I chose to take the long way to reach the coasts of England.
I wasn't, after all, in what I could call a hurry to step foot on this dreary, rainy island once again. Most of Evangeline's memories of the place being not what I could exactly call 'fun'.
Plus, I had to settle the little issue of my wand situation, so I was killing one bird with two stones by taking the ferry and locking myself inside of a private cabin.
Now, saying that Gellert had accumulated quite the wand lore in his relentless pursuit of the Elder Wand would be a gross understatement, so I was quite able to do an adequate job that would pass muster even to the likes of Olivander and Gregorovitch by myself.
Sitting in seiza on the carpeted floor of the cabin, I mull over my options for a little bit, before settling on a decision with a decisive nod.
"~Beheading.~" I intone under my breath, a hand already extended next to me, scarlet rose petals coalescing under my lose grip-
-and I barely move as the heavy weight of one of the uncountable tools held in my pseudo-hammerspace lands in my hand.
I give the headsman's axe a long look, my eyes darting between its metallic, heavy and quite blunt edge to its solid, wooden handle.
I squint a little, before humming in realization.
"Oak, very stiff, and soaked with the blood of countless innocents." I vocalize.
It will do nicely.
I unceremoniously drop the axe in front of me, before taking hold of my pilfered wand.
A switch, a flick, a couple more arcane gestures, and the head comes loose, another rush of scarlet rose petals vanishing it back into my pseudo-hammerspace for now.
I'll have to discard it at some point, but I can't really leave it in a boat full of non-magicals, after all.
My focus sharpens, and I start singing under my breath, the wand of dragon heartstring and weeping willow loosely held between my fingers, drawing complex gestures in the air in front of me.
The length of wood slowly rises in the air, and the wood starts getting chipped at by invisible chisels.
Now, a wandmaker usually doesn't use this much personal magic when crafting, because it would taint the wand irremediably, so they have to use 'muggle tools' for it.
But when one is crafting a wand for themselves? Getting it soaked into your own magic isn't a negative.
It is a positive.
I keep chanting, the tip of my temporary wand drawing countless arabesques as the baleful oak gets chipped, smoothed out, carved with arcane runes and made heavy with purpose and meaning.
I keep at it for what feels like hours, my focus unwavering and my magic getting greedily sucked into my creation, until there's only one thing left to do.
Without stopping my chant, I raise my left forearm at eye level, before drawing the tip of the guard's wand along my veins.
Flesh split open, my blood starts spilling freely, and I do not even flinch.
Saying that my newfound pain tolerance might be a little skewed would be putting it mildly.
Again, there aren't a lot of things that I can use as a core for my creation, and nothing as potent as the crystallized blood of a True Vampire, especially when said vampire and I are one and the same.
A few drops of my blood escapes the grasp of earth's gravity, my self-inflicted wound already closing before my eyes in spite of the spell I used to reach my veins' very own bounty, and my left arm drops back to a more comfortable position soon enough.
I'll have to take a good, long soak afterward, this is getting quite tiring.
And messy.
The strings of words spilling out my lips never falter as my blood joins the tip of my creation, and the lengthy process continues, the sphere of vivid scarlet turning into a thin needle, turning clockwise, while the bloodsoaked oak turns counterclockwise under my spell.
I watch, idly fascinated, yet never losing my focus, as the blood starts to dry, magic humming heavily in the air, as if the very universe is holding its breath.
I snap my pilfered wand downward in a decisive motion as, minutes later, the events finally reach their apex.
Seamlessly, the needle of coagulated, crystallized True Vampire's blood flows into the bloodsoaked oak, and the magic in the air hitches, before smoothing out suddenly, as if the world just released a breath it didn't know it was holding.
With a last gesture of the wand of dragon heartstring and weeping willow, I levitate my creation toward my waiting hand, a sliver of anxiousness tugging at my heart-
-one that immediately abates as soon as my fingers clutch around its handle, and this is my time to release a breath I didn't know I was holding, a soft, satisfied yet tired sigh escaping my lips.
I distractedly drop my temporary wand as my very own, personal wand, positively purrs in my loose grasp, my magic already running along its length like an extension of my arm.
A coiled, preying beast, one that answers only to me.
True Vampire's blood, blood soaked oak, eleven inches, stiff.
I idly roll my wand between my fingers, giving it a long, considering glance, my eyes taking in the countless little runes carved into the dark red of its make and its pointed, sharp tip, like a needle.
Straight and unyielding.
"We're going to become wonderful friends, partner." I whisper in slight awe, heedless of the sweat soaking my brows and my back both.
I snap a gesture at the carpeted floor, my brows taut.
"Scourgify!" I invoke.
Instantly, soapy bubbles coalesce into being, gathering the wood splinters and loose drops of blood.
I can't help the wide smile blossoming in my lips.
The guard's wand I previously used had been functional when answering my commands.
My wand, though, is another story, so eager to please, to follow my orders.
"Very, very good friends." I amend with a fond pat.
***
Yet again, I ended up taking my sweet time when making my way towards the Ministry of Magic, not really feeling in a hurry, the Elisabeth in me wanting to take in the sights of a world so much more advanced than her own, oozing of progress and hope for the future, the mortals around us working in concert to further society's advance, instead of dying pitiful and miserable deaths to satisfy their masters and their demonic urges.
Odd how all it took for me to have a positive outlook on life was to merge with a tremendously worse one than my own, but I digress.
I eventually did reach the visitor's entrance of the Ministry of Magic at around noon on the third of August, having booked a suite for a week at the closest Hilton beforehand.
… I was maybe developing a fondness for pricey and princessly things, now that I think of it, but between the Aristocrat and the Vampire influencing me, it was sort of a given, I guess.
Finding the proper phone booth to enter wasn't even difficult, the thing soaked in so much enchantment it was almost shining under my eyes.
Primly stepping inside of it, I have to take a solid second to recall what I'm supposed to do, before a glance to the keypad jolts a memory.
Inserting a couple of pounds inside the thing, the corner of my lips turn upward as I 'call' the access code.
"6-2-4-4-2." I enumerate amusingly under my breath.
It is kind of obvious in hindsight that it would spell 'Magic' on those old things when numbers and letters used to be on the same buttons.
"State your name and purpose for your visit." A voice drawls from out of nowhere, a hint of a rasp making it harsh on the ears.
"Elisabeth Faune." I give the practiced answer, the name I chose for myself sounding oddly right to my ears when I first uttered it a couple days ago, my voice slightly melodic despite the steel it is made of, "And I'd like to take my NEWT exams, sir."
The voice doesn't answer, a badge instead getting printed out of the phone's receipt exit.
"You will wear the badges at all times while on Ministry grounds. Please submit yourself to the wand inspection after reaching the entrance hall. Good day." The voice clips.
I can't help but be a little bemused at the dismissive attitude, a state of affairs that promptly vanishes as a powerful tremor shakes the phone booth's floor, and I start my slow descent in toward the Ministry.
Quickly enough, concrete, rocks and dirt leave my vision, and the vistas in front of me give me pause.
It's one thing to read about it in a book, or to see it on the big screen, but, truly, the United Kingdom's Ministry of Magic's entrance hall is majestic.
Cold, dark stone, stretching as far as the eye can see, golden frescoes softening the rather brutalist appearance a first glance could give, dozens upon dozens of fireplaces dotting the place, their fire occasionally flickering a baleful green as a wizard or a witch quickly steps out of it, and, in the distance, a massive fountain illustrating the foolish wand-wavers' superiority over their lesser kin.
My childish wonder leaves in favor of a sneer of distaste, and my enthusiasm dims a couple notches.
Right, I did step headfirst into a society casually steeped in racism, I almost forgot.
The phone booth touches ground, and I promptly exit it, a casual glance around providing me the necessary intel to find the appropriate line I should wait at.
