CHAPTER FOUR
- Letters & Legilimens -
With an audible pop! of sound, Fi appeared on a snow dusted lane of Hogsmeade village and took in a long, lingering breath.
She loved the highlands. Fi had been born there and had lived among the gray ridges for much of her long life, exploring the valleys and the fords, the lochs and the dense forests—but for all her time in the country, Fi had never actually been to Hogwarts. She had seen it from a distance just as she did now, soaring towers stately and strong above the pines and slumped hills, but she had never been inside. Fi had tried to sneak in a few times during her rebellious youth. The wards about the castle's grounds and the persnickety troop of house elves had prevailed in keeping the hedge witch out.
Bloody elf magic. Wasted upon the wizards, I say.
Fi stood with her new black robes gently billowing about her legs with her eyes on the side of the academy's highest tower. A quick Charm had added silver threads to her hair, the loose braid gathered and pinned on the back of her head to give the youthful witch a sterner mien. Grigor had plopped a pair of thick-rimmed glasses upon her nose in a bid to age Fi, though she thought the spectacles only served to make her look a bit owlish. A wand bought from a less than legal vendor in Knockturn Alley rested in Fi's robe pocket and she stifled the urge to pat the thing to ensure it was still there. The morning had been spent attempting to make the stick stop spewing sparks throughout Grigor's apartment.
If they ask me to do any wand work, I might well burn down Hogwarts. Embarrassing.
Fi dug out a crinkled bit of parchment from her other pocket and read the tidy script again, ignoring the flecks of snow landing on the upturned page.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Ms. Dullahan,
Thank you for your inquiry. We would like to request an interview for 8:00 o'clock in the morning, on March the third. Please send your acknowledgment via owl and arrive promptly at the village gates for admittance.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress.
Fi felt pleased her references, while partially forged, had passed muster. She knew all good lies were firmly rooted in the truth, and so Fi had thought carefully about the persona she would present at the school and the history she would share. She had listed her accomplishments and abilities with a measure of modesty and had asked for referrals from witches and wizards she'd lent assistance to in the past—including the current Master of Potions at the Mahoutokoro School of Magic and Babajide Akingbade from the International Confederation of Wizards. Of course, Fi had to ask Hideaki and Babajide to fib about her true identity, but they had obliged—and had, in fact, seemed excited about Fi shedding her isolation in favor of sharing her knowledge with children.
The thought of their reactions still made Fi cranky.
True difficulty lay not within Fi's ability, but the explanation for those abilities, and she hoped her forged credentials from Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would pass inspection, but she was not certain. Her magic was strong and the persuasive Charm she had placed upon the documentation should dissuade the Deputy Headmistress from delving too deeply into her education—or lack thereof—yet Fi knew a suspicious mind might pick up the presence of the spell and see by it.
She blew air through her lips and straightened her shoulder. "Well, here goes nothing."
A passing shopkeep threw a startled look in her direction.
Fi found the village gates to the school's expansive grounds easy enough—and she found others waiting in attendance as well, an aged witch with a mass of ginger curls and a hunched wizard wearing plum colored robes. She guessed they were also candidates for the position. Both eyed her with some speculation and Fi winced. She looked quite like a girl fresh out of academy standing with those two, and not for the first time she bemoaned the downside of eternal youth. It was all fun and games for the first handful of decades, then the exterior no longer matched the mind inside and Fi chaffed against the juvenile treatment she often received when interacting with wizarding society.
Grigor had suggested Transfiguring her appearance to something older, but they had both decided against the idea when they realized any misstep on her behalf would arouse terrible suspicion. If a student or another faculty member realized she was using a disguise, Fi could be placed in an entirely different kind of danger—danger of the judicial inquiry kind. That mess did not appeal to her at all.
Soon a limping figure appeared from the roving mist and descended the distant path to the castle, coming to open the gates for the prospective professors. He was an unpleasant looking man dressed in an overly large coat with thinning hair and bulging cheeks. He inspected all three of them in turn—and when the clock struck eight, the gate popped open and the man spoke.
