CHAPTER THREE
- Sweets & Schemes -
Fi firmly believed if there was a heaven, it mightily resembled Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.
It was a small shop, but inside Fi found the confectionery wonder of Florean's cold sweets to be worth every Galleon she could part with. She sat outside on the tiny patio beneath the brunt of late winter's watery sunshine and devoured a massive cone of blaeberry and pecan ice cream, licking her lips and luxuriating in the simple things as she watched the bustling witches and wizards go about their shopping. Curious eyes landed on her—the oddly dressed young woman sitting alone munching ice cream despite the cold weather—but Fi had yet to spy hide nor hair of her pursuers.
"Well, they'd have to be dunderheads to come after me during the day, but I would have thought they'd be looking," Fi muttered to herself, wiping her face on a paper napkin. "But I'm not infallible. Maybe they are looking and I just don't know it. Hmm."
She had yet to conceive of an idea of what to do about the wizards hunting her. Certainly she could fling a few more off a cliff, but Fi knew the more dangerous she proved to this enemy, the more wily he would become. More wizards would follow. If she escalated the situation without thought, without care, this "Lord" would do the same, and Fi was but one witch against an enemy she could not rightly name. Ever always liked to say "The wise witch runs before the dragon swoops," and Fi guessed any wizard with masked followers trying to kidnap women in the middle of the night qualified as a dragon.
Still, she couldn't stay with Grigor forever. She'd need to move on soon.
Fi finished her ice cream and, though Grigor had warned her against spending the borrowed coin frivolously, she went inside and ordered another from Florean, who gave her a bemused look as he went about scooping her selection. Still thinking of Grigor's less than pleased reaction to her distance from society, Fi picked up a folded copy of The Daily Prophet and went about flipping through the pages, her lips drawn back in a frown as she did so.
There's nothing of note in here. Just a bunch of gossip articles and basic political coverage. No odd disappearances or unexplained deaths.
She flicked to the adverts written in the rear of the paper. The mass of text blurred and the headlines shifted, the pictures giving her grumpy looks for wrinkling their paper. Pausing, Fi noticed a listed posting shuffled toward the bottom of the page. "Seeking instructor for Magical Theory at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Full-time employment with disclosed benefits. Inquire by owl with curriculum vitae to Prof. M. McGonagall."
"Hmm…."
At first, Fi thought little of the advert. She folded the paper back up and, after asking Florean if she could take it, tucked the issue under her arm. She accepted her ice cream from the wizard, pouring on enough effusive praise to raise a blush in the aging man's face, then went about picking her way to Knockturn Alley. The shop bell jangled behind her and Fi began to stroll, keeping her eyes open for the masked wizards.
Bet I wouldn't be chased by Dark wizards at Hogwarts.
It was an idle musing, one she gave little consideration, but even as Fi turned her mind toward more feasible options for her relocation, she came again to the idea of Hogwarts, the only place in all of the United Kingdom she could think of that was as firmly lodged in the old ways of magic as Fi herself. She could flee the country, but Britain wasn't the only wizarding world poisoned with nasty little Dark witches and wizards and their fair share of Dark Lords. Fi had fled countries before—Egypt, Morocco, France, Romania—and so she knew with certainty that fleeing only dissuaded interested parties for a finite amount of time.
She also considered going to the Ministry of Magic, yet grimaced at herself when she tossed the thought aside. Oh, there may be quite a number of helpful folk in the Ministry who'd want to lend assistance, but how many of those held any position of power? Who would believe a witch bemoaning the existence of Dark wizards when the papers proclaimed the Dark Lord dead? Fi counted it a worse fate to actually be believed, for if they thought her claims credible, they would want to know why. Fi was not about to hand over the secrets of her dead coven to a bunch of bureaucrats.
Hogwarts, though. That's a wild fantasy. Why, by Merlin's beard, would they hire a hedge witch?
