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Neville caught up with Harry on their way to Defence class, the two boys walking democratically between the Gryffindors, shoving and rough-housing behind them, and the Slytherins, slouching along disdainfully ahead. Theo Nott had decided to lead the rest of the Slytherins, but Harry didn't need to be in front; he could afford to let Theo think he was number one, until he needed to prove otherwise.

"You think it's going to be weird?" Harry asked, over the shouts of the other students.

"What, having Dora as a teacher?"

"Professor Tonks."

"Right, right," Neville looked determined, as though remembering to call his foster-sister Professor was a major hurdle to overcome. Knowing Neville's memory, perhaps it was; Harry saw the Remembrall bracelet on Neville's wrist, mostly hidden under his sleeve, and grinned a little. "I guess it might. She's always bossing me around at home, though, so I don't think it'll be all that different."

Harry laughed. "Think she'll be any good?"

"Sure, why wouldn't she?" Neville asked, defensively.

"No reason, Longbottom, don't get all upset," Harry said, as they ducked into the classroom. He looked away from Neville, eyes scanning the room for Dora -- Professor Tonks -- but she was nowhere to be seen.

Professor Snape was standing at the front of the class, instead, scowling at the Gryffindors as they poured noisily inside. The Slytherins smirked at each other and took seats in the front rows. The Gryffindors barely hid their dismay as they piled into the back rows, and Harry got separated from Neville by Crabbe, who wanted to sit next to Snape's favourite.

"Silence, please," Snape drawled, eyes scanning the classroom. They settled on Harry for a minute, and Harry looked at Neville suddenly; Neville's face was split in a hugely amused grin.

Snape's eyes were the wrong colour.

"If you do not stop fidgeting, Longbottom, I will deduct ten points from Gryffindor," he snapped, and Neville tried his hardest to put on an appropriate poker face. "Professor Tonks, regrettably, cannot attend to her duties today. You find that funny, Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir," Harry replied, promptly wiping the smile from his face as well.

"Good. Now -- "

Snape paused in apparent surprise. The class was staring. One lock of his short black hair had turned bright pink.

There was a slow titter of laughter from the Gryffindors as another, on the other side of his head, popped up vivid purple. The crown of his head suddenly turned blond.

"What on earth -- " Snape stuttered, as his hair became a rainbow of garish bright colours. "LONGBOTTOM!"

Neville had broken down into laughter. He tried to pretend to cringe as the rainbow-haired Snape bore down on him, but it was useless; as Snape ordered him out of his seat, the rest of the Gryffindors and most of the Slytherins were laughing, and Snape's face had turned choleric red.

"LONGBOTTOM, STOP THIS INSTANT!" Snape roared, as his nose began to change. "If you do not CEASE THIS AT ONCE I shall -- "

All of a sudden his voice was softer, much more feminine, and his face had changed dramatically. Nymphadora Tonks stood before Neville, laughing helplessly herself as her hair returned to a sober auburn shade.

" -- be forced to reveal who I really am," she finished, with a grin. "All right, you lot, settle down," she added, as the Slytherins began to grumble and the Gryffindors laughed among themselves. She made her way back to the front of the room, still wearing Snape's usual dour black, though she filled it out a little differently than before.

"Good morning to you all," she said. "As you may have guessed, I am Professor Tonks," she said, as she flicked her wand at the chalkboard. A piece of chalk lifted itself up into the air and began to write her name on the board. Her last name only, Harry noticed. Not that he blamed her.

"I am your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and what I have just shown you is actually a little test for your first morning. Oh, come on now," she said, as the students universally groaned. "You're not going to be graded on it." She leaned back on the desk at the front of the classroom, and crossed her arms. "How many of you knew it wasn't Snape right before I changed?"

There was an awkward silence. They stared at her, and she sighed.

"Come on, hands up! How many of you knew? I'm not going to bite," she said sternly. Almost every hand went up, except for Crabbe, who was looking a few minutes behind events.

"All right, how many of you knew it wasn't Snape when I started berating Neville?"

Many of the hands dropped.

"And how many of you knew when my hair first went pink?"

Four hands were still in the air -- Theo's, Harry's, Neville's, and Ron's.

"Now. How many of you knew before that?"

Harry fought the overwhelming urge to drop his hand, but he kept it up. Neville, apparently taking courage from him, did the same. She nodded.

"Neville and Harry, as many of you are probably going to protest, already know me. How did you know, Neville?"