I make my way, my back straight and my pose impeccable, as if I'm meant to be here, though it doesn't stop the casual - and dramatically bored - observers from commenting on my appearance behind my back.
"Who is she?"
"A muggleborn, perhaps? Look at her clothes!"
"With that demeanor? I wouldn't take that bet. Though she could stand to garb herself in proper attire."
I valiantly refrain myself from answering the myriad of comments washing over me, biting the insides of my cheeks hard enough to bleed, the coppery and soothing taste of my life blood drowning the unwanted prattle.
Fools, all of them.
They wouldn't recognize proper fashion if it walked in front of them to spit in their eyes!
This is god-given Chanel, you utter ponce! Not the stupid, eye-seering green bathrobe you mistake as a dignified garment!
I do throw an annoyed look over my shoulder at some point in an attempt to make the peanut gallery shut their trap, and my annoyance must have been clearly visible on my face because the three witches inanely prattling turn very pale before finally going quiet.
I harrumph derisively, before facing back toward the pseudo-security gate I am meant to go through.
… I would have to take back my sewing, though. There's a certain je ne sais quoi in the act of wearing clothes you made with your own two hands - and wand, I suppose - that even haute couture cannot properly convey, and I could do with a proper corset.
My figure - Elisabeth's aged up by roughly half a decade - is surprisingly top heavy, and I could do with a modicum of support, after all.
Plus, I have a feeling that rocking the goth chic look will be astoundingly easy for me now, so why not indulge?
My musing gets halted in its tracks as I finally reach the guardpost, the Hit Wizard in his red robes giving me the apathetic look of every government official everywhere.
"Your wand, please." He says in a monotone, his eyes gaining a glint of wakefulness as I near.
The guy finally rouses himself from his permanent half-dozing state because he's suddenly facing a solid nine out of ten? Typical.
I wordlessly fetch my wand from between my breasts, an eyebrow raised in challenge.
The poor sod slightly gulps and reddens as he takes it, his head snapping upward in an attempt to look anywhere but my assets.
Eh.
Not my fault I'm lacking both a holster and pockets at the moment and had to get a little creative.
I can always send it away into my hammerspace, but summoning it out of thin air in the middle of the Ministry's crowd would have probably caused an uproar.
"Th-That's…" He stutters, his eyes snapping back to mine, as the results of the readings get printed in front of him, his face turning a little green, "Where did you get this thing?"
"Not at Olivander's, quite obviously." I drawl, "Will that be a problem?"
"... No?" He squeaks weakly.
I nod regally, before extending my hand in his direction, my posture demanding.
"Then the answer to this question doesn't really matter, does it?"
"Blimey!" He whisper-hisses under his breath, before gingerly giving me back my wand, looking like he is handling a particularly dangerous snake, "No, no it doesn't."
"Thank you." I palm my partner, before sliding it where it temporarily belongs, "Now, could I trouble you with the direction towards the Department of Magical Education?"
The Hit Wizard looks as if he dearly wishes to stop having to interact with me for all of two seconds, before apparently realizing that I'll get out of his hair faster if he just gives me what I want.
Very understandably, he caves, and stutters through a couple more sentences as he explains to me where I must go next.
"Thank you, sir." I answer after a couple more seconds of a lengthy, heavy silence, just to see him squirm, "Have a nice day."
My politeness doesn't stop him from swearing under his breath as I start to sashay in the elevator's direction, whispers of 'darker than the night itself, Merlin!' reaching my ears.
[AN: Discretion, thy name isn't Elisabeth. *Shakes their head dejectedly*
Hope you enjoy, xoxo!]Last edited: May 8, 2024 Like Quote ReplyReport Reactions:shrub, Paneer, Agnes-sama and 890 othersClarencelackClarityMay 8, 2024Reader modeAdd bookmark Threadmarks Threadmarks Thy Old, Black Magick - Chapter 2 Threadmarks ClarencelackClarityYou're still a super hot female!May 8, 2024Add bookmark#4Chapter 2 : Expecto Patronum.
Understandably, I couldn't just stroll into the DoME and get evaluated on the spot.
I had to set an appointment - multiple, actually - then come back to get graded by a neutral observer - who was probably anything but neutral - on my studies of choice.
The defeated look on the official's face when he realized that I wasn't a simple run-of-the-mill witch raised in the boonies after I asked to get evaluated for Mastery in Charms, Transfiguration, Defense against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, Runes, Arithmancy, Alchemy - thank you, Gellert - and even History of Magic to round things up, had been absolutely priceless when his two available brain cells caught that I was supremely confident in my demands.
It got even harder to maintain my seriousness when I faux-wondered if I could also get evaluated on Wand Lore, the pompous looking asshole turning almost purple in barely restrained anger when he had to inform me that only the 'known and respected Olivander could certify my mastery' and that 'as an extremely busy man, he wouldn't be available until later in the year, once the Hogwarts' rush came to pass'.
To absolutely no one's surprise, the gaggle of proctors sent my way during the following days were neither in the best of moods or the best inclination towards myself, which forced my hand a little.
Did I abuse Evangeline's absurd mastery over magical hypnosis to make sure my results weren't falsified because I bruised some assholish Pure Blood's ego?
Yes.
Did I feel even an ounce of remorse over that particular factoid?
Fuck. No.
Everything went relatively smoothly afterwards, even if I nearly fumbled Potions - no, it definitely isn't anything like cooking! - and today was the last day of this frantic, fast paced endeavor.
Coincidentally, it was also time for me to end on a high note, with Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Once again stepping out of the visitor's entrance - I hadn't moved from my Hilton's suite, the familiarity of a non-magical setting a balm on my soul after suffering the Pure Bloods' nonsense for hours at a time every day, but it meant that I couldn't use the floo network - I had to do a slow, lazy blink at the crowd waiting for me.
Or, rather, not for me per say, but nonetheless mightily hindering my lazy walk toward the security gate.
The usually crowded Ministry of Magic's entrance hall was simply beyond that today.
Eyes panning around, I look for the reason for this state of affairs, only for my eyes to land on a shock of red hair stuffed under a seventies' hat, closely followed by a glasses-wearing lanky teen with dark hair and a relatively hunched posture, who seemingly draws everyone's gaze as he passes.
Uh.
Today is the twelfth of August, Harry Potter's hearing.
I almost forgot in the frenzy that has been these last few days.
Doesn't really help that I don't have the spare change needed to buy the Daily Prophet, so me being a little out of the loop is sort of expected.
Humming consideringly under my breath, I nonetheless step behind the duo of one Arthur Weasley and a protagonist in the direction of my daily wand inspection, a fact that was quickly getting tedious after so long.
Alas, I am not here in any 'official capacity', and so I must bend to the Ministry's rules.
The duo doesn't seem to pay me any mind, Arthur chatting a mile a minute at Harry in a bid to distract him from his immediate future, even if the customary whispers echoes in my back, witches apparently having nothing better to do than to gossip each time I take a step in this place.
I have half a mind to curse the whole lot just to see if they'll learn their lesson, honestly.
Quickly enough, Harry gets ushered through the gate after separating himself from his wands, the Hit Wizard - oddly enough, the same I met on my first day here - falling over himself in front of the local celebrity.
The urge to roll my eyes gets steadily stronger as seconds passes, until said Hit Wizard pans a look at the queue, and, subsequently, me.
He instantly does his best impression of a deer caught in headlights, and I have to refrain myself from chortling.
Incidentally, his mental whiplash prompts the duo's attention to shift to me, Arthur Weasley giving me an odd, if confused, look while Harry Potter freezes as we lock eyes.
I wordlessly arch an eyebrow, not really understanding why exactly he would react that way-
A thought comes to my mind, and I make a little 'oh' of realization.
-but we did lock eyes.