"I'm the Caretaker, Filch. I'll be taking you three up to the castle now for your interviews. Don't wander off."
Fi frowned at the ugly man yet fell into step with the others. My, what an unfortunate name. Filch.
Apparently both the witch and the wizard knew Mr. Filch and struck up a stilted conversation with him, leaving Fi to hover in the background, studying the castle ahead with singular attention. She felt giddy at the prospect of seeing the inside and decided that, whatever the outcome, walking into Hogwarts would be well worth all the hassle. The school may teach the ostentatious magic of the modern era, but Fi's coven always spoke of the Founders and of the old magics still remaining in the castle, the wards and runes and ancient things that had fallen into legend, memory, myth. Fi hoped she could examine the interior properly one day.
Mr. Filch led them up the path and through a leg of the murky forest wrapped about the grounds like a surly serpent. They came to the top of the hill and, looking down, Fi could see the glassy surface of the black loch and the fog crawling about its shined surface, and a collection of bobbing black dots by a distant paddock looked to be students in class. Filch parted an iron gate blocking access to a stone courtyard, and a cat came pattering along to give him unneeded assistance. Fi grinned as she stepped onto the flagstones. No one else of her coven had ever managed to put a foot inside the building before.
"Keep up."
Fi started, realizing her little group had already moved on, and she jogged to follow. They entered the building proper and while the witch and wizard gave the passage an approving look over, it was clear they had been here before and had familiarity with the school. Fi, on the other hand, gawked and had to be reminded twice more by Mr. Filch to keep up despite her desire to remain inconspicuous. The witch and wizard gave her unamused glowers.
They continued on and eventually ascended several flights of stairs in one of the larger towers to arrive on a landing adorned with curious portraits and two stiff benches. A simple plaque upon the largest door proclaimed the room within to be the office of M. McGonagall.
"Have a seat here, then. The Professor will see you soon—don't go wandering off." The latter part of Filch's message was delivered in a waspish snap and accompanied by a firm glare in Fi's direction. She tried not to grin as Filch stomped away. The students must drive him mad.
The office door opened not a moment after Mr. Filch's stomping descent down the stairs and a new witch presented herself. Fi's eyes widened as she noted the woman's stiff posture and the tightness of her black hair drawn into an intractable bun. Fi had the unaccountable urge to sit up and lower her eyes like a naughty child caught nicking cookies from the pot.
"Thank you for coming on short notice and being prompt. We've been quite busy with the exams approaching at the end of the quarter. Mr. Eoughn? I'll start with you."
The wizard ambled into the room and McGonagall snapped the door shut behind them, leaving Fi and the witch to exchange glances before they meandered over to the benches. Fi claimed the seat nearest the window, which allowed her to sit cross-legged on the uncushioned bench and gaze across the kept grounds. A deep gully wound its way through the very center of the land, allowing wide bridges to span across the gap. The sun managed to peek through the clouds and the light shimmered upon the lake's glassy waters. Fi shut her eyes, savoring the brief warmth.
Soon the door opened again and Mr. Eoughn stepped out with McGonagall behind him. "Thank you for your time, Minerva."
"Of course, Eorland. Ms. McNair?"
The witch took the wizard's place while he sauntered by, his age forgotten in a moment of triumph, an arrogant grin on his lined features. A bubble of nervousness welled in Fi's middle. Did well, did he?
The tower bell chimed the hour while Fi waited, feet swinging from the bench, bits of dead leaves clinging to her hem, boots dappled with wet spots from the snow. She bit her nails, then shoved her hands beneath her thighs, hearing Ever's shrill voice reprimanding her, saying no potioneer worth her salt would be caught dead nibbling her fingers. Fi thought any potioneer who did nibble their nails would, in fact, be caught dead—but she didn't tell Ever that.
