"Does anyone here have a toad?" yells Francois, and Harry sticks his head out of the dorm, peering at it.

"That's Trevor," Harry says, coming out of his and Draco's room, putting out his hands. "He's Neville Longbottom's."

"How the Hell did it get down here?" Frank demands, and Harry shrugs his shoulders.

"He gets everywhere, Frank. They found him at the top of the Astronomy Tower last May." The prefect raises his eyebrows, glancing down at Trevor appraisingly. The toad gives a rather feeble croak, and Frank hands it over. Shouldering his bag, Harry makes his way out of the dorm - it's a Friday, and although it's early in the morning he can always just keep Trevor to hand until Neville comes down to breakfast.

"You're alright, aren't you, Trevor?" Harry says quietly, absently thumbing over the toad's head as he walks up towards the entrance hall, weaving through the familiar dungeon passageways. "Just a bit of an escape artist." Trevor croaks, and Harry smiles at him. The great hall, as expected, is almost devoid of anyone: Snape and Sinistra are the sole teachers at the table, and they're engaged in quiet conversation; the only students are a few prefects all sat together on the Hufflepuff table. "Hey, Percy. You want to take this off my hands?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Trevor," Percy scolds, taking the toad from Harry, and Harry gives the older boy a little nod before he backs out of the hall. It's still dark outside, and cloud obscures the bare amount of light there is: the barest sliver of the full moon is visible as it disappears beneath the horizon. Harry sees Gladys Gudgeon in the courtyard, and he meets her gaze as she looks up from the fountain.

"Mr Potter," she says, arching one of her greying brows. He walks towards her: this close to the doors of the castle, he feels fairly confident, and he fingers his wand in the pocket of his robes.

"Professor Gudgeon," Harry replies. "D'you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Please, young man," she says, spreading her hands. "Do."

"Are you trying to emulate Lockhart? I mean, you keep trying to kill me, but you're so bad at it - I can't help but feel it's some kind of tribute act." She laughs. It's a high, musical laugh - the sort of laugh Harry imagines would fit in well at an ambassador's dinner party, and Gudgeon smiles beatifically at him.

"Do you honestly believe I'm trying to kill you, Mr Potter?"

"What, you're denying it?"

"Of course!" Harry lets out a surprised little laugh, shaking his head.

"What, you didn't enchant that night, those bludgers-"

"Of course I did," she interrupts, still smiling that high-class smile and showing all of her teeth, "But you don't truly believe any of that was going to kill you, do you?" Harry falters, and he stares at her, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"I- sorry, what?"

"Mr Potter, I'm not some second year Hufflepuff doing my level best to do you in. I'm not an idiot - if I wanted to kill you, I'd have no trouble at all." Harry opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure how to respond to this - on the one hand, it's obvious that anyone really trying to kill him is going the wrong way about it. Even Dobby's attempts had been generally more potentially lethal, and he'd been trying to keep Harry alive.

"Why the Hell are you doing it, then?"

"Why not?" Gudgeon asks, giving a delicate shrug of her violet-clad shoulders. "It's enjoyable to watch you struggle. You did, after all, make Mr Lockhart flustered and uncomfortable a fair few times last year."

"Yeah, but not by poisoning him!" Harry snaps.

"Hardly my fault you lacked creativity, Potter," Gudgeon says, and she laughs again, walking away through the courtyard and down the path, out towards the greenhouses. Harry stands in silence as the sun begins to rise, perplexed. What sort of woman goes to that kind of effort to not kill someone?

"Harry!" comes a call from the entrance hall, and Harry sees Ginny and Luna peering out of the entrance hall at him. "You want to eat breakfast with us?"

"Sure, sure," Harry says, glancing back at Gudgeon's retreating form, and he makes his way into the great hall again, settling at the Ravenclaw table with the two girls. He's quieter than usual. He needs time to think.

