Prologue
It was a cool and breezy late-afternoon in the middle of the Parc de Mérignac, a small community in central Bordeaux. There was not much activity in the air on this particular day. All there was to be seen was the occasional man and wife promenading along the park paths, and idle groups of dowagers gossiping in small clusters along the way. Across the street, picturesque town houses all in rows decorated a scene which, surely, embodied a most ideal neighbourhood.
A youth of fair features, walking nonchalantly along the footpath stopped to nod to one particularly voluble group of old women. They tittered amongst themselves and expressions of endearment were expressed to the boy, who smiled charmingly and continued on his way. The wind whispered through the Cypress trees and followed him; he who was headed toward a collection of the buildings on the East-facing side of the park.
Although all these houses were more or less identical in their determined charm, one house in particular stood out. A weathered, sandstone edifice partially covered in ivy, it possessed an imposing front entrance of black, lacquered oak. . A closer look at the polished door revealed a small, golden plaque on its centre; a metallic square embossed with two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars. There was no doorhandle.
The golden-haired adolescent crossed the street to this building and mounted the steps to the front door. He looked around casually and appeared to caress the plaque with light fingers, before whispering something under his breath. The door swung inward on soundless hinges, and with one final look at the park, he passed through the door and into the house.
The Parc de Mérignac noticed nothing, and the wind blew onward.
*
The room into which the boy had just entered was at odds with the apparent nature of the house from the outside. Aside from being marble, cold and still, the atrium was vast. It housed several ostentatious Persian vases on ivory-inlaid side tables and its width was surely far greater than the width of the façade outside. There was no one occupying the space except for our youth, and an errant tortoise-shell cat who looked greatly surprised by the young man's entrance.
He had paused once inside the atrium and looked around cautiously, eyeing the cat with obvious mistrust before moving on soft feet to one of the two arches that occupied the north and south facing walls. The marble floors made soft scuffing noises despite his best efforts and he showed the first signs of disquiet as the tortoise-shell looked at him severely before jumping up from an overdecorated chaise and running for the opposite egress.
The boy blanched and whipped a long, dark wand from his pocket, aiming at the cat. His jet of blue light missed, however, and merely succeeded in ridding a manicured pot plant of all its leaves. The now sad-looking plant quivered mournfully, while the cat commenced a great fuss in the next room, mewling loudly. The boy shoved blonde curls back from a forehead that gleamed with the first hint of sweat and hastily headed for his exit. But before he could reach it a voice echoed across the hall.
'Puss? Quel est ce bruit?' The boy froze momentarily and then panicked, breaking into a run. He had just rounded the corner when the cat reappeared around from the opposite side of the room, with a stout, matronly woman in tow. Upon seeing the empty marble entrance she looked at the cat suspiciously before looking again, and breaking into a hearty laugh. 'Ah, bon! Tu est incroyable, ma belle chatte!' She bustled forward, removing a wand from the front pocket of her apron and waving it at the bush, whose stubby branches waved happily as it was restored to its former verdant glory. With another glance around, she withdrew around the corner from which she came, with a fond glance and (an evidently highly unwelcome) stroke for the cat left sitting on the marble floor.
Ears flattened, it stalked back to the chaise, switching its long tail irritably.
*
Our youth hurried along the next set of corridors, but once the danger appeared to have been averted, he slowed. Resuming his relaxed posture, he climbed a set of stairs, crossed three consecutive hallways through adjoining rooms and then up two more flights of stairs. Breathing only slightly faster, he finally came to a stop outside a solid oak door. He raised a hand and caressed the golden plaque with the selfsame crossed wands that occupied the entrance door. Another murmured password, but this time the door did not open.
Instead, the boy stood back and waited patiently. After a few seconds the door swung outward and a young woman was beheld on the threshold. She was wrapped in a blush silk robe and had strikingly fine features that seemed to stifle any words the blonde youth was about to utter. He smiled altogether vacantly and didn't move, instead choosing to stare. The girl seemed quite content to let him do so, but after some moments a tiny frown marred her lovely face, and she spoke.
'Isn't there something you wish to give me, Asce?' The boy, who had been identified now as Asce, gave a small start and blustered hurriedly.
'-Ah, mais, mais oui! J'ai un-' But the girl cut him off.
'L'Anglais. L'Anglais si tu plaît, Asce.' She laughed, a throaty, full sounding laugh. 'My uncle wishes for me to speak English much of the time, now. For what reason, I cannot comprehend, but he was quite clear, donc…' She trailed off and the smile drained off her face as she focused on Asce's and raised an eyebrow. He hurriedly reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a package the size of a matchbox and placed in on her outstretched palm.
There was suddenly a wand in her hand, and with a flick of the light-coloured shaft, the tiny package tripled in size. She glanced at Asce, who seem torn between gazing hungrily at her and the parcel . A muttered incantation and it lay open in her arms; small plastic wrapped packages and various pieces of documentation could be seen through the layers of paper and string. She calmly waved her wand and the parcel was closed once more.
'Magnifique, my love.' She returned it to its former diminutive size and tucked the tiny parcel in a pocket of the pink silken robe. Out of the same pocket she retrieved some notes of unidentifiably currency and passed them to the transfixed youth, who took them mechanically, without looking away from her face. His mouth opened and he seemed about to say something, yet again she cut him off. 'Ah, but now I am wearied! There is nothing like business to lend weariness to a person, yes?' She yawned delicately and turned, retreating to the room beyond the doorway.
The oak entryway followed her, swinging shut, leaving Asce standing in the corridor, hand still outstretched, mouth still half open.
