. It still didn't occur to her to cast a Drying Charm, or even a Warming Charm, on her person; not that she could recall those long-ago lessons at the moment. She was focused solely on one thing: Hot shower. Hot shower. Must take hot shower.

She stepped off the staircase at the fourth floor just as it disengaged, shifting to another portal. Callaway managed two dragging steps and tripped over her own feet, tumbling to the ground. Damnit! At this rate I'll be dead before I get to my rooms. Clearly, my coordination is lacking right now. Must've used it all up shooting. Wonderful. Great, just great. Come on now, girl. Up with you!

Gritting her teeth against her pain-laced, damp-stiffened muscles protestations, she shoved to her feet. She closed her eyes as she swayed for a moment. Equilibrium restored, she opened her eyes as she put one foot forward and walked right into Isaac Newton's immovable object.

"Ow! Shit. Sorry," she muttered, moving back from the person she'd run into, rubbing her smashed nose, and looked up into bottomless dark eyes set beneath thick black eyebrows. A large, curved nose protruded from a sallow-skinned face, framed by layered black hair, feathered around his features in an attempt to soften the look of him. As she stepped back, she saw that he was clad entirely in black, thin and round-shouldered, a twist of a smirk set upon his lips.

She bit back a scream of startled fear, eyes wide in shock, as all the air in her lungs rushed out with a single, strangled word. "Snape." And put her foot behind her where a staircase had been moments before, pitching backwards into empty air.

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Conscious of the relentless passage of time, Severus took stock of his surroundings, wondering just where he'd ended up. Drifting below him was a medium-sized village, bustling with activity. With a sigh, he realized he'd most likely have to land, transform, and Apparate back to Spinner's End, as he had no idea where the wind had taken him.

With that in mind, he began a leisurely descent, moving in a wide, tightening spiral. He swept his head side to side, looking for a quiet, unobserved place to land. Spotting a dense copse of trees off to his left, he banked, adjusting his trajectory to take him to the location.

He dropped through the dense canopy carefully. Severus flapped his wings hard, trying to brake but only half-succeeding, his landing hard, very nearly embedding his beak in the grass as he overbalanced. He shook his animal self, looking around cautiously before closing his eyes and concentrating.

Had a Muggle happened upon him in that moment, they would have thought themselves mad, watching a large black bird morph into a larger, black-clad man.

Severus righted himself and checked his surroundings a final time before turning on the spot and Apparating away.

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Shaluinn didn't make a sound as she fell, her breath already expended with that startled exclamation. In that spilt second of weightlessness, she berated herself for acting like a frightened schoolgirl in the face of the man she'd been recruited to aid. Idiot!

Suddenly, her descent was arrested, strong hands gripping her forearms and pulling her back, twisting so she landed flat on her back in the corridor, a heavy weight settling on top of her. She laid there, dazed, breath knocked out of her yet again. It had all happened so fast. She'd walked into him, recognized him, and like an utter ignoramus, had freaked, stepping back onto a staircase she knew was no longer there.

Only to have him apparently leap forward to arrest her impending fall, overbalancing and sending them to the ground, where they now lay in a tangled heap, chests heaving with the sudden exertion. Her eyes shut, she tried to regain her composure, hoping she hadn't managed to flummox everything up. Yeah, real impressive display there, Shaluinn. Way to gain his confidence.

When he made no effort to get off of her, the redhead opened her eyes to find Snape practically leering at her, a grin that just seemed wrong gracing his lips. What the fuck? He was quite clearly taking stock of her assets, not only having a view down her shirt, but able to feel her curves beneath him. She gritted her teeth and forced air into her lungs, quite the endeavor with his weight pinning her down.

"Get. Off. Me."

He smirked. "No." A slight accent, not British, was hinted at in the one word.

"Get. Off. Me. NOW!" She bucked her hips, trying to urge him to move. I'm sopping wet head to toe, he saved me (whoop-dee-doo), and now he won't climb off. What the Sam-hell is going on? And what is... Oh, SHIT! Shaluinn felt something hard pressing against her thigh that she most definitely didn't want to deal with.

"Vhy did you call me Snape?"

The accent was unmistakable now. Okay, wrong guy. He's not Snape. But damn, he fits Albus' description. Why the hell didn't Albus just give me a fucking picture? Stupid old man and his stupid games. Enough was enough. The fright-induced adrenaline rush she'd been riding was waning, and, with its departure, the chilled state of her body was again making itself known.

