This is an SS/OFC love story. Just so you know, it is *not* SS/HG. FanFiction.net doesn't offer an 'Original Character' option for pairings, so I listed it under the canon ship that is closest to the dynamic I'm working with. If you like adult-themed stories with Severus and a grown-up Hermione, then give this a try—it's similar to SS/HG but with a few original twists. :)
This fic is rated 'R' for a reason, so please don't read if you are under 17 or offended by adult themes and sexual situations.
This will be a long fic and it's a WIP. Part I, consisting of chapters 1-9, is complete and ready to read. More chapters will be added soon.
There is some artwork that goes with the story at Erised if you want to take a look. (Only a couple of pics now, but other graphics will be added later.)
Summary/Teaser:
Annwyd Gwir was once a student at Hogwarts…but not a good one. In fact, she was sent home in disgrace. However, as Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort rally their forces for the coming war of power, the headmaster decides that even obscure and disreputable talents like Annwyd's might be of use in the struggle ahead.
Unfortunately, the Dark Lord has reached the same conclusion.
When Annwyd accepts a teaching position at Hogwarts, she has no idea that past failures and unruly students will be the least of her worries. Nor does she expect to find herself allied with the professor she once avoided at all costs – the intimidating and ill-tempered Potions Master.
As circumstances throw them together, Annwyd becomes increasingly fascinated with the enigmatic Professor Snape. But her one friend at Hogwarts, Professor Lupin, is giving her earnest warnings not to trust him….
Meanwhile, Severus Snape is finding his role in this particular game challenging in ways he would not have predicted. The shy new instructor *should* be easy enough to manage – if only she didn't evoke a part of his past he would rather forget.
Snape is well-acquainted with the demands of intrigue and deception, well-practiced at negotiating his way through dangerous mazes. But the interior landscape of buried guilt and desire is terrain he would prefer not to navigate, terrain he would rather avoid. If he had a choice….
Inscribed in Air & Fire
~ An HP fanfic by Snape Ophelia ~
Chapter 1
Annwyd Gwir was nervous. She had seldom been in London and, during the last few days, had found the city quite overwhelming. She could not imagine wanting to live anywhere so large, so noisy, and so crowded.
She hated crowds. The presence of too many other people always left her feeling drained and confused…disoriented. She had already gotten lost in the city twice while attempting to do simple errands.
Yesterday morning, before doing her shopping in Diagon Alley, she had first paid a visit to the train station…just to be certain she could find it. And in spite of that precaution, she had still been terrified that she would get lost this morning and arrive too late, which was why she had in fact arrived two hours ahead of time. She was not generally much of an early riser, but last night she had hardly slept anyway, and the early start would relieve one of her worries. Now she faced a dull, sleepy wait on the platform, but at least she knew she wouldn't miss the train.
Humming softly under her breath, she tried not to fidget. It would be nice to appear confident when she reached her destination and her new employer, regardless of how many jitters she actually felt. So, she resolved, she might as well start acting the part.
She tried to assume a dignified posture on the bench and to affect an air of being in command of self and circumstance. But as soon as she let her mind drift a little, she would find her hand twisting and untwisting a lock of hair at her shoulder or gathering a fold of her skirt into little rosettes. As soon as she forced the wayward hand to behave, a foot would start idly kicking her shabby traveling case or tracing spiraling patterns against the pavement.
I am not eleven years old, she reminded herself. At the moment, that was difficult to remember.
After several long moments of idle fiddling and numerous glances around the empty platform, Annwyd opened the traveling case and removed a book. Like the case itself, the book was covered in worn black leather and had seen its share of handling. The gold letters on the front were faded and nearly illegible, but she knew it said Hogwarts, A History.
She had read the book before, many times, and she was undoubtedly too sleepy and distracted to glean any new insights from its yellowed pages. But if she couldn't manage to sit and wait calmly, she might at least pretend to be occupied. At any rate, it was better to thumb through the familiar words than to think about her own personal history at Hogwarts…much shorter than the one in the book…and more unpleasant.