"Snape's eyes are darker," Neville stammered.

"Harry?"

"Same," Harry answered.

"Neville and Harry noticed this because they know I'm a metamorphmagus," Dora said, as the chalk wrote out the complicated term on the board. There was a rustle of paper and quills as people scrambled to begin taking notes, and she looked startled for a minute before continuing. "For those of you who don't know, metamorphmagery is a rare magical condition -- some call it a birth defect -- where a person is able to alter their body, to a certain extent. This is not to say that they are perfectly able to imitate people. As Neville pointed out, I got Professor Snape's eyes wrong. I don't know most of you, so I couldn't pick on you by name, as Professor Snape might have done. Not," she added hastily, eyes sweeping the room, "that Professor Snape picks on people, I'm sure."

Another quiet murmur of amusement.

"The key to detecting an imposter, as with all defence, is observing actions and identifying threats. Constant vigilance, as one of my old teachers at the Auror academy says. What I am going to be teaching you, this year, is a combination of observational skill and magical knowledge, so that when you get out in the real world you're prepared to defend yourself. Merlin forbid you have to."

Harry glanced around. The rest of the class was still watching her, intently, and she looked a little anxious under the sudden focus of twenty-odd sets of eyes.

"Uhm. With that in mind," she continued, "we're going to start the class off with a little discussion of ancient defensive magic, and at the end, if there's time, I'll give you a practical demonstration. Who can tell me what an apotropaic is?"

Hermione Granger's hand shot up. Harry rolled his eyes.

"An ancient defensive amulet like a picture of a dog or a demon's head," she said, when Dora pointed at her.

"Well....yes and no. It is an ancient defensive amulet, but it took many forms. Some of which you'll be discussing when you're much older," Dora said. "Today we're going to be discussing one of the most common, which is the Gorgon. Yes, Miss..."

"Granger, ma'am."

"Miss Granger?"

"Like Medusa, professor?"

"Yes, like Medusa. Take five points for Gryffindor," Tonks said. "Who can tell me who Medusa was? Not you, Miss Granger."

Theo raised his hand. "She had snakes on her head."

"Snakes as hair, all right, what else?"

Theo looked thoughtful. "Turned people to stone?"

"And five for Slytherin."

"And she was really ugly," Theo added.

"Not always, which leads us to the lecture," Tonks said, flicking her wand at the chalkboard. It moved and stretched, as though something was pushing against it, until finally a face popped out in relief, a sad-looking woman with a broad face, rich frowning lips, heavy eyelids and thick curly hair.

"This is also a face of Medusa, from Italy, dating to probably about twenty-five hundred years ago," she began. "The Greeks hung the face of Medusa on temple walls and the gates of their homes, as protection against evil..."

***

Sept. 2, 1992
Long, Draughnout, Payne & Assc.

President Andrew Wotton, Broosh & Chakle Studios:

The law firm of Long, Draughnout, Payne, & Associates have been retained to make certain inquiries into the nature of your studio and in particular all charms, spells, hexes, potions, and magical devices used in your patented Dorian Gray portraiture process. Our client, who wishes to remain anonymous, has requested information concerning their possible effects on unusual magical persons.

If you would please forward any and all information concerning the Dorian Gray process and its effects on Animagi, Werewolves, Metamorphmagi, and magical pets such as Kneazles and Salamanders, our client would be much obliged. We will of course sign any confidentiality agreements you require, understanding that you prefer to protect your business interests. We will not disclose any details of the process itself to our client, but rather make a recommendation to said client based upon the information you provide.

You are of course under no obligation to disclose any of the information requested. However, our client has authorized payment of your usual per diem consulting fee, to compensate for your expenditure of time in this matter. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me via Owl or Floo, or to arrange a meeting in person.

Yrs,
Llewellyn Payne, Esq.

***

It had been a long day for Dora Tonks. Between her first day of teaching, the many layers of the costume she'd been wearing, and the frequent body-shifts, she was nearly exhausted. It had, however, also been worth it, she felt. She'd captivated the OWLs-level classes with advanced hexes for them to gnaw on, and gotten on the good side of most of the lower years with her Snape impression. If she could just get the NEWTs students in the special Friday class to accept her...

"Good afternoon, Professor Tonks," Minerva McGonagall said, as she walked into the staff room. Dora, from where she lay sprawled in one of the squashy easy chairs near the windows, grinned and waved in greeting.