Callaway barely repressed a shudder as she glared up at the man, still awaiting an answer. Assessing their position, she realized she didn't have the physical capability to flip him off her, which left... her wands! She bucked again, moving him just enough to free her right arm. A flex of her wrist and her wand was out, the tip pressed painfully against the wizard's neck. "I said, get off! Or so help me, I will happily hex you into the next millennium!"

Finally heeding the threat, the man withdrew. Jaw clenched against the shudders that threatened to overwhelm her, Shaluinn followed him up, regaining her feet carefully, her wand-point never wavering. "Who the hell are you?"

"This is ah strange vay of thanking your savior." He looked pointedly down his nose at her still-brandished wand, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Shaluinn Callaway." She made a flamboyant bow, carefully keeping her wand leveled. "And you are...?"

"Viktor Krum." He said it like it was an explanation unto itself, looking at her expectantly. With no flicker of recognition forthcoming, he added, "I vas the Seeker for the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team."

"Yippadee-fucking-doo-dah." A shudder ran through her as she fought to maintain her feet. Deciding he wasn't an imminent threat any longer, she dropped her hand, moving it behind her back so he wouldn't see her reseat her wand.

Eyes narrowed, confusion creased Krum's brow. "You don't recognize me?" He watched her curiously as her frame shook with repressed tremors, wondering what was wrong with her, other than the fact that she was dripping wet from the weather outside. Surreptitiously, he silently cast a Drying Charm over her, hiding the move with an impatient gesture. He was confounded when she didn't appear to notice.

"No," she admitted. "I'm American. We don't follow Quidditch like the rest of the world. Why would I?" Her gaze narrowed. "You must be quite the 'big deal' to expect me to know you by name, if not sight. And you used the past tense when referring to your team. What are you doing here at Hogwarts?" Some part of the redhead's mind had registered her now dry state, but--still chilled to the bone--it didn't qualify as a high priority.

He seemed mildly impressed that she had caught that, still curious that she continued to shiver, her teeth even chattering for a second before she got them under control. "Ah could ask the same of you."

"Hi. Thank you for pulling me back from that edge." She waved her hand over her head in a rather strange gesture, like a student with a correct answer trying to get the teacher's attention. "I'm the new Unwanded Defense professor."

That definitely threw him. Apparently unwilling to voice his ignorance and puzzling over her odd behavior, he responded, "I am interviewing for the DADA position."

"Yay for you. Can I go now?"

He seemed visibly perplexed, unable to make sense of the redhead's bizarre manner of speech. "Vhy did you call me Snape?" he asked again.

Shaluinn blew a stray bit of hair out of her face and answered like it was self-evident. "I've never met the man, never seen a picture. You match the description I was given of him, so I jumped to the wrong conclusion. Satisfied?"

A smirk again twisted the wizard's lips. "Not nearly," he murmured softly to himself. To Shaluinn he said, "Ah can understand your confusion."

"Great. Well, good luck, break a leg, whatever it is you people say, at your interview. Now, if you'll excuse me..." She turned to stalk off as best she could while shivering uncontrollably.

Krum watched her go, wondering at the difference between the woman as he saw her now and when he'd observed her outside, shooting that odd-looking bow. Something was off about her. "Strange, strange vitch..." he murmured aloud to himself, reaching down to adjust his trousers beneath his robes. He was... intrigued. He wasn't used to being dismissed like that.

The acoustics of the corridor were such that Callaway caught his comment and threw back one of her own, not bothering to turn around. "I've never claimed to be normal, Mr. Krum, never." With that parting shot, she turned the corner, leaving his line of sight.

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Severus appeared at the far edge of the back of his property on Spinner's End with a muted crack! He strode up to the house, lowering and resetting his wards as he went. He felt assured that he could move about in his animal form adequately enough to suit his immediate needs. Entering the edifice, his mind turned to something he had been considering during his lengthy flight.

He made for the loo, leaving his sweaty, dusty clothes in an untidy pile on the landing between the rooms. He eyed the shower, debating washing up before he indulged his curiosity. Remembering how taxing the experience had been on his body the last time he'd done it, he opted to wait.