She flipped slowly through the story of the four founders and the creation of the Hogwarts Houses, pausing, as she always did, at Ravenclaw. Her house, for the short time she had been a Hogwarts student. She looked wistfully at the blue crest and the eagle with outstretched wings. It had been over twelve years since she wore that crest on her robes, but it never failed to conjure a host of emotions.
She could still remember vividly her eleven-year-old terror as she stood at the front of the Great Hall and lifted the Sorting Hat, and her excitement when the hat called out "RAVENCLAW!" and a table full of older students had cheered and clasped her hand. She could remember with equal clarity the taste of blood in her mouth as she bit down on her tongue to keep from crying and handed the robes with the blue crest back to the headmaster. Most unfortunate and regrettable… Dumbledore had said, not unkindly.
The next day, her mother's brittle voice had harbored no such undertone of sympathy. When I said I hoped you'd distinguish yourself at Hogwarts, this was not the distinction I had in mind. Her mother had always had a knack for stating the obvious…and the hurtful.
Oh yes, I certainly did distinguish myself, thought Annwyd, a real once-in-a-century achievement.
Students didn't fail out of Hogwarts for lack of talent. The occasional layabout or slow learner might have to stay for an extra term or even an extra year to graduate. More rarely, a student left voluntarily or was expelled for a serious infraction of the rules. But students who lacked the magical ability to succeed simply weren't admitted in the first place. That sort of thing just never happened. Almost never, Annwyd corrected herself. It wasn't mentioned in Hogwarts, A History, but there had been a handful of cases over the centuries, a handful of embarrassing mistakes.
Like her.
She slammed the book angrily. This isn't helping. It's stupid, stupid, stupid to dredge it all up. But under the circumstances, she could hardly avoid doing so. Fifteen years ago she had sat on this same bench on Platform 9 ¾ , waiting for her first ride on the Hogwarts Express. Three years later, she'd sat here in disgrace, waiting for her mother to collect her. And now she was waiting once again, going back to Hogwarts. Not as a student this time. As a teacher.
She glanced up and down the platform, confirming that it was still deserted.
Raising her left hand, she drew a design in the air—a design she had drawn often, especially during the last several months.
An old man appeared on the bench beside her. His clothing would have marked him as an unremarkable Welsh villager with a limited income, but his eyes were merry and bright and full of depth.
"Good morning, Grandfather."
"Good morning, Annwyd, my little spotted frog," said the old man.
In spite of the day's worries, she felt herself smile.
Perhaps not everyone would be happy to be called a "spotted frog," but Annwyd was cheered by his old familiar habits. From the time she was old enough to toddle around the cottage gardens, she had been entranced by every type of flora and fauna she encountered, as her grandfather had been quick to notice.
He had started with little pet names like "butterfly" and "daffodil," but he saw that the little girl grew bored with any name repeated too often. Soon he was therefore calling her by the name of every plant and creature imaginable, from briar rose to cowslip, from meadow lark to badger. Not many people, Annwyd reflected, could make "centipede" sound like the fondest endearment, but Grandfather always managed it.
"Are you sad, weasel?" he asked.
"A little. Mostly scared."
"Ah." He nodded. "And what are you afraid of?"
"Going back there. To Hogwarts. You remember how it was, before…."
"But things were different then, weren't they? They didn't know. Now they know and they've asked you back anyway, hmmm?"
"You're right," she said, though truly she wasn't convinced that it would be different. The thought of finally proving herself at Hogwarts—that was a lure. But the thought of a second failure was too awful to contemplate.
Still, she felt better in the old man's presence. Even if she was really just talking to herself, she felt less alone and a little braver.
"You'll do fine, ladybug. I know you'll make me proud. You always do."
She felt a lump in her throat as she looked into his warm, encouraging eyes.
"Thank you, Grandfather."
But then she heard the arrival of other early passengers at the far end of Platform 9 ¾ . With a quick movement of her right hand, she sliced at the air. Grandfather vanished.
Her heart raced. Had they seen?