His vivid green ones in my blood scarlet pupils.
The very same as his nemesis.
"Apologies if I unsettled you so." I politely demur, breaking eye contact, before fishing my wand out of my bosom, earning myself a trio of reddening countenances, "Did you know that the eyes are said to be the mirror of the soul, Mister Potter?"
After a couple seconds spent alternatively looking at me and my wand, and very visibly relaxing, the teen with the fate of an entire magical community on his shoulders visibly relaxes, before giving my question some thought.
"... I didn't, miss?" He cautiously asks, his look inquisitive, searching.
"Faune, Elisabeth Faune." I answer politely, taking back my wand from a nearly whimpering glorified guard, before moving a couple of steps away, "Understandable, few wizards ever study the old philosophers. It is, after all, such a 'muggle' thing to do."
This time, this is Arthur who visibly relaxes while carefully averting his eyes as I sheathe back my wand in its 'holster'.
"Do you know what I saw when I looked into yours?" I carry on, my gaze looking back at the teen dispassionately.
The defensiveness in his posture comes back with a vengeance, and his expression turns defiant.
I take a couple steps forward, Arthur motioning to step between us to stop me from coming closer, but I pay it no mind.
"I saw the soul of a survivor," I answer my own question, pitching my voice lower than usual, "Albeit not for the… reasons those gentle folks often attribute to you."
The glass-wearing teen rears back, as if slapped, but I stop paying him any sort of mind as I give Arthur Weasley a long look.
His expression is severe, and hides a no small amount of distress.
"A little birdy told me," I prelude, "That Mister Potter's hearing was to be held earlier than it is supposed to be. I suggest the two of you make haste. Farewell."
Not leaving the time to fully process my statement, I promptly sashay in the DoME's direction to take my final examination.
***
"Now, to finish, I would like for you to demonstrate your mastery over the Patronus Charm." The wizened voice of one Argus Rowl, age guesstimated as antediluvian, quavers, earning a couple of enthusiastically excited grunts from his two, similarly old, colleagues.
I dip my head a fraction in acknowledgement, before extending my hands in a ready posture, wand tip pointing forward and away from the trio of proctors.
The question seems cliché, but it is a surprisingly difficult spell, considering the unwavering mental fortitude one has to demonstrate to wield it properly.
You can wave your wand all you want, but if you aren't both focused and defiant, the spell work will just fizzle in a trickle of whitish light at worst, or coalesce into a pseudo-shield at best.
All of that to say that achieving a corporeal Patronus is definitely harder than it sounds like.
Thankfully, though, my heart is made of steel, tempered in suffering and repentance.
I know unyielding focus.
It is part of me.
From the swirling chaos of my memories, I summon every positive memory I can think off, discarding those which would be insufficient on the fly, before settling on the trio heaviest with meaning.
A child, getting hugged by his mother, when simpler times were just that, simple.
A fool, arguing for the fate of a Sinner, going as far as to take the world's sins unto himself to stay her execution.
A naive boy, making an immortal's legacy his own in truth, and finally granting her revenge.
Eyes closed, I take a slow inhale.
"Expecto-" I proclaim, my wand snapping downard decisively, voice full of steel and resolve, "-Patronum!"
Magic rushes out of my core and the ambient air both, greedily getting sucked into a bright, shimmering shape, and I can only distractedly register the awed comments from the proctors as it solidifies a couple seconds later.
I, myself, stand here, frozen and my mouth agape.
Most Patronus - read, all of them - take the shape of an animal with a sort-of totemic importance to the spell weaver.
Apparently, I am not most people.
The figure stands at attention, his arms crossed behind his back, wearing something like an old-era tuxedo.
My lower lip wobbles a little, and I take an involuntary step forward.
They - no, he - bows, before unclasping his hands, and extending a furred paw in my direction.
I let out a little, delighted giggle, before letting myself get swept into a slow waltz.
There's no music, no tempo, no one beyond three old coots ready to crook it the next minute, but I do not care.
The moment stretches for what feels like hours, even if it probably only was a couple minutes, and it ends only when the both of us lean our foreheads against each other's.
"... Thank you." I mutter, voice thick with emotions.
The next moment, he is gone, and I have to dab at the corner of my eyes.
"... My apologies, proctors." I eventually say after a bit, "I always get a little emotional when I see him."
When I raise my head to look at the trio, they're too busy boggling and exchanging wide-eyed looks to immediately acknowledge me.
"Well, I'll be damned." Argus Rowls eventually sighs in his quavering voice, "Now I think I've seen everything."
"Did you know that was even possible, Argus?" His sole feminine counterpart asks.
"No, not even Albus…" He trails off, before looking at me consideringly, a slightly trembling hand coming to rub at his chin, "Pardon my curiosity, Miss, but do you know who…?"
"I do." I answer easily, hands clasped in front of me and my back straight.
"I guess the two of you must have had quite the history, then?" The last member of the trio posits.
"We do." I answer with a little smile, "He was the fool who saved my life, after all."
***
Back in my suite, I silently throw myself on my bed, sinking formlessly in the plush comforter, thoroughly spent.
I did it.
Straight O's in nine different NEWT-level subjects, and three Masteries in Charms, Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts.
I'm officially Great Britain's up-and-coming prodigy and dark horse both.
All that remains is to make a trip to Diagon Alley tomorrow to send my application for the DADA post to one Albus Wulfric Dumbledore, and see where the die lands.
But…
Slowly, my arms snake toward the closest pillow, before bringing it into my waiting embrace as I curl myself into a little, fetal ball.
I sigh heavily, the heaviness of my breath getting partially muffled by the pillow's fabric as my shoulders untense.
But not today.
Just, not today.
It's hard to believe, even harder to conceptualize the influence of parallel lives on the self.
But I have the most tangible proof that all of this is not a fever dream long past its due.
"I miss you, Foolish Servant." I vocalize into my pillow.
Kaito is my patronus.
And I guess I'll have to live with that.
[AN: What the muse wants, I must giveth.
Hope you enjoy, xoxo!]Last edited: May 8, 2024 Like Quote ReplyReport Reactions:shrub, Paneer, Agnes-sama and 874 othersClarencelackClarityMay 8, 2024Reader modeAdd bookmark Threadmarks Threadmarks Thy Old, Black Magick - Chapter 3 Threadmarks ClarencelackClarityYou're still a super hot female!May 8, 2024Add bookmark#5Chapter 3 : A thundering entrance.
As cliché as it sounds, Hogwarts was a truly majestic sight to behold, even from a distance. The impression was made even more powerful as reality didn't quite hold a candle to what was depicted in fiction, no, but clearly exceeded it.
Hogwarts, a castle meant to shelter thousands of young wizards and witches, was simply massive, beyond any attempt a movie set had any sort of hope to properly depict.
Which made it such a shame that it was raining fucking cats and dogs as I stepped out of the Three Broomsticks, thunder echoing in the distance, my eyes barely seeing the towering behemoth of a castle from the distance, and my mood kind of ruined.
Dumbledore had only taken a day to answer my letter.
It is now the 15th of August, and I'm going to my appointment with who is, I suppose, sort-of my eternal rival.
I chuckle lightly to myself as I take a step in some of the worst weather I've had the bad luck to suffer through, my wand already snapping into motion as I silently cast a modified Impervius spell, giving myself some kind of umbrella.
I look upward, my lips curling in self-satisfaction as the rain gets stopped cold on what is basically solidified air held under the spell matrix, before starting to meander in the direction of Britain's premier school of magic.
On the bright side, the weather reminded me of what I had to do to start over the process of becoming an Animagus once again, since I had to redo it from scratch considering Gellert's own form wasn't, well, mine, so I couldn't really stay mad at the situation.