He faced the bedroom and called, "Accio Polyjuice!" The phial in question came flying through the air, smacking into his waiting palm. He almost felt guilty for what he was considering, almost. It wasn't like he had a whole lot else to entertain him at the moment, having already read every book contained within his family home.

You wanted to impose your obtuse sense of humor on me from beyond the grave, old man, but I believe I have one-upped you on that. Now, let's just see exactly who it is you were planning on having me parade around as. Decision firmly made, he spared a moment only to Transfigure the bathroom door into a full-length mirror before popping the phial open and swallowing a mouthful.

He stoppered the bottle and placed it on the sink before the potion began to take effect. His eyes squeezed shut, and jaw clenched, he dropped to his hands and knees, his body convulsing and contorting as it reformed itself. He held back the urge to vomit, knowing from past experience that it was a side effect of the transformation process. Deep breaths kept his gorge down and his mind calm.

He could feel his body changing, muscles shifting and adapting, hair growing exponentially. And most disturbingly, he felt the loss of the familiar weight of his penis and bollocks. He knew this Polyjuice transformation brought with it a gender-swap, something he'd never experienced before. But to not be able to actively feel his reproductive organs was unsettling, to say the least. Instead, he felt two heavy weights hanging from the prone plane of his chest, swaying slightly with every breath.

Wanting to take in the full effect of the change all at once, he kept his eyes closed, reaching up with one hand to grasp the edge of the sink. The other hand followed and he lurched upright, his center of balance off due to the new shape of his body. As he righted himself and turned to face the full-length mirror, he could feel the muscles in his shoulders and back protesting from the unfamiliar weight of the heavy breasts he'd acquired. He realized he'd lost half a meter in height as he rotated, bracing himself on the fixture before finally opening his eyes.

Emerald-green eyes stared back at him from a tanned face that was otherwise plain, oval with relatively clear skin, carefully manicured, arched brows, and a somewhat angular nose with a slight bump at its midpoint. Waist-length hair, a shocking shade of deep, screaming red, framed the face, falling in haphazard locks over his surprisingly wide, well-developed shoulders. The striking color had to be real as Polyjuice imitated a person's natural state. It didn't mimic artificial coloring.

His eyes were drawn downward, to the heavy pair of breasts hanging from his chest. Still braced against the sink, he brought his small hands up, hefting them in his palms, the skin pale in comparison. He felt the pressure in his shoulders and back lift immediately, gaining sudden insight into the practical purpose of brassieres. He estimated that each one weighed approximately 1.5 kilos. Sweet Merlin! How does the woman deal with this constant strain? I imagine she is seldom without a bra.

Unable to resist, he gave the globes an experimental squeeze, liking the way that felt, a slight tingling beginning in his chest. He gently released them, his eyes moving from the mirror to his actual flesh as he teased both nipples between thumbs and forefingers. Oh, yes. He applied a bit more pressure, twisting the peaked nubs, burning bolts shooting down to pool within his lower abdomen. Just like that...

He snatched his hands away suddenly, cheeks beginning to flame as he registered what he had been about. Calm down. The purpose of this exercise is to learn something about this mystery woman Albus has seen fit to saddle you with, not play with yourself, he staunchly reminded himself. Plenty of time for that later. Inhaling a deep breath, he went back to examining the female's form.

Around her right areola, he noticed a curved scar. Tracing it lightly, he wondered about it. It resembled a Muggle surgical scar. Looking between his breasts, he noticed something beneath them. Again hefting the globes, he looked to the mirror, taking in the reflected image of a tattoo. The overall shape was an inverted, curved "V," the point nestling between the breasts, the arms of the design arcing beneath. The center contained two green swirls that he recognized. It's the zodiac symbol for Cancer. The rest of it is merely embellishment.

The chest arched down to a nice, smallish waist before curving out to rounded hips, balancing out the torso in an hourglass shape. Sliding his hands down his body, he could feel hard, toned muscle beneath a nice layer of insulation. Her body wasn't fat, nor was it thin. She clearly led an active lifestyle and took care of herself.

He pushed off from the sink, staring into the mirror at a two-centimeter long, crescent-shaped mark above the navel, which was an "innie." I wonder what caused that. His gaze dropped further, to her/his utterly denuded genitals. If he looked close, he could see a faint, red, triangular-shaped shadowing beneath the surface. Tearing his eyes away, he flexed the heavily-muscled thighs, impressed at the defined lines that emerged. The calves were as well defined, but tapered nicely down to thin ankles and smallish feet.