---

The vague sense of triumph Harry had felt on the train home has utterly dissipated. "What do you mean, she isn't trying to kill you?" Hermione asks, staring across the table at him.

"She just said, straight to my face, she was doing it to make me uncomfortable. Not to actually kill me - because obviously none of that stuff would work. She's just doing it because she can." He'd seen one of Mrs Figg's cats crowd a mouse into corner, once, and it had batted at it for ages: it hadn't really hurt the thing, but it had pushed at it and played with it, herding it one way and that.

That's how Harry feels right now, and he's too surprised to be angry about it. The knowledge just settles in his belly like a weight.

"Why's she here, then?" Hermione asks, and Harry glances up from where he'd been staring into space.

"What?"

"Well, think about it, Harry. If she isn't actually here to kill you, why is she here?" Harry blinks.

"I don't know," he admits. "I mean- she can't just have wanted the job, randomly, or she wouldn't be doing this to me. It wouldn't be worth risking getting fired." He meets Hermione's eyes. "Why is she here?"

"No idea," Hermione answers. "Maybe we should try to find out."

"You've gotten so rebellious," Harry says. "I love it."

---

Harry stares down at the notes on his desk, frowning. Lupin is late to class today, but he doesn't really care: it gives him more time to think. GLADYS GUDGEON. Loves Lockhart. Jacqueline Flockhart > Muggle explosives in newspaper. Chad Arnett > used Muggle explosives? Test? Blow thing up? Blow Hogwarts up? The door is thrown open, and Snape stalks into the room. Harry shoves his notes under his defence text book.

"Werewolves," Snape says simply. "They are our subject."

---

Harry and Hermione both walk slowly out of the room. Harry thinks of the full moon he'd seen that morning, tucking itself carefully behind the horizon: beside him, Hermione is equally slow about moving, her expression the same mask of realization as Harry's.

"How can we not have figured this out?"

"Snape hates him," Harry whispers. "He wanted us to figure it out. So we'd get him kicked off the staff."

"Do you want to?" Hermione asks. Harry shakes his head. He wonders, vaguely, how easy it is for a werewolf to get custody of his friend's son. Then, he thinks of Lycanthropy In Society, and wonders how easy it is for werewolves to even have friends.

He'd never asked about Remus' Animagus form. He hadn't even thought about it - Sirius had skipped so smoothly over the subject it had never even occurred to him to ask. Hermione and Harry move at a measured pace until they reach the Defence office, and Harry doesn't even bother to knock: quietly, he just pushes the door open.

Remus is asleep in the armchair beside his desk, his skin a sickly white, his position painful to even look at. Hermione closes the door quietly behind them, and she sets the kettle on the counter to boil, grasping at a cup and tea bag for him.

"Remus," Harry murmurs quietly: he reaches out, gently touching the other man's shoulder. The werewolf flinches, lurching awake, and he looks wildly around the room before his gaze calms slightly, becoming more guarded. "Snape just taught us."

"Oh, yes," Remus says hoarsely, sitting up in his chair and doing his best to straighten out his tired, worn-out robes. "I, er, I've been feeling under the weather-" Hermione pushes the steaming cup of tea silently into his hands, and he glances down at it, obviously surprised. "Oh. Thank- thank you, Hermione."

"He didn't teach us about hinkypunks," Harry says.

"Or grindylows," Hermione agrees. "He moved ahead in the curriculum. To werewolves." Remus sips slowly at his tea, staring between the two of them.

"Oh," he says succinctly.

"Yeah," Harry says. "We wanted to talk."

"Lock the door, Hermione," Remus murmurs, setting his mug down on his desk, and Harry drags over two chairs for he and Hermione to sit in. Remus looks exhausted, but Harry has too many questions to wait.

---

"Shit," Hermione hisses as they leave Remus' office.

"What?"

"I've got Arithmancy and I'm late!" Hermione runs off down the corridor, at high speed, and Harry wanders alone. He doesn't really want to go anywhere in particular, so he just meanders in the rough direction of the Astronomy Tower, thinking he might sit up there for a while. It's technically out of bounds, but the Chamber of Secrets doesn't really have the same calming atmosphere.