It takes me a solid five minutes at a brisk walk to finally reach the appropriately-sized gates cutting off Hogwarts' grounds from the world beyond, a time I spent simultaneously staring intently at the castle sprawling's form and thanking my foresight for having spelled my new boots not to sink in muddy ground.
It says something about the average wizards intellect when none of them ever thought of simply transfiguring the whole length of road into something less prone to potholes and mud than packed dirt, but I digress.
This close to the castle's edges, I can almost taste its wards, so thick is the magic on those enchantments, and I have to give the four founders my begrudging respect.
Those four definitely knew what they were doing, because those are quite potent.
I'm wrenched out of my idle musings as someone walks just as briskly as I previously did in my direction, right as I am contemplating sending Albus a Patronus to speed up the process.
I may not be bothered by the rain, or even the mild cold of the weather for that matter, but I'm far from enjoying the present situation regardless.
Soon enough, I find myself face to face with one mildly annoyed Minerva McGonagall, her expression pinched and, amusingly enough, wielder of a less effective version of the charm I'm using against this dreadful weather.
"Miss Faune?" She asks through the gates as soon as she reaches them, giving me a roaming glance, her expression turning a little more severe as she takes in my attire.
In the distance, the thunder rumbles, and I wait for it to pass before I give my answer.
"That would be me, yes, Miss…?" I hazard.
"McGonagall." She clips in a no-nonsense tone, before gesturing with her wands toward the gates.
Said gates screeches open, and I absentmindedly make a note to introduce the good wizards to the wonders of WD-40.
"Follow me, then." She orders as soon as I cross the threshold, the wards washing over me without kicking up a fuss, already turning back in the castle's direction.
I wordlessly acknowledge her by stepping next to her, and the both of us beat a hasty retreat in Hogwarts' direction.
She side-eyes me for a moment as the two of us not-quite run toward less wet pastures, before sighing.
"Forgive me for my bluntness," She amends, and I'm introduced to the thickness of her scottish accent in full this time, "But this blasted weather..."
"I understand plainly." Eyeing back her slightly soaked countenance, "If you want, I'll share the charm I use in these particular situations once my meeting is concluded."
The older woman gives me another long look, before sharply nodding, the water on the brim of her witch's hat getting dumped on the ground in the motion.
"That would be mightily appreciated." She answers with a little upturn of her lips, before scowling, "I asked, time and time again, Professor Flitwick if he had a way to shield myself from the weather, but he always seems to forget as soon as the problem vanishes."
I chuckle throatily at that, earning myself a hairy eyeball for my troubles.
"The woe of geniuses everywhere is to forget the plight of the little people." I remark amusingly, my own lips quirked up.
She scoffs, before harrumphing.
"Yes, well, he should know better than to think every wizard his age is as talented in Charms as he is." She scowls snappishly.
Silence - or the closest thing there is amid a thunderstorm - falls between the two of us as we keep making good time in the castle's direction.
From the corner of my eyes, I see the older witch worry at her lower lip a little while occasionally throwing glances my way.
"Say, Miss Faune," She preludes, her tone and demeanor both turning serious once again, "Are you aware of the rumors about the position you're aiming for?"
"The Curse on the DADA tenure, you mean?" I answer easily, apparently catching her a little off-guard, "I am, actually."
"Aren't you afraid something will befall you, then?" She presses.
"I would, but since I have an idea of what is going on here," - thank you, Gellert - "It just means I'll have to take care of it in the coming weeks, then."
Once again, the aged Transfiguration professor gives me a sharp look.
"Even Gringots' Cursebreakers didn't succeed in lifting it." She warns me, thunder rumbling ominously behind us, "You shouldn't presume of your strength."
"I am plenty aware of my limitations, Professor." I carry on, my tone even, "And I'll think I'll manage easily enough."
I ponder for a moment, before tilting my head slightly to the side in mock-thought.
It wouldn't exactly hurt to explain my reasoning to Albus' right hand in case I didn't get the position, so why not?
"From a cursory examination of the circumstances, the curse is either anchored inside the wards themselves, or into a potent magical artifact tied to the castle that remains undiscovered, although, in case of the latter, it would need to be provided with its own, autonomous magical source." I explain idly, "Since I'd wager the Cursebreaker have taken an extensive look at the wards' spell matrix-"
"They bloody hell did." The older woman grumbles.
"-it then stands to reason that it is the latter." I conclude, "I'd wager that a little enthusiastic stroll through the castle's grounds while keeping an eye open should present the solution. There aren't a lot of possibilities which would give an artifact enough magical power to pull that off for literally decades."
"You'd be free to try if you get the position." Minerva says, "But I have warned you."
And consequently confirmed my first suspicion.
I'm ninety nine percent certain the curse is anchored to Moldypants' horcrux which never moved from the castle all this time, so the problem should, in fact, be easily solved.
Again, thank you, Gellert, for pulling my ass out of the fire even when your knowledge of Soul Magic is middling at best.
Like I said earlier to good ol' Minerva, there aren't many ways to power a spellwork like that without it losing its potency after a certain amount of time. For the curse to work like clockwork, year after year, subjecting every DADA Professor to Tommy boi's pettiness? It can only be because the soul shard present in Ravenclaw's Diadem actively powers it to this day.
So it's just the affair of a hop, a skip, and a liberal amount of Fiendfyre getting thrown around, and the issue will solve itself.
Not like I don't intend to be gone at the end of the year, but I'd rather it be on my terms than because a sudden case of bad luck befell me.
As the conversation between the two of us goes quiet once again, we finally reach - with a shared feeling of relief - Hogwarts' door, which instantly creaks open at our approach - and now I really have to introduce wizard kind to the wonders of muggle ingenuity because this is just getting silly at this point.
Unless all of this is for the extra dramatic value or something along those lines.
"Right," The older woman sighs in relief while waving her wand to vanish the water soaking her robes, "If you will follow me, I will…"
She trails off as a silvery figure, one I instantly identify as a phoenix, approaches her.
The Patronus - because it is quite clearly one - makes a large sweeping turn of the hall, before alighting itself in front of the Hogwarts' Deputy Headmistress.
"Minerva," The wizened voice of an older wizard, Dumbledore, flows out of the construct's beak, "Something came up in Europe, and I must make my way there post haste. I trust you to make your better judgment concerning Miss Faune's candidacy. I'll see you later."
I watch, a little bemusedly, as the construct vanishes back into thin air, the shoulders of my interlocutor sagging a little under the weight of her newfound responsibility.
"Does this happen often?" I don't find in myself the strength to bite back the question.
The aged woman gives me something of a glare, before deflating a little.
"Aye, it does." She admits, before straightening, "Well, I was going to show you to the Headmaster's office, but I guess mine will do just as well, considering the circumstances."
"... I could always come back at a later date." I offer gingerly.
"Nonsense," She waves away, before starting another brisk walk into the castle proper, "We've already had enough of a hard time finding someone willing to fill the position this year, for some reason. I'm not going to make the students wait any longer for their summer shopping list if I can help it."
"Lead the way, then." I demur simply.
Needless to say, I got hired on the spot the very same day, with an advance on my salary I made good use of before finally settling in Hogwarts two days later.
Which is when I finally met Albus "Merlin reborn" Dumbledore.
[AN: Enough! I said enough!
Hope you enjoy, xoxo!]Last edited: May 12, 2024 Like Quote ReplyReport Reactions:shrub, Paneer, Agnes-sama and 906 othersClarencelackClarityMay 8, 2024Reader modeAdd bookmark Threadmarks Threadmarks Thy Old, Black Magick - Interlude 1 Threadmarks ClarencelackClarityYou're still a super hot female!May 8, 2024Add bookmark#6Interlude 1 : Not a good time to be Albus Dumbledore.
It wasn't a good time to be one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
Truth be told, it had been the case for at least a solid decade, but the last couple of months somehow managed to take the cake.