He turned on the balls of his feet, almost toppling due to his altered center of balance, to present his/her backside to the mirror. Nice arse. Reaching up, he swept her hair over one shoulder, head turned to look over the other. So situated, he discovered more designs etched into the skin. A leaping dolphin was on the far side of the left shoulder. A stylized archer with a drawn bow was set on the opposite shoulder. He caught his breath as he took in the final image.

In the center, at the base of the neck, spread across the tops of her shoulders, was a silhouette of a large bird that could have been a raven, done in shades of black and grey, wings extended, with ghostly, human eyes set into the wings. The apparent coincidence disturbed him more than a little bit. Around the beak, done in dark red, were three characters that looked to be Asian. What are the odds? A shiver passed through him. He shook it off, annoyed by his sudden superstitiousness. He let his/her hair drop back, again covering the image, and pivoted around, less awkwardly this time.

Taking in the whole of his/her appearance, he found the overall effect to his liking. Her body was well-maintained and at the peak of health. Albus, Albus, Albus. Why do I have the nagging feeling you planned for this woman to be more than just an information conduit? His/her hands smoothed over the curves and planes of his/her skin, appreciating how the tan hid her flaws from all but the most scrutinizing of gazes, the unmistakable areas of lighter skin betraying her choice of sun-bathing attire: a competition-cut two-piece swimsuit.

Severus had no way of knowing he was looking at Shaluinn Callaway as she had been five years prior.

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As soon as she turned the corner, away from Krum, the redhead slumped against the nearest wall, sliding down to her knees, the tremors shaking her making it impossible to walk. The fastest way to her rooms was back down the corridor she'd just exited. She needed to get back to the stairwell and wait for a staircase leading up to the next floor to shift into place. It was that or attempt a roundabout circuit. With her current state as it was, that simply was not feasible.

Steeling herself, Shaluinn rose to her feet, keeping in contact with the wall. The cold stone supporting her, she silently made her way back, peeking carefully around the corner. She released a held breath with a whoosh as she saw that it was empty, the Bulgarian having vacated the area.

She staggered down the corridor, halting at the stairwell, waiting for an upward leading staircase to slide over. Luck finally seemed to be on her side as it wasn't long before one ground into place. Fortune had really smiled on her in that moment as this set of stairs led up not one, but two levels, an almost direct path to her rooms.

Elated, Callaway hurried up the stone steps, making it to her office in record time. Well, fast for someone who couldn't stop shaking. She moved through the wards around her office, feeling them reset as she passed. She actually walked into the wall hiding the entrance to her private rooms on her first attempt, she was trembling so badly.

Gaining control of herself long enough to utter aloud the incantation that would allow her to pass through the portal without actually opening it, she fell rather than walked through, crumpling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Her body convulsed violently, the redhead unable to regain control. Finally, mercifully, she blacked out, her frame still twitching in its unconsciousness.

That was how McGonagall found her, some time later.

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Severus' excellent time-sense told him he had approximately half an hour left in his altered, female form. It was wrong, so wrong, but he had every intention of exploring his metamorphed flesh. She will never know what I was about. If I understood correctly, Albus never told her who I was to approach her Polyjuiced as. He smirked at his feminine reflection, liking the way the expression looked on her/his face. Her features were definitely suited to their own variant of his trademark expressions.

He dipped her/his chin, gazing at the mirror image looking back from under pale lashes that were longer than they appeared. The resultant effect of the twist of her lips was an expression both smoldering and sultry, the flashing of her green eyes only adding to the effect. He felt an odd tingling in his abdomen that radiated outward, a flash of warmth surging through him. Hmmm... Her tongue flicked out to enticingly trace his upper lip. Oh, yes. I do believe I shall thoroughly enjoy this.

Male arousal is largely based on visual stimulation. And Severus, more in tune with his own triggers and proclivities than the average man, knew just how to excite himself. He teased his very male mind with the vision of his currently very female form. In a perverse, roundabout way, he was indulging in mutual masturbation, his mind, her body.