No, it didn't appear so. The stout, motherly witch and her three children were entirely occupied with their overabundance of luggage, and they clearly hadn't noticed that Annwyd was there.
Nonetheless, she was fidgeting nervously once again, twining a strand of long red-brown hair around her fingers. It was going to take some time, she reflected, to get used to the fact that her arts were now allowed. And even so, she didn't fancy being caught using them until she arrived at Hogwarts and talked to Professor Dumbledore.
She settled back once again to wait.
~*~
"Miss Gwir," said Dumbledore warmly, taking her hand, "I am delighted to see you again. I hope the journey wasn't overly tiring." The headmaster looked exactly the same as he had when she was a student. I suppose, she thought, when you're over a hundred and fifty, another decade or so is hardly noticeable. He still wore the same little half-moon spectacles and his nose was just as crooked as she remembered. His penchant for purple cloaks had survived as well.
"Not at all, Professor," said Annwyd in a voice that she hoped was brisk and self-assured. "It was quite comfortable."
"Good, good." He said, leading her into his office. "But perhaps you would care for some refreshment? Tea? Hot chocolate? Brandy?"
"Tea would be lovely. Thank you." She seated herself and tried not to think about the last time she had been in this circular office.
Dumbledore waved his wand and conjured up two steaming mugs. She reached for one gratefully, happy to have something to do with her hands. The temptation to fidget was almost overwhelming. She raised the cup towards her lips—
"Ah, Miss Gwir, I believe that you have taken my hot chocolate." He offered her the other mug instead. "This one is tea." He smiled at her again and his eyes twinkled.
Flushing, she exchanged cups and took a gulp of the tea. Dear gods, I'm being an idiot already.
If the circumstances had been less trying, she would have felt comfortable in this room. She closed her eyes for a moment and drew a breath. Yes, she could feel Dumbledore's presence filling the room, like a warm mist or a low humming sound. It was a good presence, quiet and undemanding. She sensed strength in it, sensed that it could be focused into something quite powerful, but at the moment it simply hung in the air peacefully, waiting, not pulling or pressing against her.
She opened her eyes and looked around the room, bringing her thoughts into some kind of order. All around her, the former headmasters and headmistresses peered out of their portraits with noncommittal expressions. She wondered if they knew who she was. She could remember them all shaking their heads sadly on the day of her dismissal—
"I'm sorry, Professor, if I seem a little distracted. Perhaps I am more tired than I imagined."
"Quite understandable," said Dumbledore with what she was sure was genuine friendliness. "It is a long trip from London, and a train full of students fresh from their summer holidays hardly provides for a quiet or restful journey."
"No indeed," replied Annwyd, though noisy students had been the least of her worries. At last though, the warm tea and Dumbledore's easy presence were helping her to regain a bit of composure, though she did wish the portraits would stop staring. "But I am very pleased to be here, Headmaster, and I look forward to commencing my duties at Hogwarts." Good girl. That sounded reasonably professional.
"Ah, yes. Excellent. We'll be discussing your duties in more detail tomorrow and of course you'll be included in our faculty meeting."
She nodded without comment and he continued.
"This evening, you should be able to get some rest. The house elves have already taken your baggage to your quarters, which I hope you will find satisfactory. The only thing I'll require of you before you settle in is an appearance at our Sorting Ceremony and feast. I'll want to introduce you to the students."
She smiled despite the sudden lurch in her stomach. "Very good then. And what time is the ceremony?"
"As a matter of fact, it's beginning in just a moment." The headmaster gestured to a clock on the wall; its single hand was a hair's breadth from "Sorting Ceremony."
Annwyd's stomach did a lazy somersault, and she felt her smile becoming more strained. Fixing her with a shrewd glance, Dumbledore added, "If you wish, however, you can feel free to skip the preliminaries. The sorting itself will take quite some time, during which you can freshen up a bit. I generally make announcements and introductions at the end."
"Thank you," she murmured, relieved at the short respite. "A few moments to…gather myself would be most welcome."
She finished the last of her tea and Dumbledore escorted her out of the office. A house elf was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, ready to show her to her rooms.