He tries to ignore the guilt that claws at the back of his mind, and instead he pushes himself to think about Gladys Gudgeon again, instead of Remus Lupin. He runs over the list in his head, of what Flockhart had said, of what Arnett had done. It had to be all connected, but what exactly was the plan? Why was Gudgeon at Hogwarts?

There's an odd noise in the corridor, and Harry glances down it. One of the doors is slightly ajar, and he pushes it open, peering inside. He's never been to this part of the castle before, but he vaguely knows where it is - he's seen Ron Weasley in his Muggle Studies class on the Marauder's Map, and this is the Muggle Studies office.

At her desk, Charity Burbage is crying.

"Uh, Professor?" Harry asks, and she startles, staring at him. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her face wet with tears, and Harry hovers, awkwardly. "Are you okay, Ma'am? Do you want me to make you some tea?" She lets out another wet sound, putting her hand over her mouth, and Harry elects to make tea nonetheless, glancing around for her kettle. She has a normal, cast-iron one over a burner, and Harry sets it to boil, but beside it, with a little label, is a Muggle one. "I, er, I guess this one doesn't work at Hogwarts, huh?"

Burbage mutely shakes her head, drawing in ragged little breaths as she watches him, and Harry makes her tea as quickly as he can, dropping in some milk and sugar before bringing it over to her. She sips at it, staring into the middle distance, and then she offers him a very, very weak smile.

"You're- Harry, aren't you? Harry Potter?" He nods, and she smiles at him.

"I went to school with your mother," she says. "I was the year above - the reason I took Muggle Studies in the first place, actually. Such a nice girl." She sniffles, wiping at her nose with a tissue, and Harry slowly sits down. "I- I'm so sorry, I just got some bad news." Harry sort of wants to run as fast as he can down the corridor, but he's here now, and he can't just leave.

"What happened?" Harry asks, mildly unconvincingly.

"A few friends- Well, technically they're missing, but their house was covered in blood." A sob wells up in her throat, and she drinks from her mug. "They were Muggle Studies experts - studied Muggle military history, if you can believe it. Can't imagine doing something so dull."

Harry glances from Burbage to the animated poster of spark plugs pinned on the wall behind her, then back to her teary face. "Uh, yeah, no," he says awkwardly. "Can't imagine that." Letting out a quiet, woeful noise, Burbage leans back in her seat. "Do you want me to get you anything? I could, uh, I could go down for the kitchens for you...?"

"No, no, no," Burbage says, reaching over the desk and gently tapping Harry's hand. Her hand is slightly wet with her own tears. It's horrible. "Thank- thank you, Harry. I'll be alright, thank you." Harry nearly jumps out of his seat to get out of the room, and he pulls the door closed behind him.

In the hall, before his feet, is Trevor. Harry stares down at him, perplexed, but there's a croak from down the hall, and when Harry looks there are two more toads slowly making their way down the corridor. Harry hadn't even known Trevor wasn't the only toad at Hogwarts, but--

What the bloody Hell are they doing in the hallway?

---

"Sorry," Neville mumbles gratefully as Harry hands the toad over. Trevor is all but straining in Neville's hand, and Harry stares down at him, frowning. "He just keeps getting away."

"It's alright," Harry says. "It's just fine." What's not fine is the three toads on the ground beside him. They're following Harry like he's some sort of amphibious messiah, and Harry stares down at them, glancing to the one that's just making its way into the entrance hall.

"Potter," McGonagall says lowly. "Why are there toads in your pursuit?"

"I wish I could tell you," Harry admits. "I really wish I could." As he enters the great hall, Gudgeon meets his gaze, and she beams at him, giving a little wave. Harry scowls, and glaring at his entourage of green, warty followers, wishes the old biddy would go back to faux attempts at murder.