Between Tom seemingly pulling the impossible - or close enough - off, his supporters starting to rattle their sabers ominously, his own supporters being a motley group of strong personalities he had a hard enough time to corral, his worst suspicions toward what young Harry's scar could truly hold within and the consequences it had on their relationship, and, to top it all off, his old nemesis escaping from his prison and sending his old supporters into a frenzy across Europe?!
No, it certainly wasn't a good time to be Albus Dumbledore, to be him.
The truth is, he has been feeling his age and the weight of his responsibilities for a long time by now, and the last four years had been trying to say the least.
When Quirel came to him, babbling about a curse and needing his help, he had nodded, gave reassurance, tried his best, only to get betrayed later on, the sole silver lining in all that being that young Harry had given him the proof that Lily's last gamble had worked and the Prophecy was still looking out for him.
Then this horrible mess with Salazar's monster, something he couldn't do anything about because he wasn't a Parselmouth, the idea of just flooding the whole castle with roosters coming to him too late when he finally got it - which was just plain embarrassing, he was sure Newt would have understood what they were facing after the first day - and with the supposed 'Heir' now fully on guard, poor Ginny's possession thankfully stopped in time by young Harry yet again, at the cost of him nearly dying, yet again.
Again, the third year didn't go any better, and he was still feeling guilty for not realizing sooner Sirius' innocence, the harm now done, his good name smeared in mud and his quite literally rat of Hogwarts' accomplice fleeing in the night to crawl back to his true Master, only the judicious application of Time Magic making it so young Harry didn't lose the last tie to his roots that is apparently worth a damn.
And last year…
Well, Tom had just been smarter than him on this one, no two ways around it, inserting Harry's name in the Cup under a fourth school like that, a loophole he wasn't aware off despite reading extensively and in details the enchantment on the magical artifact, his own blinders concerning his friend making it so he didn't realize that Moody wasn't, well, Moody - though the impersonation had been startlingly accurate - all of this culminating in the Tom's resurrection by making use of the sole portkey allowed to cross Hogwarts' warding scheme.
And nearly costing young Harry's life, again.
Albus could only count his blessings that Lily's desperate gamble was still protecting her son from his self-appointed nemesis, even if he meant he was forced to send the boy back to this horrid, wretched place, something that hit especially hard because he couldn't help but remember Ariana's own fate, but his hands were all but tied.
Fate was a cruel thing like that.
And between his own age, his responsibilities and Fate actively fucking with him to engineer a confrontation between two of its portents, well, no, it definitely wasn't a good time to be Albus Dumbledore.
Which meant he fully expected the new hire to be another thorn in his side when he finally met her, a couple of days after having to excuse himself from their planned meeting because some of Gellert's old sympathizers got a little too nostalgic about the good old days.
On the bright side, he had gotten a decent outlet to vent his ever-growing frustration at this all-around worsening situation, even if his old… paramour… was still nowhere to be found.
All of this to say that he really didn't expect their first meeting to go like it did.
***
"Enter." Albus says as soon as he hears the knock against the door, a rapid paced, three beat thing, with no hesitation behind it.
Un-burying his nose from the ever-growing pile of reports he was reading, Hogwarts' Headmaster locks eyes with the stranger entering his abode.
The first thing that comes to his mind is the world 'regal'.
Smooth, pale skin, ruby lips, high cheeks, long and flowing straight black hair, falling over her shoulders like an inky curtain of darkness, two scarlet red irises peering into his own neutrally as she nears.
Back straight, her posture perfect, Miss Elisabeth Faune certainly cuts an impressive figure, even without factoring in her more feminine attributes, of which she had a more than reasonable amount.
Albus may not be enticed by a woman's shape, but, like art, he is most certainly free to appreciate a beautiful subject.
The second thing that comes to his mind is 'confidence'.
It's in the way she walks, her heels clicking rhythmically against the stone flooring of his abode, barely getting muffled by the expensive carpets of his long dead predecessors, a slight hint of a predatory gait hidden in the flow of her rolling hips as she takes a step.
The third thing that comes to his mind is 'vampire', but only because a very particular artifact he collected during his journeys was getting into a tizzy, forcing him to wave a hand distractedly in its direction to make it stop and causing Fawkes to trill inquisitively.
Now, wasn't that intriguing?
He had lost of hefty amount of his respect for Hogwarts' ward scheme in the last few years, the student body repeatedly put in harm's way despite being under his watch and the aegis of the marvel produced by four of the greatest minds wizardkind has ever known, but it was relatively easy to piece together the reason why the wards fumbled this time.
Those old things were keyed to the magical signature of the species they were trying to ward off, and Miss Faune appeared, for all intent and purpose, like a witch to his sight.
An astonishingly powerful one, yes, but a witch nonetheless.
Though there were very few reasons a being could have a conceptual weakness to garlic of all things.
The fourth thing that comes to his mind is, of course, 'powerful'.
The woman(?) in front of him is absolutely oozing magic. Looking at her through his enchanted glasses for a lone second being almost enough to blind him, magical power roiling out of her skin, coiled around its mistress, begging to be released and leap at an unsuspecting prey.
But all of this power is tightly leashed by an iron grip, an amount of control so stupendous Albus has never seen the likes of it.
Gellert would have given his fortune to demonstrate such mastery, Tom would have wiped out an entire continent in his path to obtain it.
If Albus needed proof that the woman in front of him was neither of those two in disguise, he had it with very little doubt.
That, plus the fact that neither of those two would have been caught dead wearing this kind of clothing, even while being doused by the most obscure of shapeshifting potions.
A narrow, oily dark leather corset inlaid with silver, highlighting her thin waist and impressive cleavage both, three bands of the same material coming together to hug her neck like a choker, a black skirt falling scandalously above the knee, an overcoat giving a nod at modesty while simultaneously thumbing its nose at it, and a pair of high heeled, matte black boots with big silvery buckles.
Add onto that the silvery jewelry adorning her bare arms and the two metallic combs shaped like roses in her hair, and she was most certainly sticking to her theme.
"Miss Faune." He greets the being genially as soon as she reaches his desk, a kind smile on his face, "Please, do take a seat."
"With pleasure, Headmaster." She answers, her poise impeccable as she primly sits in the high backed chair, like a queen on her throne.
"First things first," Albus preludes, the woman looking back at him with polite interest, "I would like to apologize for having to leave on very short notice two days ago. Certain events in Europe have required my attention for a couple of weeks, I'm sure you'd understand."
"I do," The dark haired beauty nods regally, as if giving a supplicant her forgiveness, "It isn't everyday that the past claws its way back from where it is left best forgotten, after all."
Hogwarts' Headmaster has to repress a powerful urge to wince at the dig, considering how all of this mess wouldn't have happened if he had had given his blessing for Gellert's execution instead of arguing for a life sentence, but he never could find it in himself to do just that.
"Quite so." He prevaricates instead with the ease of the consummate politician, before giving the being in front of him a long, steady look.
"Now, I'd like to start this meeting with a question." He carries on, clasping his hands in front of him over his desk.
"By all means, Headmaster." The woman keeps unerringly staring back at him.
Locking eyes with hers, Albus sends a discreet Legilimency probe-
"How long has it been since your last feeding?"
-and gets approximately shit-all - or, more accurately, a very detailed rendition of a yellow rubber duck - in exchange, confirming the fact that his new hire - pending her next answer, of course - is an Occlumens of a certain caliber.
He watches, intrigued, as the woman slowly blinks, her eyes abruptly darting toward the artifact that betrayed her true nature - a credit to her observation skills - her mouth making a little 'oh' of realization, before looking back at him.
"I'm afraid I'm unable to answer that question," She easily admits, Albus' tension ratcheting a few notches, "Because I don't quite remember."
"How so?" Albus asks, his brows furrowing a fraction.