"Unless you have any questions then…? No? Then I will see you at the feast."
"I'll be there soon, Professor Dumbledore."
"We are in the habit of using the formal titles in front of students, but in private we are all on a first-name basis. So please feel free to address me as Albus. All the other staff members do."
She smiled. "That will take some getting used to, Professor…Albus. It just sounds wrong somehow."
"No doubt you will adjust. And, Miss Gwir, speaking of names and titles—"
"Oh, of course," she added belatedly, "you are welcome to call me Annwyd."
"Thank you, Annwyd," he nodded gently. "But before I make your formal introduction in the Hall, there is the small matter of your title." There was a short, not entirely comfortable pause. "The faculty has suggested that 'Instructor Gwir' might be suitable, but of course you are free to suggest an alternative if you wish."
Annwyd felt her cheeks flushing again, though undoubtedly he had been quite tactful. He always was tactful, she remembered. Even at fourteen she had recognized that. "'Instructor Gwir' will be perfectly fine," she managed. "Since I hold no degree of any sort, 'Professor' would hardly be appropriate."
"It has always been my opinion, Annwyd, that a teacher's merit is a matter of her knowledge and skills, and her desire to share them with her students. At the end of the day, titles amount to little." His blue eyes were warm and reassuring. "Some of the faculty, however, take the formalities rather seriously...." He shrugged.
McGonagall, thought Annwyd with conviction.
"…but it seems we have reached a happy agreement."
"Yes, sir."
"Then enjoy your brief rest, Instructor Gwir, and I will see you in the Great Hall shortly."
McGonagall will no doubt be pleased, thought Annwyd as she turned to follow the house elf, that I won't besmirch the title of 'Professor.'
She'll be a lot less pleased, she decided a moment later, the first time I call her 'Minerva.' And that brought a bit of satisfaction.
~*~
Annwyd's rooms were more than satisfactory. First, she had a small office equipped with all the necessities. The adjoining sitting room was also small but it looked cozy. Two armchairs were upholstered in faded red velvet and the bookcases lining the walls were a rich, if scuffed, mahogany. A small fireplace would keep it warm in winter and the two narrow windows, though providing little by way of a view, would let in the afternoon sunlight.
On the other side of the sitting room was a spacious and high-ceilinged bedroom, complete with a large iron canopy bed. Like the armchair covers, the hangings around the bed were old, but the soft textures and dark, warm colors were still inviting. The chest of drawers and double-doored wardrobe could easily contain ten times more clothing than she owned. Best of all, the claw-foot tub in the bathroom looked large enough to drown a young elephant.
In a word, the rooms appeared perfect. For a moment, she even wondered if there had been some sort of mistake. She couldn't believe that the senior faculty members wouldn't want these rooms for themselves. They were not only pleasant and comfortable, but also quite conveniently situated. Her office opened onto a short hallway that led directly to the school's main entryway; from there, other doors led into the Great Hall and out to the grounds. A wide central staircase ascended to the classrooms on the upper levels and two narrow staircases on either side descended to the kitchen and the dungeons.
Annwyd had thoroughly expected to be housed in some remote cellar or tower, half an hour's hike from the nearest classroom. But perhaps, she mused, the older staff chose to keep their distance from the students, preferring greater privacy to convenience. She, on the other hand, was happy enough to be in a central location. She remembered, with a flash of embarrassment, her habit of getting lost in the Hogwarts corridors—even during her second and third year.
After she had taken stock of the rooms, Annwyd looked around for her traveling case and found it on the floor at the foot of the bed. Enough gawking. Time to get ready.
She opened the case and laid out her possessions on the bed. When the traveling case was empty, it occurred to her how few things she owned. The robes that she had purchased the day before at Diagon Alley. A dress, two skirts, half a dozen blouses, two sweaters, and two pairs of trousers. Underclothing, shoes, boots, and a cloak completed her wardrobe. Other than that there was only a stack of books, a parcel of toiletries, and a silver trinket box containing her few pieces of jewelry and mementos. Surveying her belongings, she was struck with a feeling of inadequacy. Shouldn't a twenty-six year old own more than this? Was this all she had to show for herself?