But this experience was somewhat different. It was a form of masturbation, but wasn't. He was touching himself, but wasn't. He was touching him as her; it was totally and utterly alien, as well as enlightening. Why did I never think to try something like this before? Oh, Albus, I do believe you were the more perverse of the two of us. Why else would you give me enough Polyjuice for more than one hour?

He slid her hands over the curves and planes of his/her body, caressing, sensitizing, and inflaming his nerves. His eyes fell half-closed, a low moan escaping her lips. His left hand slid up from her abdomen to cup her left breast, kneading the heavy globe. His thumb crept up to flick roughly at the dusky nipple, bringing it swiftly to attention. Yessssss... Another moan whispered from his mouth, dredged from the depths of his abdomen. He spread her feet, his right hand delving between her thighs to trace the contours of her denuded folds with short-nailed fingertips.

A detached part of his mind observed how his female body was much slower to arouse than its male counterpart. It was something he had always been aware of when pleasing a woman, but experiencing pleasure from the other side firsthand was quite another thing entirely. A part of his brain catalogued and sorted the sensations and experience, carefully shelving them for later examination.

A slight tremor ran through him as he grazed her clit lightly with a fingernail, the sensation exquisite. A feeling of imminent muscle failure in her legs caught his attention as he increased the pressure on that point, moisture coating his fingertips. Suddenly, I understand the concept of "going weak in the knees." I think I should continue this exploration on the bed before my legs give way.

He retrieved his wand and strode, alright, attempted to stride, to his bed. An uncharacteristic giddiness enveloped him, urging him to jump onto the mattress, giggling as he bounced for a moment. He shivered suddenly and calmed, confusion painted across her features. What the hell was THAT? In an expression that would have been utterly ridiculous on his own features, his mouth dropped open as he experienced an odd epiphany of sorts.

Clinically, I've always known that female mood swings were hormonally based, resulting in an emotion manifestation. But I never, ever thought they could ebb and rise so quickly! Nor that they could be so utterly, virtually impossible to resist! With instant, crystal clarity, he comprehended an incredible gamut of impulsive behavior he'd witnessed over the intervening years. It all suddenly makes a very twisted kind of sense.

Something else struck him, every bit as astounding as his last revelation. Sweet Merlin, the kind of emotional fortitude a woman must have to be able to actually control these impulses... Suddenly, I have so much more respect for the restraint I have witnessed Minerva wielding on numerous occasions. I have no doubt these impulses run the entire gamut of one's emotional range and is not limited to giddy fits. No wonder teenaged girls tend to burst into tears or laugh inappropriately with no provocation whatsoever.

With a shake of his red-haired head, Snape came back to himself, aware that the time he had left in this altered form was swiftly running away from him. Recognizing the limitations of his current situation, yet still being of a male mind, desiring visual stimulation, he dropped onto his back on the mattress and flicked his wand at the ceiling, conjuring a mirror there.

Impatiently flinging the length of ebony away from him, he brought his knowledge of the female form to bear on his altered body. He caressed her curves roughly, further excited by the way her/his body reacted to the attention. He watched himself in the mirror, writhing on the mattress, desire swiftly kindling to a feverish pitch.

Left hand alternating caresses between breasts, his right hand slid between his wet folds, moving front to back, coating his nether lips. His gaze hooded, he watched his reflection pleasing her, pleasing him. He slipped her middle finger into his sodden passage, thumb circling his clit. A louder moan erupting from his chest, he added a second, and then third digit, pumping hard as he sought out that spongy mass at the front of her channel.

He arched up from the bed, his cries rising to a shrieking level as he found that spot and pressed against it in small circles, applying the same motions to his clit. At first, it felt like he needed to urinate, but swiftly changed. He was close... so close... A heat, almost a burning feeling, was building in his abdomen. It closely resembled the sensation of riding the crest of a wave, as he'd done on one rare trip to the beach in his childhood. That swelling, rising sensation was as near as he could come to describing what he was feeling.

He pushed her form higher, and higher still, tiny beads of perspiration forming along his/her hairline with the exertion. The need to reach the top of that ocean swell was nearly unbearable, her entire body as taut and arched as a bowstring. A keening cry burst forth from between his clenched teeth as that swell broke, her body cumming in great convulsing shudders. Her channel clamped down on his still-circling digits, stilling the ones inside, hot fluid coating his hand, his thumb still moving on her clit, albeit with less coordination.