Again the door opened, and as Ms. McNair—looking less pleased that Mr. Eoughn—slipped from the room, a newcomer came lightly shuffling down from the upper levels, soft-soled shoes scuffing the worn stone of the spiral stairs. The wizard who appeared had a great white beard he could almost tuck into his belt, and his magenta robes rippled with dozens of yellow stars embroidered onto the flowing fabric. He had a welcoming face, an expression that invited one to impart their deepest secrets, though his blue eyes belied a quickness of mind hidden by his aging body.
"Ah, it seems I've missed some of the interviews," the elderly wizard said, lifting his arms in a placating gesture that did little to relieve the sharpness of McGonagall's scathing expression. "Forgive me, Minerva."
"Of course, Headmaster."
Fi eyed the wizard, frowning, then a full-bodied flinch shook through the little witch when she realized the wizard with his curious gaze fixed upon her was Albus Dumbledore.
The biggest risk Fi had seen in coming to Hogwarts was crossing paths with Albus Percival Dumbledore—and not because he was regarded as the most powerful wizard of the age, but because she'd crossed paths with him before, almost a full century ago when he had been little more than a bitter boy upset by his lot in life. Fi, being indelibly curious to the point of abstraction sometimes, had contacted one Bathilda Bagshot to learn more about her interesting additions to the Transfiguration journals of the time. Bathilda had invited her over for tea, along with her "brilliant" neighbor, a boy fresh out of Hogwarts who'd contributed his own work to the field. Fi often thought it funny the sullen, grumpy young man she met that day became an international legend.
She didn't find it very funny at the moment. No, in fact Fi felt rather uncomfortable and sent a silent prayer to the universe that the Headmaster wouldn't remember that hazy summer afternoon, or the black-haired witch who whacked him in the back of the head with a Cauldron Cake for being a right prat. In Knockturn, she'd brushed aside the concern, thinking the man must be half senile by now, but seeing the acuity of his gaze firsthand had a lump forming in Fi's throat.
"Ms. Dullahan? Are you prepared?" McGonagall asked.
Blinking, Fi stood—much shorter than the other two. "Of course."
McGonagall led the way into the clean and austere office with Fi and Dumbledore following in her wake. The witch's stride was proud and steady as she approached her desk and conjured a second chair for the Headmaster's use. Fi found it curious that the chair hadn't already been there, if he had been expected to attend all the three interviews, and so she decided Dumbledore had purposefully missed the meetings with Eoughn and McNair.
Bugger.
"Have a seat, Ms. Dullahan. Tea?"
"Yes, please."
McGonagall retrieved her wand from her sleeve and, with a flick, directed the steaming tea service to pour another cup. "Tea, Albus?"
"Thank you, Minerva." Albus sank into his chair after adding an additional cushion, then accepted his tea as it floated across the room to him. Fi was so intent on watching him she almost missed her own serving and ended up clutching the cup and saucer, creating a loud click of porcelain on porcelain.
"So, Ms. Dullahan, I must say we've never had the pleasure of an Ilvermony alumnus applying for a position here at Hogwarts."
Fi's gaze snapped to McGonagall as she sipped her tea. "Truly? I wouldn't have thought it so odd."
"Your accent isn't American."
Smiling, Fi shook her head. "No, I was raised here, but my family traveled, so I was educated at Ilvermony. Horned Serpent house."
"Curious." McGonagall shuffled the pressed pieces of parchment lain flat on her desk, and Fi recognized her own curriculum vitae and what must be the letters sent by her friends. "I must say you have remarkable references from all over the globe, including some of the other magical academies. A Mr. Shiroyama from Mahoutokoro was particularly adamant that if Hogwarts didn't find a place for you, he would claim you for his academy."
Fi snorted before she could think better of it, choking on her tea. "I'm passionate about magic and about studying its role all over the world, which led to my many travels."
"Fascinating," came Dumbledore's reply. He steepled his fingers and Fi tried not to grimace at his penetrating look. "May I ask you a direct question, Ms. Dullahan?"
"Of course."
"Why do you think we should hire you over your contemporaries?" Dumbledore gestured at the door Eoughn and McNair had already walked through. "Eorland and Theresa are both widely published in the field of magical theory, but you—while well traveled—have no publications. I would ask why you think we should offer you the position over those who are potentially more qualified than you to teach in an academic environment."