"Professor McGonagall," she said, in a carefully respectful voice with just a hint of good humour. McGonagall smiled back, which had been enough of a rarity during her school years that she was still getting used to it as a professor.

"Did you have a good first day?" the older woman asked, pouring herself a cup of tea and stirring it with her wand to warm it.

"Brilliant," Dora answered, enthusiastically. "Now if I could just get up the energy to move..."

McGonagall settled into a chair nearby, and sipped her tea. "It is a little wearing at first. You'll get used to it in time. I heard about your opening lectures from many of my students -- quite a brilliant stroke, a good practical lesson."

"Good," Dora said, "because I'm going to be impersonating you in all of tomorrow's lessons."

McGonagall chuckled into her tea. "I shall have to lend you a hat appropriate to the occasion. I hope you didn't do anything unseemly in the guise of Professor Snape."

"Nothing worse than berating Neville, which I hear he does enough of," she answered. "And I've signed an agreement with Dumbledore not to change while I'm here, except in the cause of education."

"Well, I can't say I blame him. A less scrupulous person might go about collecting gossip and making trouble in the guise of other people. You were always a very honest young woman, however, and I'm certain -- "

She was interrupted by the door to the staff room banging against the wall as someone threw it open rudely. Severus Snape, normally sallow face pale with rage, loomed in the entryway.

"Oh, do come in, Severus," McGonagall said. "Young Dora and I were just -- "

"I beg your pardon, Deputy Headmistress, but would it be possible for Professor Tonks and myself to have a word in private?" he asked, voice tightly controlled. McGonagall gave Tonks a "better you than me" look as she stood.

"I'm not certain I ought, Severus," she answered. "You look rather -- "

"We aren't children, and we don't require a babysitter," he snapped. His gaze fell on Dora. "One of us isn't, anyway."

"Now, Professor Snape -- "

"Professor McGonagall, with all due respect, this is not your concern."

McGonagall set her tea down and put her hands on her hips. "I'm not sure you're quite old enough yet to tell me what is and is not my concern, Severus. It's clear -- "

"It's all right," Dora said, finally finding her voice in the face of Snape's towering wrath. She'd lived through seven years of it when he was her professor, and now that she had a certain right to talk back to him, as a colleague, she found she was itching for the chance. "Professor Snape and I can discuss things like civilised human beings, I'm sure."

McGonagall looked slightly surprised, but she picked up her tea, nodded at Dora, gave Snape a warning look, and brushed past him, closing the door behind her as she left. There was a moment of painful silence.

"How dare you?" he demanded finally. "I had my reservations about your appointment to this position long before you arrived, and now I see them fully justified. Impersonating a professor -- "

"I am a professor," she answered, not rising from her chair.

"Impersonating another person for the purposes of amusing your classes is an outrage to the dignity of this institution!" he roared.

"It wasn't a comedy routine -- "

"Oh? It wasn't? The entire school discussing me with ridiculous -- pink -- hair!" He could barely get the words out, his dignity was so affronted. "I suppose that wasn't intended to be amusing at all?"

"It was intended to prove a point, and if you haven't even bothered to ask why I did it, you shouldn't go poking your nose in -- "

"Outrageous child!" he shouted. "How dare you impersonate me without asking permission?"

"I wasn't aware I had to have my lessons plans checked by -- "

"A person whose face you're wearing? Are you really so incredibly idiotic?" His voice dropped. "No. Of course you aren't. You knew precisely what the effect on those children would be, and you didn't ask me because you knew I would say no."

"I didn't think you'd care!" she blurted. "Professor McGonagall thought it was clever!"

"So I am now the laughingstock of the staff as well as the children?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well done. You've succeeded where a generation of schoolchildren have failed. This isn't Twelve Grimmauld Place," he continued, before she could get a word in edgewise. "This is Hogwarts, and while we are here I am not your parents' friend. I am a professor, senior to yourself by many, many years, and I deserve the respect of that position. I do not deserve to be mocked behind my back!"

"I wasn't mocking you! I was making a point!" she retorted.

"Yes, and a fine point you've made," he growled. "Stay out of my way, and if you so much as colour your hair black, I will ensure that you are removed from your position for irresponsible negligence."

"Professor -- "

He was gone too quickly for her to explain or even apologise. She realised she was shaking, and cursed herself; she'd taken on warlocks a lot tougher than Severus Snape, but they hadn't been her professor or the quiet, sardonic man her parents had over to dinner every few weeks. She'd thought he might be amused; she was used to his dour demeanor, but he did smile once in a while, and she hadn't hoped for anything more emotional than a tight-lipped smile and a nod of acknowledgement over dinner.