His body fell back to the bed, chest heaving, thighs twitching uncontrollably as he withdrew her fingers, gentling the movements of his thumb, drawing out the sensations. Suddenly his frame was wracked by convulsions of a sort that he was more familiar with. Hands twisting in the linens, he rose out the discomfort. Just in time. His sheets were once again soiled with fluids as she once again became a he.

Snape lifted his musk-dampened fingers to his lips, tongue darting out for a taste. Oh, sweet Nimue. There is nothing like the flavor of a woman's juices. But the question remains: Am I tasting myself as a woman, or how she actually tastes? This bears further research. If I can get her to agree. Hmmm. This could make our interactions a bit... interesting.

Unbelievably satiated from a Polyjuiced orgasm and worn out from his Animagus exercises, the wizard let his body go limp against the mattress, and not bothering to realign his form, feet hanging off the end of the bed. His eyes drifted shut, and several deep breaths later, he fell asleep.

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Minerva dismissed Viktor Krum with a promise to owl him by the end of the week with her decision. The former Triwizard Tournament Champion for Durmstrang was the front-runner for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position Snape had left vacant. Ironically, the former Potions professor had fallen victim to the same curse that had plagued the DADA post for almost twenty years, only keeping the position for a year.

That irony did nothing to alleviate the Headmistress' anxiety. Krum was definitely qualified for the post, having graduated from Durmstrang, an institution notorious for a curriculum that leaned heavily toward the Dark Arts. In fact, it was the only subject the former Seeker had earned an "O" in when he took his N.E.W.T.s. The young man was familiar with Hogwarts from his time there during the Tournament, and she was tempted to just give him the position and be done with it.

But McGonagall refused to make another hasty decision, like she had with Callaway. Never mind that Albus had already completed and filed all the requisite paperwork to create the new position and had even been granted the Board of Governors' approval of his choice in instructors. She was responsible for the school now and should have been a bit more discerning and a little less accepting. Albus' judgment was suspect; his murder at the wand of a man the former Headmaster had trusted totally was more than ample proof of that.

She had only one other applicant left to interview, that meeting scheduled for the day after Fleur and Bill's wedding. Kathleen Frejne, a witch of American birth, was arriving all the way from the Forbidden University, located somewhere near the capitol of the Republic of China. The woman's references were impeccable, including time spent as an American Auror. She was definitely a contender, at least on parchment.

Elbow resting against the top of her desk, Minerva pinched the bridge of her nose in a gesture reminiscent of Snape, willing back an impending headache. She lifted her head as a flash of green by the hearth caught the edge of her peripheral vision. As she watched, three bodies tumbled out of the fireplace.

Harry, Hermione and Ron lined up in front of her desk, the black-haired young man speaking for the group, his voice utterly serious. "Professor, we're here to speak with Professor Dumbledore's portrait."

Minerva merely nodded.

"Alone."

A long-suffering sigh escaped her lips as she stood. She had no intention of refusing them such a request. After all, the fate of the wizarding world rested squarely on the shoulders of the lightning-scarred young man before her. "I suppose now is as good a time as any for me to visit with Professor Callaway and see how she is settling in." The trio parted as she swept past them, pausing and turning back, only when she reached the entrance.

"Take as much time as you need. I find I'm becoming rather accustomed to being expelled from my office." She let a hint of annoyance enter her voice. She resolutely ignored Granger and Weasley's gobsmacked expressions, her comment directed at a grim-faced Potter. "You may wish to dismiss the other Headmasters and mistresses as well. I shall be on the sixth floor when you are through." With that, she turned and left the Trio to their task.

Minerva made her way to Callaway's rooms, letting herself in when the redhead failed to answer her knocks. The redhead's wards had apparently been set to allow her unrestricted access to the office. She balked for several moments as she took in the wide array of spells blocking the entrance to the UD professor's private rooms.

When the American did not appear after several minutes that seemed to stretch into hours, Minerva whipped out her wand and began systematically dismantling the wards, a growing sense of unease impelling her on. Her hand was a veritable blur as she breached the last layer of protections and tapped out the opening sequence on the stone wall. She stepped through the portal and stumbled over the prone form lying just inside.

"Oh, dear heavens!" The elder witch knelt by Shaluinn's side and paused, taking in the redhead's disturbing appearance.

