The end of the school year arrived with a bittersweet finality. The exams were a formality for Ariana and her friends, their real education having taken place in hidden rooms and through world-changing discoveries. The Gryffindor table celebrated another House Cup victory, a triumph that felt both well-earned and slightly distant, overshadowed by the momentous events of the year.
The joy, however, was soured by a piece of news that spread through the castle just before the final day of term. In the wake of Sirius Black's exoneration and Pettigrew's escape, questions had been asked. Old school records had been re-examined. And someone, likely Snape, in a final act of bitter, misdirected resentment, had leaked a crucial piece of information to the Ministry.
Professor Remus Lupin was a werewolf.
The fallout was immediate and predictable. Despite Dumbledore's staunch defense and the overwhelming support of the student body who had, for the first time, experienced a truly competent Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, the political pressure from the Board of Governors and panicked parents was too great. Lupin, with a quiet dignity that was heartbreaking to witness, tendered his resignation.
The day he was set to leave, as he was packing his worn, shabby briefcase in his now-empty classroom, there was a soft knock on his door. He looked up to see Ariana, Hermione, and Daphne standing there.
"We heard you were leaving, Professor," Hermione said, her voice laced with a genuine sadness and indignation. "It's not fair."
Lupin offered a weary, gentle smile. "The world is not always fair, Miss Granger. But I thank you for the sentiment." His gaze fell on Ariana, a look of deep, abiding respect in his eyes. "I suppose I should have expected this. It was only a matter of time."
"It is an illogical and prejudicial reaction based on fear rather than on data," Ariana stated calmly. "Your performance as an educator was exemplary. Your condition did not impede your ability to teach; in fact, your understanding of dark creatures gave you a unique and valuable perspective."
"Kind of you to say so, Miss Dumbledore," Lupin said with a sigh. "But logic has very little to do with the politics of fear." He snapped his briefcase shut. "Well, that's everything."
He made to move past them, a lonely, dignified figure heading into an uncertain future.
"Professor," Ariana said, stopping him. "Your resignation is a loss for the school. But do not let it create another, more personal loss. You have not yet spoken to Harry."
Lupin flinched slightly. "I… I thought it best to slip away quietly. The boy has enough complications in his life. He has Sirius now. He doesn't need a reminder of the darkness that surrounded his father."
"You are miscalculating the variables," Ariana countered gently but firmly. "You are not a reminder of darkness to him. You are one of the last living, accessible link to his parents. Sirius is his godfather, a figure of excitement and newfound family. You, Professor, are his teacher. You are the one who can tell him stories not of grand adventures and rule-breaking, but of quiet moments in the library, of James's surprising talent for Charms, of Lily's kindness to a lonely, cursed boy. You are a different kind of history. To leave without speaking to him would be to deprive him of that connection. It would be a disservice to him, and to the memory of the friends who accepted you without question."
Lupin stared at her, her words cutting through his own wall of guilt and self-pity. She was right, of course. Her logic was, as always, unassailable. He was not just a werewolf; he was Remus Lupin, his friends' Moony. To deny Harry that part of his heritage would be a selfish act.
"Furthermore," Ariana continued, "it is imperative that you keep in touch with him. Harry now has a godfather, but Sirius Black, for all his admirable qualities, is emotionally volatile and has been deeply traumatized. Harry will need another adult mentor in his life. A calm, steadying influence. A voice of reason. You are uniquely qualified for that role."
She was not just offering friendly advice; she was assigning him a duty, framing his relationship with Harry not as a burden, but as a crucial responsibility.
A slow, sad smile touched Lupin's lips. "You miss nothing, do you, Miss Dumbledore?" he said. He looked at the three girls—the brilliant Gryffindor, the loyal Slytherin, and their quiet, formidable leader. "He is in good hands." He gave a decisive nod. "You are right. I will go and find him now."
As he walked away, his shoulders a little straighter, his purpose renewed, Hermione turned to Ariana. "That was a kind thing to do."
"It was the logical thing to do," Ariana replied. "Maintaining Harry's support structure is a strategic priority." But as she watched Lupin walk away, her mind was already moving, processing a new, long-term project.
She thought of the Maledictus curse, a flaw in the magical blood. And now she thought of Lycanthropy. The wizarding world treated it as an incurable, dark curse, a mark of monstrosity. But what was it, really? A magical virus? A transformative blood ailment that responded to the lunar cycle? Was it truly incurable, or had the world simply stopped looking for a cure, content to ostracize the victims rather than treat the disease?
The parallels to her research with Astoria were undeniable.
New project, a quiet, determined voice noted in the back of her mind. Catalog: Lycanthropy. Objective: Analyze the magical-biological mechanism of the curse. Hypothesis: If the Maledictus curse is a flaw in the magical 'gene,' Lycanthropy may be a viral agent that hijacks the host's transformative magic. Possibility of suppression or cure: currently unknown, but probability is nonzero.
The train ride back to London was filled with the usual end-of-term excitement. Harry was full of his conversation with Lupin, his face glowing with the promise of letters and future visits. The girls discussed their summer research plans. The future stretched before them, a landscape of immense possibility and looming danger.
Ariana looked out the window at the passing countryside, her mind already working. She had solved the mystery of the Chamber. She had cured an incurable curse. She had righted a twelve-year-old injustice. But these were merely opening moves in a much larger, more complex game. Voldemort was still out there. Pettigrew was his servant. And the world was full of other, older, deeper kinds of magic, curses, and pains that the wizarding world had deemed 'incurable'.
It was, she thought with a flicker of a smile, a target-rich environment. And she was just getting started.