There was a soft click as McGonagall let herself back into the staff room. She resumed her seat across from Dora, and waited patiently for the younger woman to gather her wits about her.

"I could have stayed," the older woman said, finally.

"No, then he would have just shouted at me with witnesses," Dora answered. "I didn't think he'd be so angry."

"To be frank, neither did I, and I know him much better than you do," McGonagall replied. "As much as he confides in anyone, I suppose, he confides in me. It's his pride, you know. I think he's terribly afraid the children will realise someday that he's not omnipotent, and when they do, he won't be able to control them." She smiled. "I remember when he started teaching his greatest fear was that he'd be like old Metterley -- Metterley taught Defence Against the Dark Arts, you know, when Severus was a student. He wasn't good at keeping his classes under control -- he wasn't a very bright man, really, and Severus, unfortunately, was. He ran circles around most of his professors."

"Not you, I bet," Dora said with a small smile.

"Certainly not me," McGonagall agreed.

"So I guess I should stick to impersonating famous people, and keep away from professors?"

"I certainly don't mind. I've always wondered what I'd look like with purple hair," McGonagall said, and Dora couldn't help grinning.

"Come by my class tomorrow after breakfast and find out," she replied.

At least if she had to get shouted at on her first day of teaching, it hadn't been Professor McGonagall.

***

Sept 4, 1992
Broosh & Chakle Studios

Dear Mr. Payne,

I have been appointed by President Wotton to address the inquiries your client has made through your offices and forward all information you have requested. I am inclosing a standard confidentiality agreement signed by all clients before they undergo the process. However, I can provide some preliminary information to you at the moment.

The process has not been known to work on magical creatures at all, to discount the second part of your inquiry; usually, if the client requires that their beloved Fluffy be included, it is added in regular magical paint after the portrait is completed. It will show all the signs of a normal magical painting, but will not age nor will it preserve the magical pet in question.

To the best of my knowledge, as a portraitist with the Studio for a number of years, we have never attempted a portrait with an Animagus; as I'm sure you know, they are quite rare. In 1962 we did successfully handle a Metamorphmagus, although they were required not to shift their features or bodies at all for the duration of the sittings, which your client may be aware takes several weeks. An inconvenience, perhaps, but not impossible. I would imagine the same restriction would apply to an Animagus, as the conditions are remarkably similar according to my research.

Having confirmed these two items with the studio's records, I can also report that we have never knowingly dealt with a Werewolf in this particular process. Werewolves being more common than either Animagi or Metamorphmagi, it is possible that we have done so unknowingly; however, as they have distinctive differences in their transformative qualities, I can name three or four issues with completing the portrait right off the bat. None are insurmountable, especially with the assistance of the Werewolf in question.

I must admit that I would be terribly excited to work with any of the abovementioned Magical Persons, and if required could handle the portrait myself, without disclosing their particular unusual status in the Studio's recordkeeping; we pride ourselves on the discretion we employ. Especially if your client is a werewolf, I would like to arrange an interview with him or her. To that end, I have included a mutual nondisclosure clause in the document, ensuring that I, as the artist, will not betray your client's magical status. All the usual punitive damages and magical punishments apply.

If you require more information on the process itself, I have been authorised to answer any and all questions you may have, by owl or in person, upon recieving the return of the signed confidentiality form.

Sincerely,

Helena Broosh
Senior Journeyman Portraitist
Broosh & Chakle Studios

***

Sirius was never comfortable in his solicitor's office; Llewellyn Payne was a kind, elderly man, an incongruous choice for his parents, but beneath that twinkling eye and wispy-hair lurked the mind of a criminal genius and a chess master rolled into one. Still, he was the soul of discretion and tact with his clients, and Sirius wouldn't have had a clue how to go about finding a new solicitor anyway.

"Ah, Mr Black," Payne said, taking a large black portfolio out of his bottom desk drawer. "I imagine you'll be wanting to see your quarterly investment numbers? I've had your accountants -- "

"Uh, no, actually," Sirius said, hesitantly. "I made the appointment for another reason entirely."

"Oh? I hope you've not landed yourself into some new legal trouble. My clerks have had quite the time dealing with your little automotive mishap," Payne chuckled.

"No, I...ah...well, I didn't actually make this appointment under my own name," Sirius admitted.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Black?"