She picked up the empty suitcase as if expecting it to contain some hidden part of her life that she had somehow overlooked…and was surprised to hear something rattle inside. Peering in, she saw her wand, which had slipped out of its inside pouch in the suitcase. Ah yes, she thought bitterly. Much good that'll do me. Reluctantly, she added it to the items on the bed.
She stripped off the none-too-fresh clothes she was wearing and pulled on a clean skirt and blouse. She added the robes, then turned to inspect herself in the mirror on the wardrobe door. The robes fit nicely and the moss-green fabric brought out the green of her eyes. Other than that, however, her appearance could use some work. Her hair looked distinctly mussy and there were dark shadows showing under her eyes.
She combed the tangles out of her dark, red-brown hair, wondering once again if she should have cut it before she arrived. It fell to the small of her back and looked nice enough—when properly combed, at least—but somehow it didn't strike her as very…teacherly. But, she had reasoned, she could always put it up. She gathered up the long hair, twisted it into a tight bun, and secured it with a small silver clip from the trinket box. "Better?" she inquired of her reflection. Sure, came the answering thought, if you want to look like McGonagall. Shooting a look of defiance at the reflection, she yanked out the clip and shook loose her tresses. Un-teacherly was better than McGonagall.
By the time she had brushed her teeth and washed her face, she supposed she had been in her rooms for half an hour. She wasn't sure exactly how long the sorting would take, but she thought it was probably time to head towards the Great Hall. Much as she might like to skip the formal introduction, it didn't seem advisable to do so.
She took a final glance in the mirror. If I was a student and I was seeing me for the first time, would I be impressed? She concluded rather quickly that the answer was no. She looked overly young, slightly travel-worn, and more than a little frightened.
On impulse, she raised her left hand and, using her middle and index finger, deftly sketched a pattern in the air. There was a brief, barely noticeable shimmer at her fingertips.
She looked in the mirror again. It was still her own reflection…and yet it was altogether different. She suddenly seemed taller, more imposing. Her posture and the tilt of her head radiated confidence. Her hair glowed brighter, her pale skin gleamed, and her formerly plain and slightly asymmetrical features were now arranged with a subtly pleasing harmony. A small smile hovered at the corners of her mouth, as if she were thinking of some amusing secret. Her green eyes sparkled with wit and insight.
Now she was ready to face the Great Hall. Everyone would know at a glance that she was beautiful, powerful, and intelligent; worthy of trust, respect and admiration—
Abruptly, she sliced the air with her right hand. The image shimmered briefly and collapsed, leaving only her plain, familiar features and her worried-looking, slightly sad expression.
She thought of Dumbledore's letter, still tucked inside Hogwarts, A History. At the end of his offer of employment, there had been a post script: Please do not make use of your talents at Hogwarts until we have a chance to discuss your duties. Your cooperation is much appreciated.
She turned away from the mirror and left the room.
~*~
Annwyd approached the large oak doors of the Great Hall. From within, came a cry of "HUFFLEPUFF!" followed by a cheer. The sorting was apparently still in progress.
It occurred to her now that there must be another door somewhere for the faculty. She remembered teachers slipping in and out from somewhere behind the high table at the far end of the hall. That would be preferable to parading through the rows and rows of students, but she had no idea where the other door was located. She glanced around in the hope of finding a house elf she could ask, but the entryway was deserted except for herself. She took a breath and opened the heavy door.
Instantly, she felt the jostling of hundreds of human presences. There are too many people in this room.
Pushing down the urge to retreat, she closed the door quietly behind her. Luckily, everyone's eyes were focused on the sorting, so she was able to slide to the side of the hall without being noticed. She walked carefully along the edge of the room, between the wall and the table of students from Slytherin. A few of them glanced at her with mild curiosity, but most paid little attention. That was fine. The quick brush of unfocused attention was preferable to the pressure of careful inspection.