"It has been decades, by this point." The woman languidly shrugs, "And I haven't exactly held a journal since."
Her answer makes Albus pause, hard.
"... You overcame your curse?" He asks, a bit befuddled.
"Something along those lines, yes." Once again, a regal nod, "Some weaknesses remain, but they aren't an obstacle against a daily life among mortals, and a diet of giblets and variety meats nicely does the trick to satisfy my more sanguine cravings."
Most tellingly, the fact that Fawkes wasn't already trying to peck her eyes out tended to give weight to her tale.
Dark in nature, but not of heart.
Fascinating! Albus can't help but think to himself, before jolting a little in his seat as he realizes something important.
"I'm sorry, where are my manners? Would you like some tea?" He offers, a sliver of shame - unfeigned - slipping through his tone.
"Gladly." The woman - no, Miss Faune - answers with a polite smile.
A quiet command to a nearby house elf finds the duo quickly enough with a steaming kettle and two cups.
He doesn't make a mistake as gauche as to ask Miss Faune if she's even able to drink it, considering she already accepted.
His most pressing questions answered in a satisfactory manner - some doubts remained, sure, but the ward should still alert him if his latest hiring 'slipped', and he did knowingly hire a werewolf a couple years ago, so what's stopping him at this point? - the two of them slip easily enough into small talk, Albus occasionally probing her knowledge needed for her future position, and getting pleasantly surprised.
Though, considering the fact that Miss Faune was apparently older than she looked like, her being knowledgeable was part for the course.
His guest's cup clicks on its saucer and her affable air turns intent, almost hard with steel, prompting Albus to raise a questioning eyebrow in askance.
"Is something the matter, Miss Faune?" He asks, setting down his own cup.
"A couple of days ago, your Deputy Headmistress 'informed' me about the curse on the DADA tenure." The scarlet eyed woman preludes, and Albus has to refrain himself from wincing for the second time in the conversation.
Though he can't help but take note of a particular choice of tone.
"You were already aware of it, I take it?" He posits curiously.
"I was." His latest hire confirms with one of her queenly nods, "Hence why I took the liberty of roaming the castle's grounds earlier."
Dainty fingers raise in front of her, and the vampire snaps.
It is only Albus' own experience with magic of all manners that stops him from gaping as scarlet rose petals blossom out of nowhere above his desk, making Fawkes squawk in surprise on his nearby perch.
Something then lands on his desk, a half-melted, burnished crown-like object, steeped in the darkest of all magic.
Hogwarts' Headmaster instantly swears.
"What is this?" He asks, unable to pull his eyes away from the object.
"This," A carefully manicured digit comes to tap against half-melted silver, prompting Albus to look back at its owner, "Was the anchor for the curse, Headmaster."
Albus remains mute, his mind running miles a minute as the vampire turns her palms upward, entering what he can already tell is her 'lecture mode'.
"The Deputy Headmistress informed me that an entire legion of Cursebreakers came looking for it in the ward scheme," - which was entirely true, and cost the school board quite a bit of money to no results - "So it left only one possible way to anchor the curse without it losing its potency. And since it has worked - quite flawlessly, if I may add - for decades, I went looking for it.
"I stumbled upon an oddly warded room, heavily keyed to intent, and so I politely asked. This unsightly thing," Miss Faune's traits turn into an ugly sneer, "Kept the curse running by using one of Herpo's little creations."
Instantly, Dumbledore's face falls as he puts two and two together.
"A Horcrux, I take it." He whispers under his breath, a tad shamefully.
"It would seem to be the case." The black haired vampire nods once again, hands back in her laps, "One of a set, if I'd be a betting woman. And probably belonging to this... Dark Lord... I heard everyone rave about in the last couple of months. It would be an adequate method to cheat death, I suppose, as long as you don't value your sanity."
His worst fears confirmed, Albus feels the need to wet his lips before hesitantly asking the question that was keeping him up at night in the recent years since the discovery of the Diary.
"... Hypothetically speaking," He preludes, "And since you seem to know what you're talking about…"
"Quite so." Miss Faune answers, sipping her tea once again, a glint of amusement in her scarlet orbs.
Albus ignores it for the time being.
"... How many do you think this 'Dark Lord' could sustain at once?" He asks.
He has his suspicions, but having the opportunity of talking with a knowledgeable soundboard is too good to pass up.
"That's a tough question." She hums, slender fingers coming to rub at her chin pensively as she looks in the distance, unseeing, "If he only referred himself to the wand arts, then he'd have to bend to the rules of Arithmancy. So either three, seven or thirteen.
"Let's eliminate thirteen outright, his ego wouldn't have endured so long." She waves her hand dismissively, "So it's either three for the symbolism of the trinity, or seven for the seven virtues and sins.
"Though this," Her nail comes to tap at the half-melted diadem, "Does make me think seven."
"Why is that?" Albus presses desperately.
"Well, because it's one out of a set of four." The corners of her lips upturn, "I'm fairly confident that it used to be Ravenclaw's Diadem, after all."
Hogwarts' Headmaster's attention snaps back toward the blackened thing currently sullying his desk to stare at it.
"And since the recipient of a Horcrux has to have a weight of meaning for its maker…" The vampire trails off.
Albus could see it. Tom had always been attached to Hogwarts to an unreasonable degree.
But for now…
The old wizard sighs heavily, slumping heavily in his own chair, a hand coming to rub distractedly at his brows.
"Thank you, Miss Faune." He eventually says after a beat, meaning it, "You gave me… A lot to think about."
"By all means." The vampire answers, queenly disposition firmly back in place, "I take it that I passed muster, then?"
"Quite so." The Headmaster drawls, his attention coming back on his hire, "As long as you don't feed on the students, which shouldn't be a problem-"
"It will not."
"-then you're welcome in these halls, for as long as you'd like. Though…" He trails off.
"Yes?" She arches an eyebrow in his direction.
"Could I trouble you in asking for your help if, or, more accurately, when I find another one of those outside of Hogwarts' grounds?" He asks, gesturing at the blackened and melted diadem.
This time, it is Miss Faune's turn to pause, the full weight of her attention shining through her scarlet orbs.
The moment stretches, the duo remaining silent, until…
"You know what? Sure." She carelessly shrugs, "I always hated posers anyway."
[AN: I hear Laplace-chan reeing in the distance, be right back!
Hope you enjoy, xoxo!]Last edited: May 12, 2024 Like Quote ReplyReport Reactions:shrub, Paneer, Agnes-sama and 1,075 othersClarencelackClarityMay 8, 2024Reader modeAdd bookmark Threadmarks FireGolemGetting sticky.May 8, 2024Add bookmark#7Very nice to see that this has a new thread, absolutely hate the new QQ styles which make the reading less enjoyable. Like Quote ReplyReport Reactions:FacelessEsper, nayithan, Sciolibi and 36 othersVers20Not bad. But not the worst either.May 8, 2024Add bookmark#8Yes! It has it's own thread!
Now.. let's hope ClaCla's muse won't leave us hanging! Like Quote ReplyReport Reactions:FacelessEsper, Jaron, RedWard99 and 12 othersJason WuConnoisseur.May 8, 2024Add bookmark#9Ayo new thread Like Quote ReplyReport Reactions:TheWave, Despondent_Riolu, ShayDM4n and 9 othersThreadmarks Thy Old, Black Magick - Chapter 4 Threadmarks ClarencelackClarityYou're still a super hot female!May 8, 2024Add bookmark#10Chapter 4 : Rare liver.
Time easily flew by after my - admittedly quite nerve-wracking - bamboozling of one Albus "Too many names" Dumbledore that allowed me to simultaneously secure my position as the new DADA professor for the year to come in a definitive manner and throw an 'out of context'-shaped wrench in Tommy-boy's plans in the most exquisite manner.