*
As the door closed on the more-than-slightly stunned youth, our young woman had already forgotten about him. She crossed a small entrance area and took one of the three doors that led from it. It opened onto a library; a large, airy room; full of light, colourful silk drapes and floor to ceiling bookcases. There was a desk over by the imposing, arched windows, where the light of dusk just began to spill through. With a sigh, she took a seat at the desk, moving several books from where it appeared she had left them open, half-read.
With her wand, she tapped the one drawer the desk boasted to unlock it. She drew it open and transferred the parcel from her robe pocket to the depths of the rosewood desk. Reaching further in, frowning, she shifted through the numerous things in the drawer. Several plastic-wrapped packages were left to the side as she dug out a leather-bound journal.
She closed the drawer, opened the journal and began to write.
*
The door to the entranceway swung open noiselessly. Footsteps that belonged to a tall, well-built man of middle-age made their way across the library. He stopped at the sight of the sleeping young woman and appeared uncomfortable for a moment, glancing around the room as though he felt he should not be there .
As no one jumped out of the nearest bookshelf decrying his presence, the man evidently felt bolstered. He inspected the figure stretched out at the desk. The young woman's head was resting on the open pages of a large, blank book; a quill hung precariously from her fingertip, steadily dripping green ink onto the cream carpet. The man sighed, and reaching over, he plucked the quill gently from her slim fingers and replaced it on the inkstand. Waving his wand, he restored the carpet to its former purity and then reached over and tapped the sleeping girl's shoulder. She stirred briefly, then,
'Oui?' Her head snapped up, the pages of the heavy journal sticking to her cheek. Frowning in irritation at both the audacity of the pages and her reflex reaction to being woken, the young woman closed the book and appraised the source of the interruption. It was the butler, clothed in hues of monochrome. He gestured to the door of the library.
'Le directeur voudrait - ' She stopped him with one finger, her eyes as alert as though they had not been in sleep mere moments before.
'English, if you would,' she said sweetly. The man sighed.
'The headmaster would like to see you in his office, Miss Rosier.' As he spoke, the corners of his moustache fluttered ever-so slightly. A bland expression upon her face, the newly-identified girl smiled politely up at him.
'Yes, but I do not wish to see him,' she said. He shifted on his feet, and she cocked her head to the side. 'Oh, don't look so disappointed, Manolo.' A lily-white hand waved carelessly at the impassive man. She looked at her surroundings, 'I am sure he will benefit from my visiting him, perhaps…next week!' She stopped then, and smiled thoughtfully. 'No, rather, next month.'
The butler shifted, clearly not liking to argue with this young woman. He studied her intently, seeing she was now shifting some papers on her desk with admirable fervour. He coughed lightly and smiled civilly. She looked up and returned the smile impatiently. 'Oh, there was something else, Manolo?'
The manservant looked at her expectantly. Then, seeing he was not achieving anything, he changed tack. A slightly harder smile, accompanied by a hint of steel, he addressed her sharply.
'He requested to see you immediately, Miss.' Miss Rosier seemed taken aback momentarily. She regained her composure seamlessly, however, and returned the smile.
'Kindly tell him that I'm not inclined to grace him with my presence at this point in time.' Faint emphasis was placed on the sentence, and the man standing in front of her was treated to a flinty stare.
'The headmaster does not like to be kept waiting,' the butler stepped forward, towering over her. 'We have tarried long enough already to anger him.
'I'm sure the headmaster will survive without my presence a fortnight yet.' This was said in a tone of heavy irony. Miss Rosier cocked her head to one side and smiled at the man standing above her. Her dark curls, drawn back with a satin ribbon, quivered with some suppressed emotion. The butler smiled uncertainly back at her.
'Miss Rosier, the headmaster would not be pleased were you to quietly remove yourself to some hideaway, like last time.' He motioned as though to take her arm. 'I believe it would be in both our best interests for you to come with me.'
She smiled once again, dimples appearing this time.
'Dearest Manolo, do you honestly believe that I will allow you to-' with a cry she twisted away from his attempt to grab her arm.
'Miss Rosier, I really must insist-'
'-How dare you!' She hissed, curls falling from her coiffure into large, but currently narrowed, eyes. "How dare you Manolo! You forget yourself!' Her wand was withdrawn in an instant, under his chin, forcing him to stop.
'Thelesis – Miss Rosier,' he quickly amended as her eyes widened in outrage. 'You have been requested most urgently to attend, and I have been instructed to bring you with me by whatever means necessary.' Thelesis's - for this appeared to be her name - eyes had darkened in their heightened emotion, and now she lowered her wand and flitted to the door before he could say anything more.
Her robe slithered at the movement and she her journal was tucked tightly under her arm, while her silken ballet slippers twisted as she pivoted on the carpet. She reminded the man of a cat; lithe and aware of her surroundings, and currently enraged. He could almost see the feral yowl rising to her lips. 'Come with me now Miss - or we both will be reprimanded.'
He surveyed her, the petite young woman poised for flight near the exit of the library. Her low, throaty voice floated back to him, borne upon the golden flecks of light from the soft glow of lamps scattered across the library.
'Nobody will reprimand me if they cannot find me, Manolo.'
He blinked and opened his mouth to call her back, but she only smiled, and so he closed his mouth. It was not just a smile she gave him, thought the butler. It was a sinful, wicked mockery of a smile. And this time, he knew, he would regret going after her. For if there was one thing Thelesis Rosier was infamous for, it was for always getting what she wanted.
Almost in slow motion, he saw her delicate hand reaching for the golden plaque on the door; the touch she gave it was gentle, and she looked back at him as she spoke the password. She spoke it not as he normally heard it said. Not as a reverent uttering, not as a secretive murmur nor even as a loving caress. The quality of her voice never changed, as low as it was mellisonant.
'L'Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons.'
And still, in one quiet sentence the man thought he had never heard the name decried so bitterly. The door swung open on its hinges. He blinked once more, and Thelesis Rosier had gone.