She worked her way to the front of the hall where Dumbledore and the other professors occupied seats at the high table. There was an empty chair at the near end and Annwyd headed for that.
In the next seat was a tall, thin man in black robes. His shoulder-length hair was black as well, contrasting sharply with his pale, angular face. She remembered him instantly from her student days: the infamous Potions Master, Professor Snape.
Annwyd's insides began a fresh set of nervous gymnastics. It did not strike her as a good omen that the only seat available was beside the school's most ill-tempered and unpopular professor. Already, the evening was shaping up to be every bit as awful as she had expected.
Snape looked up at her approach and his dark eyes fixed on Annwyd's. She froze in mid-stride, a step away from the table. She had spent three years in the potions classroom trying her best to avoid the professor's gaze. Meeting it again, she was not inclined to change her former opinion. Those glittering black eyes seemed to pin her firmly in place. She felt exposed and strangely helpless under their scrutiny. Finally, his eyes released hers and swept over her body from head to foot. They seemed to size her up at a glance and find her unworthy of any change of expression. He turned away.
Annwyd realized she was holding her breath and forced herself to exhale. She took the final step to the table and seated herself. A sudden vivid image sprang from memory: Snape standing over a steaming cauldron in the potions room in the dungeons. He held a small reddish leaf up to the light for inspection, firmly grasped in a pair of metal tweezers. He seemed to consider the leaf for a long instant, deciding whether to add it to the simmering liquid. Then instead he dropped it back into a glass jar, apparently having concluded it wasn't needed. If that leaf had been conscious, Annwyd mused, she understood exactly how it would have felt.
She pulled her thoughts back into the present as the Sorting Hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR!"
Her eyes scanned the long rows of tables. Too many people, she thought again. Too much human energy bouncing chaotically through the room. She wanted very much to create a deflection, to trace the pattern her grandfather called the raincoat. It would be hard to sustain in a crowd this size, but as long as no one focused on her specifically, much of that bouncing energy would slide off her like drops of water, leaving her with a little space to breathe.
Remembering Dumbledore's letter, she forced her left hand to remain still.
Instead, she tried to distract herself by looking at individuals instead of the masses. Nearest, of course, was Professor Snape. She hadn't sensed any recognition in his gaze, but that was hardly surprising. Not only had she been fourteen and scrawny the last time he had seen her, but she had also spent most of her time in class under the raincoat, and she had often used the old shoe as well, becoming as inconspicuous as possible.
In spite of her current lack of defenses, Snape seemed inclined to ignore her. After his initial inspection, he had not spared a glance in her direction.
Annwyd closed her eyes and focused on just the small space around her, trying to ignore the overwhelming input from the room as a whole. She was struck once again, as she had been years ago, with the impression that there was something distinctly…odd about Snape.
She was well aware of the Potions Master's presence at her elbow, but that presence was strangely self-contained. He was not using any deflection she knew of, not the raincoat or the old shoe or even the blank wall. But there seemed to be a barrier nonetheless. The energy currents somehow excluded him and he extended no tendrils into the flow. She could tell that there was a mind in the space beside her, a mind of considerable strength. But, at the same time, his chair might have been occupied by a statue. Beyond the mere sense of presence, he revealed nothing. She envisioned something chiseled out of marble, hard and cold.
Opening her eyes again, Annwyd peered past Snape at the other professors. Immediately to his right was Professor Sprout, looking slightly grayer and a little plump, but otherwise the same as she remembered. Annwyd was glad to see that Sprout was still on staff at Hogwarts. She had always liked the little herbologist. As one might expect from a woman who devoted her life to plants, the professor's presence had been nurturing and relaxed, full of the calm earthy energies of soil and water and sunlight. And besides, Sprout was one of the few professors who might remember Annwyd somewhat kindly. Professor Kettleburn, who had taught Care of Magical Creatures, would have been her other likely ally, but she knew that he had retired some years ago.