Albus now knew with a relative degree of certainty how many MacGuffins he had to track down, as well as secured the help of someone who clearly demonstrated the ability to laugh in the face of the wannabe Dark Lord's curses with startling ease and knew how to poof his soul fragments away.
Oh, the Diadem certainly tried its best with me, but saying that Elisabeth had dealt with worse was a very mild understatement indeed.
Added to that roughly six hundred years to develop some modicum of self-control as an immortal wandering vampire and, well…
Let's just say that widdle Riddle had some catching up to do if he hoped to ever do more than inconvenience me at best.
Though I was a bit surprised that my nature as a vampire got seen through as quickly as it did by Dumbles'do, having figured that the castle wards' scheme would be the biggest hurdle to overcome.
That was apparently discounting the rare gizmo able to detect a very particular conceptual weakness instead of the more traditional method of looking for a magical signature.
Albus' hoarding tendencies gave the game away, but oh well.
Not like I intended to drink anyone's blood in this Castle anyway, considering how my dietary needs are not as restricted as one would assume at a first glance.
Plus, I'd be afraid of catching the Pure Blood's stupid if I did, so big nope!
Listen, for my admittedly really superficial examination - read, my time spent at the DoME - they're all like this, so it must either be in the blood or in the balls, and I'm certainly not going to risk either or both.
All of this to say that I easily settled into my new quarters, taking the time to properly prepare my lesson plans - fully discarding in passing the recent Ministry's 'recommendations' penned by a certain pink toad - made my quarters truly mine, undertook a few quick trips to gather a few things I thought of and readied my classroom for the beginning of the school year.
There were, of course, quite a few hiccups along the way, but, thankfully enough, my new colleagues, as well as Dumbledore when he was available, were always eager to help.
Well, all except one, quite obviously.
***
"Come again."
"I asked," Maturely ignoring the scathingness of the tone of my current interlocutor, "If you had any recommendations for a schoolbook, Mister Snape."
The sallow, somewhat sickly-looking man straightens from his seemingly self-appointed task of swallowing his dinner as fast as he can before locking eyes to glare at me.
Around us, in the near emptiness of the Great Hall the silence is positively deafening.
Rather nonplussed, I merely arch an eyebrow in his direction, my cutlery still held daintily between my fingers.
"Miss Faune," Interjects Filius Flitwick, an apologetic smile on his face, "Maybe it isn't-"
I wave his words away, the full brunt of my focus still on Severus, scarlet eyes staring into black and bloodshot ones.
"I am aware," I prelude softly, "That Mister Snape has aimed for my position for a long time. I am, also, not currently doing something as crass as taunting him-"
Well, I am, in fact, doing a bit of that, but still.
"-but asking someone as interested in my subject as me, and probably more aware than I am about what has been recently published, if they have any recommendations to share to further our charges' education.
"Nothing more, and nothing else."
I take the time as silence falls amid our little professional - and quite informal - gathering to spear another piece of rare liver with my fork before bringing it to my mouth.
Delicious.
The house elves even managed to get me some chianti with it!
Eyes half-lidded in bliss, I barely catch Minerva discreetly elbowing her colleague with a pinched air and a hissed 'Severus!'.
It does tickle my funny bone, though.
Severus Snape is a thoroughly unpleasant man, as it turns out, albeit one amply capable of being cordially civil if you don't step on his personal landmines.
Which, sadly for me, does include 'being an upstart with the gall to land the DADA tenure instead of him.'.
Under Minerva's judgmental and Pomona Sprout's pleading look, the dungeon bat bristles and grumbles under his breath, before caving with a sigh.
"Did you… Try," Yes, I have noticed the emphasis, you utter part, stop being an arse for five, full seconds already, "'The Essential Defence Against the Dark Arts' by Arsenius Jigger and 'Confronting the Faceless' by Harmiger Yuzul?"
I tilt my head a fraction, consideringly.
"A generalist to prepare for the OWL and something more centered around personal strength and combat for the NEWT level students? A good idea." I concede after a moment spent thinking over it, "I thank you for your counsel, Mister Snape."
"Were you having trouble making a choice, Miss Faune?" Pomona precipitously asks, trying with all her might to turn the subject of the conversation to something mildly safer.
"There are simply too many choices, and I have to limit myself to one book per student. I wouldn't want to pull a Lockhart, after all." I comment airily as I go back to my dinner, earning a few choked laughs from our little crowd, "The lack of a stable tenure for the past how-many-years is already making it hard enough to establish a proper curriculum, considering how disparate the skills of the students I am to teach will be, so the choice of the appropriate texts of references fell a bit on the wayside while I got focused on correcting that particular state of affairs.
"Quite frankly, had Mister Snape or the Headmaster not been able to point me in the right direction, I would have done without and spared everyone a few galleons." I admit with a shrug, "The library would have done the job just fine, I gather. So, yes, I was in a bit of a pickle trying to choose a good enough book to recommend for the students."
"For a standard textbook," Filius interjects in his high-pitched voice, "I find that 'good enough' is, in fact, plenty enough. Though I have to admit that Miranda made this part of my job extremely easy for the last couple of decades." He ends with a chuckle.
"You will find, Miss Faune, that the research for the ideal reference textbook is a never-ending task." Minerva points out, offering a different opinion to her Ravenclaw counterpart, "Advancements are made every year in many magical disciplines, and while some are very minor indeed, they may still warrant you to buy the next edition of a well known work."
Suddenly, I understood.
It's not that the magical community is backward, it's just that they are too narrowly focused on magic.
Which, understandable, it's magic, but simultaneously explains why they can't quite catch up with muggle innovations.
They already have theirs, and their mentality makes it so they can only be bothered to learn the new fad of the magical world, at the detriment of the blossoming innovation clusters non-magicals started shitting out every decade since the beginning of the 20th century.
Boy are they going to get thrown for a loop when smartphones and CCTVs become omnipresent.
I chew thoughtfully for a couple seconds while mulling over this newfound revelation, before ultimately swallowing.
"I admit that I am mostly ignorant of those facts," I prevaricate, "My family saw to my education from start to finish."
Which is mostly true, as long as you consider my alternate selves as my family.
"And you still managed to achieve three masteries? At such a young age? Incredible!" Filius exclaims.
It's admittedly a struggle to keep a straight face at that, considering I'm the result of roughly seven hundred-ish years of cumulative experience by this point.
"I don't quite recall ever hearing of the Faune's name." Severus pointedly remarks while spearing me with an intent look.
I dismissively wave his not-so-veiled accusation.
"Me and mine are the results of a long tradition of hedge mages making it a habit of living among muggles in the ass end of Corréze. It's not really surprising." I dismiss, earning a few startled laughs from my bluntness.
"Yet you are oddly knowledgeable about Great Britain's history." He presses on.
"Being part of an obscure magical nobility in the French boonies isn't mutually exclusive with keeping with what's happening outside of it." I answer a bit tersely, another juicy morsel crossing my lips' boundaries, "I didn't quite fancy spreading my wings in Beauxbatons, so I put a modicum of effort to learn about what laid across the Channel."
"And why exactly did you elect to come here?" The double-agent insists.
This time, I really have to bite the inside of my cheeks to stop myself from snapping at him.
"Short answer?" I ask rhetorically, because I sure as hell wasn't willing to expand further than I had to, "I'm more leery of the old Dark Lord than the new one."
Saying that that particular sentence spelled the quick death of this conversation would be an understatement.
On the bright side, the buttered beans I had with my liver were absolutely divine.
***
Time inexorably crawled by as I kept doing busywork to get ready in time for the 1st of September, and, even in spite of my drastically increased proclivity for morning-induced laziness, I eventually managed just in time.
All I had to wait for now was for the students to come grace Hogwarts' halls once again.
