APR, 1976
DUMBLEDORE'S OFFICE
When they reached the corridor, the professor didn't stop. With clipped steps she practically flew down the hall, forcing the pair to follow hurriedly. Camilla was seething inside, a pure wrath accompanied by the ringing in her ears and the blood trickling from them and her nose from the explosion, but she kept a casual look on her face as she moved after McGonagall, side-by-side with the blood traitor. Half-blood. Even those words were enough to disgust and provoke her, and 'muggleborn' was worse. The only true witches and wizards were those born pure, those who looked up to the defenders of their blood, like Voldemort, who had begun to wipe out the scum of the Wizarding World. Her parents followed him avidly and supported him as their saviour and forced her to do the same, however cruel his methods seemed. She agreed with them. It was all she knew, really.
They walked in toxic silence for another few minutes until they reached a huge, ornate gargoyle embedded in the wall. Camilla knew this place; it was the Headmaster's office. Professor McGonagall, stony faced, spoke two words she could not hear over the furious heat rising in her ears, and ushered the pair onto the steps that appeared from behind the statue. Moments later, they stood in the Headmaster's (rather strange) office. In fascination, Camilla craned her neck to take the room in, forgetting her fury in that instant. Her mind whirred as she gazed upon the curious creations dotted around on tables and shelves, some making noises while others puffed white smoke. She glanced sideways to see Lupin doing exactly the same. He in turn seemed utterly infatuated with a device on a stool beside him, and his entire body had shifted to study it, which completely eradicated any amazement that had previously filled Camilla. It brought back the accusatory anger and need for revenge. If they weren't supervised by a professor, she would have already raised her wand and-
"You two," McGonagall said sharply, causing Lupin to stand up straight so quickly he almost toppled into Camilla. She curled her lip at him in pure disgust and distaste, hand itching for the wand in her robes. "Sit," McGonagall commanded, still red in the face. They took the seats farthest away from each other in the small assortment against the wall near the claw-footed desk, and finally, the old figure of Dumbledore appeared from a door next to the Sorting Hat.
"Thank you, Minerva," he gently wheezed. "You may go." The look on the professor's face was so absurd that Camilla would have snorted at it derisively if she hadn't been so completely furious.
"But Dumbledore-"
"You may go," he repeated, calmly. Stonily, she glared at the two, as if to say, I'm not done with you, and stalked out of the room, robes swirling behind her like an emerald cape. "Right then," the old professor said, folding his hands in front of him on the desk as he sat down. Camilla watched his actions with the eyes of a predator, suspicious, looking for any way to pick him off without causing too much fuss. However, it was rather hard to concentrate on anything with the ringing in her ears and pounding in her head, so she decided to ride out the storm rather than to talk her way around it. "I should have thought that as prefects, you would have been more sensible," chided Dumbledore, raising an eyebrow over his half-moon spectacles. Camilla glanced sideways at Lupin, using her body language to paint a picture of it was all his fault. Which it was, in full. He'd started the entire revenge war when he humiliated her and dragged her name through the dirt. But was that really why she was so angry? "Do you happen to know the number of students that have been hurt in your quarrel?" He didn't stop to see if they did. "No less than forty. At first it was minor infractions, like concussions and hexes, but over the last month there have been broken bones and bodily harm. This is unacceptable." He eyed them sternly, and Camilla had to fight to hold her tongue and keep an irritated expression off her face. It wasn't her fault at all, none of it. It was all Lupin's. "As punishment, you will write a book of all the spells known to the Wizarding World, using the library to your disposal." Both gasped in horror.
"Professor, you can't!" Camilla nearly shouted in her indignance, forgetting to keep quiet.
"That will take years!" protested Lupin, standing up.
"Quiet, both of you," he said, uncharacteristically demandingly, shocking them into silence. "You will do this together every weeknight for an hour until it is completed in return for all the chaos you have caused. Am I understood?" Camilla looked at Lupin, hate burying itself in her heart, then back at the Headmaster, nodding sullenly. She wanted to spit, or swear, or curse something (someone preferably). But she agreed. "Good. Seven o'clock tomorrow evening in the History of Magic classroom. I'm sure Professor Binns won't mind. Now take yourself to the hospital wing, Miss Sanders, I must talk to Mr Lupin. Goodnight." Camilla stood, gave Lupin one last cold look, and stormed out of the room furiously.