Deep, dark circles swept beneath the younger witch's closed eyes, her skin positively ashen and mottled with bruises, cheekbones prominently displayed in her gaunt face. Most disturbing were the unhealed, blackened handprints that wrapped around her throat. The departure from her previous appearance was decidedly unnerving.

Shaking herself, Minerva pointed her wand at the redhead. "Ennervate!"

The American's eyes flew open at the same time as a massive cramp wrapped itself around her midsection, curling her body in around itself, a moan tearing loose from her chest. Her entire body shook for several long moments before going deathly still.

"Shaluinn! Oh, child, what happened?" The Transfiguration mistress put her hand lightly to the side of the redhead's face, drawing the younger witch's eyes to hers. "Who did this?"

Callaway opened her mouth to speak, only to snap it shut as another series of tremors passed through her.

"I'm taking you to Poppy." Minerva moved to stand, only to have her ascent halted by a hand snaking out to grasp her wand-wrist.

"NO! No doctors!" Shaluinn gasped out hoarsely.

McGonagall dropped back to the redhead's side, taken aback. "But, why not?"

"Cold. Need. Hot. Bath," the redhead ground out between shudders.

"But..."

"Please..." the American whispered, tears rising visibly in her eyes.

"Alright." It was the please that did it. "Mobilicorpus!" Against her better judgment, Minerva levitated the woman, directing her back through the bedroom and into the loo.

With an outward calmness she did not feel, McGonagall drew a deep, steaming bath. She charmed the clothes off the redhead's body and let out a strangled sound, viewing for the first time the totality of the damage wrought upon the younger witch's body. She just barely maintained her concentration, as her eyes ran over the gaunt, battered, nude form of her Unwanded Defense professor.

Wand-hand shaking, she directed Shaluinn's body into the waiting water, canceling the spell with a voice-quivering, "Finite Incantatem!"

Released from the spells, Callaway's hands flew up to clutch reflexively at the sides of the bathtub, her watering eyes locking onto the Headmistress', another tremor shaking her body as the heat of the water seeped into her chilled body. She let out a held breath as the quaking subsided, tearing her gaze from McGonagall's. How the fuck am I gonna explain this?

The hot water was helping, Shaluinn's body quickly relaxing into the curves of the tub, her hands sliding down to rest against her thighs. A weary sigh escaped her lips before she lifted her eyes to find the elder witch had perched herself on the edge of the tub and was clearly awaiting an explanation.

"Start talking."

Immersed up to her shoulders, Callaway drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them protectively. "What do you want to know?"

Minerva merely arched one thin brow and looked pointedly at the redhead's neck.

Shaluinn sighed again. "Okay, duh. Obviously my glamour failed when I blacked out." She looked up at the Headmistress. Okay, that clearly isn't going to be enough of an explanation for her. Fuck. Way to go, Shaluinn. I probably should confide in someone. Granted, it's not like I have a whole lot of choice in the matter now.

She didn't want to do this, didn't want to discuss this. She'd been so careful, so thorough in hiding her illness, never confiding in anyone other than the Muggle and wizard doctors who'd attempted to cure her. It had already been too late. And like an utter idiot I let my anger get the best of me and I did something stupid. I should have thought to cast an Impervious Charm on myself at the very least. This could have been avoided had I not let myself get so thoroughly distracted. Some spy I turned out to be. Mustering what little was left of her dignity, she decided to go with utter honesty.

"I have leukemia."

TBC...

A/N: A HUGE thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. Thank you for sticking with me and putting up with my "odd" whims.

Kim's "That can't be good" comment in the disclaimer is dedicated to my dear friend Cathy, who takes every opportunity to taunt and ridicule me for fancying Snape. That and the fact I killed her namesake character off.

One of the fundamental riddles of modern Newtonian Physics is that of the immovable object meeting the irresistible force, and what the potential result might be. Sorry, I am a science nut and just had to throw in some science-based humor.

The idea for Shaluinn's central back tattoo is taken from a graphic created for the movie The Crow. If you want to see what it looks like, follow this link: http://h1.ripway.com/Shanastay/crow2.jpg

The character of Kathleen Frejne (pronounced Fray-nyah) appears with the permission of her creator, LadyoftheMasque from her fic For Someone Special. Thank you to Lotm for allowing me to borrow her for a short time.