Why indeed.
Fi tilted her cup to and fro, considering the liquid and Dumbledore's blunt inquiry, miffed by the texture of the bland, unsweetened flavor on her tongue. She couldn't offer him a traditional answer, as she knew it was irregular for a person seeking instructing employment to have no prior exposure to academia, so Fi decided to let a bit of her own mischief show. She had nothing else to lose. "What is magic, Headmaster?"
When he quirked a brow and didn't speak, Fi met the man's gaze and urged him again to answer. "It is a force of nature," he responded, a curious twinkling arresting the blue of his eyes. "A phenomenon that alters the fabric of reality based on the rigors of a spell."
"But what is it really?" Fi pressed. "What is it truly? From where did magic stem, and why did it come to some and not to others? What is magic? What truly is happening when we mutter our Charms or mix our Potions? Spells and curses and hexes are designed, you say, and taught, but from where did we learn to tame this so called force of nature? Where do divisions in its morality lie? Does magic occur naturally, or does it arise from our souls? Are we, ourselves, manifestations of a greater magic? Children of some cosmic entity able to bend reality to our whims?"
"You speak of theology."
"No, I speak of theory, my dear Headmaster. I speak of an eternal quest for knowledge." Fi leaned forward to set the cup of tea on the Professor's desk. She turned to face her and folded her hands in her lap. "I believe this is why I would make an excellent Professor of Magical Theory for the school's students. While I have not spent time behind a desk, quill in hand, scratching out my thoughts for others to pick over, I have gone in search of answers to these questions. I have valuable life experiences I am willing to share." Nearly two and a half centuries worth of experiences, came Fi's wry thought, but she did not give voice to that comment.
Dumbledore and McGonagall considered her in silence for quite some time, and Fi began to worry she had said a bit too much and should have demured more to their by the books instructing model. At last, Dumbledore rose, and as his magenta robes fell about his legs, Fi let out a small sigh and wondered if she could get a hat made in that fabric to console herself after this hiccup.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Dullahan."
Fi jumped and almost knocked the cup from the desk's corner in her haste to stand. "What—!? Really?!"
"Really." Dumbledore inclined his head and gave her a slight chuckle. "I think our students could vastly benefit from your teachings. I have always felt many of our past instructors were too restrictive in their ideas of what magic is and what it is capable of. You will provide our youths with excellent ideas, I believe." He paused then. "And my colleague Mr. Akingbade at the International Confederation of Wizards was also quite emphatic about my accepting your posting."
Fi winced. When writing to the few friends knowledgeable in her secret, she had expressed an adamant desire to escape Dark pursuers by finding employ at Hogwarts and could only imagine their letters or comments to the Headmaster. Fi had loyal friends. "Thank you for the opportunity, Headmaster."
"Minerva will be able to provide you with all the necessary information you need to prepare for the start of the new year. I would suggest settling earlier in the summer so we can arrange for you to become more familiar with the castle." His beard twitched as he smiled. "It will be interesting to see how you fare."
He extended his hand and Fi took it in her own, feeling the fine bones and loose flesh in her grip. She met Dumbledore's gaze and, in that instant, felt the barest brush of a second consciousness touching against her own. The magic slid upon the walls of her mind seeking entry.
He's a Legilimens.
The urge to swat the intruder from her thoughts swelled with indignation in Fi's breast, but she tamped the thought down, allowing only her gratitude and good will to drift beyond the border of her defenses, like throwing paper airplanes from the parapet of a fortress to a nosy neighbor below. Once she'd given the man what he wanted, Fi waited for him to withdraw, unsure if she should display her knowledge of his talent. She could throw the wizard from her consciousness if she desired, but Fi couldn't be certain of Dumbledore's skill, and she didn't know if she could defend against him if he decided to be serious.
The moment passed and their hands parted.
That man is far more than he pretends to be. I will need to be careful.
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