Past Sprout was a man she didn't recognize. Despite a weary expression and a few flecks of gray in his brown hair, he looked fairly young. When he saw her looking at him, he returned her gaze with a small, kind smile. She was grateful for the smile and the flash of gentle warmth that came with it, especially when she saw that the chair next to him was occupied by Professor Minerva McGonagall. She quickly stared down at the table before McGonagall turned and caught her eye.
A few minutes later, curiosity overcame her and she dared another look down the table. This time she was surprised to see that the towering figure on the other side of McGonagall was Hagrid, the Hogwarts Groundskeeper. She was pleased to know that he was still at Hogwarts—from her brief interactions years ago, he had seemed a good sort—but she was puzzled by his presence. She was almost sure that when she had been a student, only teachers sat at the high table.
Looking further down the table was rather pointless, as Hagrid's bulk cut off her view of everyone beyond him.
As Annwyd's eyes returned for a final glance at the others, she caught Professor McGonagall regarding her with a thin-lipped look of appraisal. Judging by the tightness around her eyes and the hard set of her jaw, the results of the appraisal were not favorable. Annwyd flinched away as if slapped.
Just then, Dumbledore arose from his place at the center of the table, his head now visible over Hagrid's. Apparently, while she had been sneaking glances at the faculty, the sorting ceremony had come to an end.
Dumbledore launched into a string of announcements, which Annwyd found impossible to follow. Any moment now, he would do the introductions, and her palms had already begun to sweat.
After a few moments of Dumbledore's voice, punctuated by chuckles and applause, there was a pause. Annwyd forced herself to pay attention, sensing that this would be the moment.
"And last but not least," said Dumbledore to the assembled students, "I have the pleasure of introducing three faculty members who will be joining us at Hogwarts this year." Rows of students fixed their eyes on the high table expectantly. Annwyd felt the myriad energy tendrils converging on the space around the table.
"First, I would like to welcome back a gentleman already known to some of you—Professor Remus Lupin—who will once again be instructing you in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
The man with the grey-flecked hair and the kind smile arose from his chair and was greeted by a roar of applause and a warm wave of enthusiasm. Apparently, Annwyd thought, Lupin had been well-liked. He nodded somewhat shyly in acknowledgement and resumed his seat.
"Next," continued Dumbledore, "I am proud to say that our good Professor Sprout has been so successful at enlarging our collection of magical plants that she now requires the help of an assistant."
There were a few scattered cheers from the Hufflepuff table, and Professor Sprout smiled in their direction. A woman stood up at the far end of the table, barely visible from Annwyd's perspective.
"Please welcome," said the headmaster, "our new Assistant Professor of Herbology, Clarice du Bois." The dark-haired woman bobbed her head and was greeted by polite clapping.
"And finally, we will be offering an entirely new subject this term." This caused a few whispers among the students. Annwyd felt the atmosphere tighten. "And here to teach it is Instructor Annwyd Gwir."
She rose awkwardly to her feet and instantly felt hundreds of eyes regarding her. The sensation was like being hit in the chest with a fifty-pound pillow. The air rushed out of her lungs in a great wallop. She imagined herself as a fish, drowning in the unbreathable air, flopping in a vast net of eyes. She managed a jerky bow towards the assembly and tried to pretend the room wasn't spinning.
"What's the new subject, Professor Dumbledore?" cried a student from the Gryffindor table.
"The subject which Instructor Gwir will teach," said Dumbledore, "is the fascinating but long-neglected art of Glamour Casting."
The headmaster nodded in Annwyd's direction and started clapping. The faculty and a few students joined him. But most of them broke into whispered conversation. The room's energy bubbled with excitement. She caught the words "illegal," "Dark Arts," and "casting what?" but everything else was lost in a jumble of sound.
Annwyd was dizzy. She couldn't fill her lungs with enough air. The room was growing black around the edges. Somehow, though, she performed another stiff half-bow, collapsed back into her chair, and closed her eyes.
~*~
Finally the feast was over, and none too soon for Annwyd. She had recovered a little of her composure once the welcome distraction of dinner arrived, drawing the crowd's attention to their plates and the simple pleasures of flavor and aroma. Nevertheless, she had felt no appetite, and she was tired of pushing uneaten food around her plate and trying to ignore the intermittent gawking of curious students.