I was fairly confident that none of them were ready for what I had in store for them.
Chapter 5 : Dark.
Harry was still reeling a little after the two odd encounters he went through back to back, the one with those odd, skeletal and ominous-looking winged horses and the frail, wide-eyed Luna Lovegood and all of her quirks while on the train.
The fact that his very weird junior was apparently the only other one able to see those horse-things pulling their carriages was filling him with anything but confidence if he had to be honest.
But those events were barely the cherry on the shit sundae his summer had been. Between his lonely and morose first month, the Dementor attack the very next day after he turned fifteen, the aerial confrontation against Voldemort's lackeys above London, discovering that all his friends had spent the previous month together without him and never told him - yes, he was still bitter about it - being excluded from the adults' talks repeatedly while they wagged the shadow-war he was the centerpiece of, the whole mess of his hearing and his ever-aching scar that never seemed to give him a break?
Yeah, all in all, it was with no small amount of relief that he finally was able to sit at the Gryffindor's table, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the comforting familiarity of his home away from his not-home.
It was then perfectly understandable that he tuned out the brewing conversations around him as the Great Hall got steadily filled with wizards and witches of various ages in preparation for the Start-of-Term feasts, until Hermione's inquisitive tone pulled him out of his idle contemplations.
"Who's that?" The bushy haired girl suddenly asks, her eyes unerringly locked toward the Professor's table, "Is she the new DADA teacher?"
His curiosity momentarily spurred and with a heavy feeling in his belly - he had, after all, noticed a really distressing trend about the Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, mainly of them trying to mess with him - Harry's attention turns toward the target of his friend's looks-
-only to instantly inhale a sharp breath.
Straight, jet-black hair, framing an aristocratic visage with high cheekbones and an elegant nose, ruby lips and scarlet red eyes amid pale skin.
Sitting with her back straight, her pose both effortless and impeccable, the perfect middle-ground between Snape's own 'tries too hard' and McGonagall 'too strict' attempts, distractedly nursing a glass of red wine while talking with an excited-looking Flitwick, silver jewelry adorning her limbs and hair, glinting under the lights of the Great Hall.
He couldn't have forgotten the woman he only met once even if had wanted to.
"I know her." The words spill out of his mouth unbidden as he keeps staring, "She called herself… Elisabeth Faune?"
Even if he ends his sentence with an interrogative lilt, Harry can't help but subconsciously nod in confirmation to himself an instant later.
Across the hall, as if sensing his attention, the darkly clothed woman minutely shifts, her attention momentarily leaving her colleague.
Harry and her cross eyes, and he can't stop himself from shivering slightly.
Vivid, blood-red orbs.
Just like Him.
The moment stretches, until she minutely dips her head in acknowledgement, before turning her attention back toward her colleague, who's still enthusiastically talking to her about something.
"And?" Ron presses on, his own attention locked on the Professors' table too, "She dark?"
"Ron!" Hermione scowls from across the table, a chastising look on her face.
"I only met her once." Harry elaborates, turning his attention away from Miss Faune to look back at his friends, only distractedly noting the Twins' own interests in his words, "Remember the hearing? I told you Ron's dad and I almost came to the audience too late because they shifted the planned session in front of the Wizengamot at the last minute."
"I do." Hermione acknowledges.
"Well, she was the one who warned the both of us that something was afoot." Harry drops.
Her own eyes darting back toward the table, Hermione's air turns more contemplative, while Ron still appears to do his best attempt at drilling a hole through the new teacher's head with his focus alone.
"She was behind us in the queue." Harry carries on his tales, hunching forward on the Gryffindor's table conspirationningly, "Was even wearing one of those visitor badges, like I had to. One moment, the Hit Wizard at the desk is yammering away about something, the next he all but freezes as he looks back at her behind us. Never quite got the reason why he reacted like that, but he was scared absolutely shitless by her."
Next to him, Ron grunts while crossing his arms over his torso.
"Definitely Dark, then." He grumbles, squaring up his shoulders.
"Now, now, Ronniekins-"
"-you shouldn't badmouth a teacher."
"Especially one like the lovely Miss Faune here-"
"-without getting to know her first." The twins, well, twinspeak from across the table, adding exaggerated eyebrow wiggles to their usual display.
Granted, they do have a point, in Harry's humble opinion. The youthful looking witch is indeed quite lovely looking, although like a rose with its thorns aggressively bared.
"I told you, I don't know." Harry explains further, "She's unnerving, yes, but she also helped me without asking anything in return, just because she could, and…"
"And?" Hermione presses on as he trails off.
"... I mean, maybe it's nothing." He waves dismissively.
"C'mon, mate." Ron insists, his attention still on the Professors' table, "Don't leave us hanging."
Harry sighs, propping his head against his fist.
"She said something about 'the eyes being the mirror of the soul'..."
"What does that mean? Some kind of curse?" The redhead boy asks, turning his attention toward Harry to give him his best confused look.
"No, Ron." Hermione sighs, eyes half-closed, "It's a citation. From Ciceron, a Roman philosopher. It means that locking eyes with someone is how you can learn the most about them, because the eyes are the most expressive part of one's face."
"Never heard of that." Ron easily admits, "Sounds like hogwash to me."
As he watches Hermione's face turn an interesting shade of red, Harry can't help but muse that there's a certain truth to the saying.
One only needs to lock eyes with Voldemort to see how utterly evil the guy is, after all.
"She also mentioned that very few wizards ever study the old philosophers," he chimes, cutting Hermione before she can launch herself into another self-righteous rant, "Because it is 'such a muggle thing to do'."
A contemplative - although relative - silence falls between the trio - and nearby twins, still intently following the discussion - amid the hustle and bustle of the beginning of the year feast to come.
"Uh." Ron intelligently utters after a while, "Maybe not so Dark, after all."
***
"-and here is Magdalena Rosenthal. Absolutely brilliant witch, you're going to love her. Such a keen mind!" Filius enthusiastically chatters while discreetly pointing toward the Ravenclaw's table as I keep politely listening to him.
I quickly enough realized that, amid the motley gaggle of professors of the Hogwarts' staff, my favorite conversation partners were the respective heads of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, as well Bathsheba Babbling, the Ancient Rune professor.
I would have probably added to that Albus Dumbledore himself if he wasn't always busy juggling half a dozen fires on a daily basis, what with having so many responsibilities to his name, but I digress.
It was also kind of a shame that the resident potion master was such a bitter asshat, because I would have loved talking shop with him, but you can't win them all, as they say.
As for the others, well…
Pomona was well-meaning, but a tad too overbearing and best tolerated in small doses. Sinistra was a beautiful witch, but also very prone to having her head in the sky she so often watches. Burbage was so awfully out of the loop of her chosen studies it was looping back to funny. Hooch was the archetypal sport teacher I used to deal with during my high-school years, albeit with a flying shtick, so the conversation for one not overly fond of Quidditch was rather lackluster - I was in a dreadful minority in that regard. Vector kept looking for hidden meanings in everything she looked at and reminded me of conspiracy nuts a lifetime back, which could make the discussion a little unhinged. Grubbly-Plank was a kind, caring soul, but kept to herself. And the less said about Trelawney…
Let's just say that I only met the reclusive divination professor the one time, and was left distinctly unimpressed.
Filius' chatter and my musings both get cut off as the doors of the Great Hall slowly swing open, Minerva purposefully striding forth while trailing behind her a cohort of wide-eyed, pudgy-faced little first years making their best attempts at keeping their wits despite the ratcheting tension instilled in their frames by the very sudden quieting of the hall's talks, and I delicately set my glass on the table after draining the last of my wine.
Then, to my eternal regret, the Sorting Hat starts singing, and I regret not being able to run for the hills.
The house elves did refresh my merlot as a compensation, though, so there's that at least.