"I, um, made it under another name. I'm the one, Mr. Canis, I owled you anonymously with the inquiry about Broosh & Chakle studios."

Payne stared at him for a while, blinking, before composing himself.

"I see," he said. "Are you perhaps planning on a gift for your young cousin? Miss Tonks, I believe, the Metamorphmagus?"

"Well...listen, I know all about legal confidentiality," Sirius said, leaning close. "And there's privileged information, and then there's Privileged information. I've seen a lot of people slip things out without seeming to."

Payne smiled at him. "Mr Black, not to be crude, but there is a reason lawyers are often compared to a certain class of working woman. It has always been my policy that I am paid to be intelligent, tactful, and silent. My loyalty to those who do not pay me is bought with friendship, but my loyalty to those who keep me on retainer is absolute. If you are a werewolf, Mr Black, the one person in the world you may be sure will never betray your confidence is sitting before you."

"Oh -- Merlin -- no," Sirius stammered. "I mean, I am asking about werewolves, but I'm not one personally."

"I see."

"I'm...are you sure you can't tell anyone if I've committed a crime?"

"I dearly hope you haven't murdered anyone, Mr Black, but even if you have -- "

"I'm an unregistered Animagus," Sirius blurted. Payne raised a white eyebrow. "I've never been authorised to even conduct the ritual required for the transformation."

Payne pursed his lips. "Yes, I believe that breaks -- "

"Eight separate Ministry laws, I looked it up once."

"Nine, if you count the law passed last year against impersonating animals in public. Presuming you have," Payne said thoughtfully. "Ranging in penalties from small fines through imprisonment in Azkaban, if I'm not mistaken. Is this a recent development?"

"Er...no. It happened when I was fifteen."

For the first time in all the years he'd known Payne, the solicitor looked astonished. Sirius stared down at the desk, as if he'd been chided. Closing his mouth with an audible click, Payne shuffled papers on his desk while he gathered his thoughts.

"Well, certainly -- you've read the letter, I forwarded it on to the address that you, er, Mr Canis gave me -- certainly you could approach Broosh & Chakle without revealing your unique status. Although you would not be allowed to become...a...?"

"Dog," Sirius muttered.

"A dog, good heavens, I expected a panther or something," Payne said. Sirius suspected he was being teased.

"There's, um, more."

"Mr Black, are you attempting to give me a heart attack?"

Sirius grinned at him. "Um, my friend, Remus Lupin -- "

"Oh, yes, I believe we've met once or twice. Tall, brown-haired man?"

"That's him. Listen, if I tell you something about him, is that confidential too?"

"I shall be silent as the grave," Payne assured him.

"He's a werewolf."

"Ah. That does muddy the waters," Payne said, after a contemplative moment. "Would he be willing to meet with the studio representative to discuss options?"

"I haven't actually told him I've made the inquiry yet."

"And you'd like my advice?"

"I...I guess, yes."

Payne steepled his fingers, thoughtfully. "Clearly you're contemplating a portrait for Mr Lupin as well as yourself."

"I thought one together, perhaps."

Payne lifted one eyebrow. Sirius flushed.

"You're rather full of secrets, Mr Black. It must be a relief to get a few of them off your chest."

Sirius was silent.

"In that case," Payne continued, "I would certainly advise you to speak with Mr Lupin before taking further steps. Under the confidentiality contract, he would be protected, and Ms Broosh certainly seems to be of a tolerant disposition, but ultimately the decision to admit to someone -- anyone -- that he is a werewolf rests with Mr Lupin. I would not," he added, "inform him that you have shared that information with me."

"No, you're right," Sirius murmured. "Thank you for your time."

"You pay for it," Payne pointed out, with a smile. "If I may, Mr Black -- as I recall your current will entitles Mr Lupin, as executor, to the vast majority of your estate, with significant portions also going to Ms Tonks and her family. May I suggest a specific clause stating that your young ward, Master Potter, is to be placed in his custody in the event of your untimely death? With a subclause stating that no infirmity, condition, or legal infraction shall prevent the letter of the will from being carried out? Otherwise, of course, young Master Potter becomes a ward of the Tonkses, which may in some ways be preferable."

Sirius nodded eagerly. "I, ah, oh yes -- I'll have to get his permission -- I'm sure he'll agree."

Payne smiled and began shuffling paper again as Sirius let himself out, barely looking where he was going until he was back on the street again.

Well, he'd told Payne and hadn't died. Perhaps, if this artist Payne was in contact with could keep a secret...

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