Immediately following the introductions, Snape had turned toward her and arched an eyebrow inquiringly. She supposed he might be asking if she was all right. At that moment she had feared that she might be violently ill and no doubt she looked unwell. She returned the raised eyebrow with an ambiguous jerk of her head and then concentrated on her plate. He appeared satisfied with this brief response and did not attempt to make conversation. The meal then proceeded in silence. The other teachers were chatting and exchanging pleasantries, but, being at the end of the table and separated from the rest by the silent Potions Master, she was not included in the conversation. And, she thought, that was just as well.
After a few final remarks from Dumbledore, the students rose from their seats and the heads of the four houses—Sprout, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape—led the groups away to the dormitories. The other teachers also began to depart.
Dumbledore stood and stifled an enormous yawn. "Let's see now…Annwyd, Clarice, and Remus…could the three of you remain for a moment?"
Annwyd, who was already moving towards the door, returned to stand in front of the headmaster. She flashed a polite smile at Clarice, whom she now saw to be a small, tidy, dark-haired woman of about forty. The other woman acknowledged the smile with an amiable nod. Remus Lupin rose from his seat and moved down the table to join the others. He looked almost as tired as Annwyd felt.
"I hope you have all enjoyed the evening's festivities," said Dumbledore. Annwyd nodded with false enthusiasm. "Very good. And you find your rooms acceptable?"
The three teachers assured him that their quarters were comfortable.
"Well, tomorrow is a busy day, and I don't wish to keep you from your rest. There is a faculty meeting beginning at nine o'clock in the staff room. I will arrange for a house elf to escort each of you."
"I remember where the staff room is," said Professor Lupin mildly.
"Yes, of course," said Dumbledore. "Forgive me for being forgetful. And Annwyd, I was wondering if you would be willing to provide a demonstration for the other faculty at our meeting. The integration of your subject into our curriculum will be one of the issues under discussion…and I fear that we are not all as informed as we might like."
"Certainly," said Annwyd. "I'd be happy to. Is there a particular type of glamour you'd like to see?"
"Oh, I'll leave that to your discretion. Perhaps a range of different types would be best. A representative sample of your talents."
"I'll do my best."
"Then if everything is settled, I wish you all a restful night."
After they had wished him a good night in return, Dumbledore exited through the small door behind the high table, Clarice following.
As Annwyd made for the main door on the other side of the hall, Lupin fell into stride beside her.
"The first night's festivities can be a little stressful," he remarked.
She grimaced. "I guess it was pretty obvious."
"Well, once you made it through the introduction without fainting, you appeared to be on the upswing. After that, it wasn't too noticeable."
She gave him a sharp look, trying to determine if he was mocking her, but his expression remained open and friendly. She was far too tired to do a clear reading, but she was aware of warmth, kindness, an undercurrent of sadness. And a guarded place, something he wanted to hide or forget. But in spite of that, she felt that the warmth was genuine.
Relaxing a little, she said "I don't…do very well with large crowds."
He gave her another small smile. "Yes, I prefer the students in smaller groups as well."
She nodded. "Hopefully that should be more manageable. I'm sure I'll enjoy them in the classroom. It's just having so many of them together, so many…" She was going to say so many eyes, but it struck her that it would sound ridiculous so she allowed the thought to trail off. "But I wouldn't want you think that I dislike the students. That would hardly be a promising beginning for a teacher, would it?"
"It seems to work for Snape," he said. "But no, I wouldn't recommend it."
They had reached the main entryway and the hall that led to her quarters was just ahead.
She gestured at the door. "My rooms are here…."
"Good night, then, Professor. Sleep well."
"Instructor. I'm an instructor, not a professor. But 'Annwyd' would do just as well."
"Sleep well, then, Instructor Annwyd. I'll see you at the meeting bright and early."
"Ugh. Don't remind me of 'bright and early.' I would have preferred noon but they didn't ask."
"They never do." He gave her a final tired smile and turned to ascend the marble staircase.