The day before the Gryffindor team broke into collective wails, during Hufflepuff's new team practice…
"Cedric!"
In the pouring curtain of rain, a clear voice came from the ground.
"Hold it, everyone, stop!" Cedric shouted. "I'll go take a look, you lot keep practicing!"
The Hufflepuff players' Quidditch robes were soaked through, but they hardly noticed and were still pushing themselves through pre-match drills.
Cedric guided his broom down. At first he could only make out a blurry figure; as he got closer, he finally saw who it was.
It was Marcel.
He was standing out in the downpour, yet the sheets of rain seemed to hit an invisible barrier around him and slide away. His clothes were still perfectly dry, a total contrast to Cedric's dripping, clinging state.
"Oh, Maclean? That Waterproof Charm of yours looks impressive..." Cedric said, eyeing him curiously. "What brings you here today?"
Since the start of term, he had invited Marcel to join the House team several times, but Marcel had always politely refused, without exception.
As the match drew nearer, Cedric had given up asking.
He had no idea why Marcel had come out in this storm today.
"I'm here to apply for a spot in the first match," Marcel said evenly. "I've been thinking I ought to do something for Hufflepuff's honor, so here I am."
"Oh—really?" Cedric said, delighted. "That's great! I'll ask around—someone will definitely be willing to give up a place for you!"
Sure enough, when Cedric called everyone down and gathered them, the new team members were all very welcoming.
In Hufflepuff, where the sense of collective honor was unusually strong, personal glory didn't matter that much. Everyone was willing to give up their position for the sake of House results.
Of course, Marcel still chose a Chaser spot.
Strictly speaking, for his own plans, bumping Cedric out of Seeker would have been most effective. But suddenly barging in and taking the captain's role would have looked wrong in every possible way.
After that, Marcel dropped his Waterproof Charm and started a rather rushed round of drills with the rest of the team.
There was no denying his flying talent was terrifying. As soon as he joined, the entire rhythm on the pitch began to center around him.
Before long, Cedric had to keep adjusting tactics to fit Marcel's presence.
In the end, Hufflepuff returned to their old setup: focus on building a solid lead with goals, emphasizing the Chasers' offense and defense.
To be honest, everyone was getting impatient for the match to begin, because Hufflepuff's "Point-Slashing Demon" had returned.
The first game came even faster than they expected.
The next day, just as the Hufflepuff team finished training, Slytherin's captain, Marcus Flint, suddenly appeared in the doorway of the locker room.
"Hey, Diggory!" Flint lounged against the frame, looking like a thug. "Got something to tell you."
Cedric frowned at him. "What is it?"
The Hufflepuff players trudged in, still dripping. When they saw Flint, expressions of disgust flickered across their faces.
Flint was the sort who would use any dirty trick to win. He was the one who led the Slytherin team in constant little fouls on the pitch; none of the other House teams liked him.
"Thing is, our Seeker got hurt—by that big oaf's Hippogriff, the one that professor keeps—guess you've heard..." Flint sniggered. "So we have to swap opening fixtures with you lot."
"That doesn't sound very fair," Cedric said, frowning.
"It's just a swap in the order, how's that unfair?" Flint grinned, showing his crooked teeth. It was a little nauseating.
"Still not graduated, Flint?" came a calm voice from behind.
Marcel stepped forward, looking at him. "If I remember correctly, you were seventh year last year, weren't you?"
Flint's smirk froze.
Yes, he should have graduated the year before, but he'd failed too many classes and been kept back. In a pure-blood family, that was a disgrace. His father had beaten him for it, furious that he'd shamed the Flint name.
"Yeah, I was kept back, so what?" he snarled at Marcel, eyes full of hate.
"We already know about the match change," Marcel said, walking up to him one step at a time, staring coldly. "Anything else you want to say?"
He drew his wand, and green light bloomed at its tip. Flint immediately flinched back a few steps.
"N-no... nothing..." he stammered, backing out of the locker room and bolting down the corridor.
A moment later, he was gone.
Even several of the older Hufflepuffs, watching Marcel's wand, were visibly shaken. They had learned about the Unforgivable Curses; they knew Killing Curses shone with green light.
"Was that—" Cedric asked carefully.
"Hm? Oh..." Marcel turned, flicked his wand, and snuffed out the glow. "Just a modified Wand-Lighting Charm. No need to be nervous."
They all let out a long breath, though a few younger players still looked blank.
"Slytherin just doesn't want to play in this weather, that's all. But either way, their strength's nothing special. Changing conditions won't help them," Marcel said coolly. "They might not even be able to beat Gryffindor."
On the eve of the match, the storm still hadn't relented—in fact, it was worse than ever.
The corridors and classrooms were so dark that the professors had to light extra torches and lamps. The Slytherin team looked very pleased with themselves; no one was more smug than Malfoy.
"Oh, if only my arm would just get better!" he said loudly, sighing theatrically every so often.
Outside, the wind battered the windows with constant crashes.
Harry slipped free from Wood, who had been muttering in his ear, and halted outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He shoved open the door and rushed in.
"Sorry I'm late, Professor Lupin, I—" he began, heading toward his usual seat.
But the person watching him from the front wasn't Professor Lupin. It was Snape.
"This lesson started ten minutes ago, Potter. That's ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down."
"Where's Professor Lupin?"
Lupin, of course, was not there. At that moment he was still huddled in the corner of his office, waiting for his transformation to pass.
Marcel's Wolfsbane Potion was working very well. Though the full moon had turned him into a werewolf the previous night, his human mind was still intact.
That only made things more painful.
Remus Lupin was a lonely man, and that had everything to do with what he had been through. When he was four, his father offended Fenrir Greyback, a werewolf. In revenge, Greyback broke into the Lupin home through a window one night and bit young Remus.
From then on, Lupin's life had turned shadowy and solitary.
As time passed, his parents tried every method they could find, but nothing worked. They all believed he would never attend Hogwarts—no parent would want their child near a werewolf.
But Dumbledore gave him a chance. At school, he made friends, including Sirius Black and Harry's father, James Potter... and of course, Peter Pettigrew.
Those had once been the happiest days of his life.
After graduation, though, Lupin had to face reality. In his condition, it was very hard to get decent work, and his life became difficult.
He could endure the hardship.
What truly broke his heart was the time he frightened a child during a full moon.
He had struggled as hard as he could to suppress the wolf, and had fled the scene as quickly as possible. But he could never forget those young eyes, wide with panic and terror.
Lupin loved children. Yet he himself had terrified an innocent child, and that was the first time he genuinely began to feel disgusted with himself.
Before that, even knowing he was "abnormal," he had always viewed himself as a victim—and he was. But after that night, he suddenly understood a bitter truth:
Sometimes the victim becomes the perpetrator. In his case, it seemed almost inevitable.
"Maclean... you really aren't afraid?"
In werewolf form, Lupin looked ugly, but thanks to the Wolfsbane Potion, he was calm.
"Why would I be?" Marcel replied quietly.
At Dumbledore's request, Marcel was responsible for watching over Lupin during his transformations, to prevent any misunderstandings at such a critical time.
He was seated behind Lupin's desk, head bent over his notes, while Lupin crouched in the corner between the shelves and the desk.
"Werewolves always make people uneasy—they're cruel, bloodthirsty, they love attacking humans, extremely dangerous," Lupin rumbled. "Isn't that so?"
"Professor, are you doubting the effectiveness of my Wolfsbane Potion?"
Marcel lifted his eyes from his notebook to Lupin's furry face, reached out and patted his shoulder, forcing a dry smile.
"Relax. At least I think it's working very well," he said, making a stiff joke.
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