The simple truth was they would not. Why should they? With a bevy of talented alumni, why would the school accept the posting of a "home-taught" witch from the wildlands who had no formal education or any idea of how a classroom actually worked?
But what if she wasn't a hedge witch?
Fi opened the door to Grigor's flat in Knockturn and climbed the stairs, knocking once before entering his dismal abode. The vampire lay atop the covers on his skinny bed, dressed and snoozing with a book dropped over his face. The windows Fi had been observing the street through the night before hid behind a thick veil of brocaded curtains, and the dark crouched upon the space with an oppressive weight. Puck had his head tucked under his wing.
"Grigor," Fi said, poking the sleeping vampire. She took the newspaper and whacked him on the chest for good measure, prompting a groan from the creature and a displeased chittering from Puck. Fi waved a hand toward the leaning sideboard and the candle ignited. "Wake up."
Grigor did as she bid, though not without a generous amount of snarling and a few threats of exsanguination. Fi conjured herself a simple chair and sat by his bedside, waiting while nocturnal Grigor levered himself upright and rubbed sleep from his unhappy eyes.
"What is it you need, Fi?"
Grinning, she unfolded the Prophet and laid the paper on his knees. "Look there."
Grigor did look, though a minute passed before his faculties allowed him to form a comment. "What is this? A teaching post?" He looked up at Fi. "Your face is covered in blue. Did you spend all the coin on ice cream or did you also get yourself some robes as I suggested?"
Fi wiped her mouth of the sticky residue. "I have coin left. Where do you think I could find myself a wand?"
"A wand?" Grigor's eyes widened and Ever on the mantel gasped. "Scumpa mea, are you well? You cannot stand wands."
"Wand?! What nonsense!" Ever snarled.
"It's perfect sense," Fi argued, tossing a temporary Silencing spell around her and Grigor. "If I mean to be a Professor, I will most definitely need a wand."
"You want to apply?" Grigor gawked and Fi smothered the urge to laugh. She couldn't remember a time her friend had looked so utterly shocked. "Fi, I know your situation is severe, but they won't hire a—."
"Hedge witch, yes, I know. That is why I plan to create a nice little back story for myself that includes formal education."
"They will know you did not go to Hogwarts, Delphinia."
"Of course! Which is why I will say I went to Ilvermony."
"Ilver—how is it you know almost nothing about the Dark Lord but know what Ilvermony is?"
Fi crossed her legs. "I know a great deal about the Dark Lord and his many predecessors, Grigor." Her tone lost some of its jubilance, which caused the vampire to straighten his posture and to remember he spoke to a woman many years his elder. "I know it seems like a silly idea, my fine fanged friend, but my intuition warns me against ignoring these men searching for me, and I…I don't think it would be wise to be alone."
Grigor's stare softened. "You needn't be alone. You could stay with me."
She waved a hand. "Too many people about. Too many nosy little witches and wizards. The school is nicely out of sight, and protected. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to apply for an interview. I could teach." Fi wrinkled her nose. "Well enough, I would assume. If the Dark wizards don't kill me, a pack of children might just eat me alive."
The vampire let out a weak laugh, rubbing his face, then sighed. "You are determined, then."
"Determined to try, perhaps. I would very much like to return to my cottage and forget all of this ever happened, but I fear my next encounter with these wizards won't be as anti-climatic, and I think fading from the public eye would be best for a time."
"Hogwarts is not wholly removed from public speculation, Fi."
"Of course not, but what is one eccentric witch among a dozen others?" Fi shrugged her shoulders then stood, leaning forward to put her knees on the bed and embrace Grigor. He stiffened at first, then reciprocated, tightening his hold as he smiled into her dark hair and smelled the sweetness of sugar and the duller scents of smoke and chalk. "Thank you, Grigor, for helping me."
"You saved my life in Romania, scumpa mea, and much has passed between us," he replied. "I would do whatever I could for you."
"Then I'd also like to thank you for more gold because I did spend the last lot on ice cream."
Grigor sighed, brow furrowed. "I would expect nothing less."
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